IMMUTABLE.
5
Peal above the reapers' chorus,
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,—
"Gather all into My garner,
For it is My harvest time."
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,—
"Gather all into My garner,
For it is My harvest time."
IMMUTABLE.
"With whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."
UTUMN to winter, winter into spring,Spring into summer, summer into fall,—
So rolls the changing year, and so we change;
Motion so swift, we know not that we move.
Till at the gate of some memorial hour
We pause—look in its sepulchre to find
The cast-off shape that years since we called "I"—
And start, amazed. Yet on! we may not stay
To weep or laugh. All which is past, is past
Even while we gaze the simulated form
Drops into dust, like many-centuried corpse
At opening of a tomb.
Alack, this world
Is full of change, change, change,—nothing but change!
Is full of change, change, change,—nothing but change!
