30 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
30 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
1645
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ON TIME
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by John Milton
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Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
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Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
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Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
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And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
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Which is no more then what is false and vain,
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And meerly mortal dross;
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So little is our loss,
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So little is thy gain.
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For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
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And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
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Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
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With an individual kiss;
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And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
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When every thing that is sincerely good
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And perfectly divine,
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With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
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About the supreme Throne
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Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone,
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When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
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Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
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Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
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Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
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-THE END-
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