"Horas non numero nisi serenas."
There stands in the garden of old St. Mark
A sun dial read more

"Horas non numero nisi serenas."
There stands in the garden of old St. Mark
A sun dial quaint and gray.
It takes no heed of the hours which in dark
Pass o'er it day by day.
It has stood for ages amid the flowers
In that land of sky and song.
"I number none but the cloudless hours,"
Its motto the live day long.

Amende to-day and slack not,
Deythe cometh and warneth not,
Tyme passeth and speketh not.

Amende to-day and slack not,
Deythe cometh and warneth not,
Tyme passeth and speketh not.

If o'er the dial glides a shade, redeem
The time for lo! it passes like a dream;
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If o'er the dial glides a shade, redeem
The time for lo! it passes like a dream;
But if 'tis all a blank, then mark the loss
Of hours unblest by shadows from the cross.

Once at a potent leader's voice I stayed;
Once I went back when a good monarch prayed;
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Once at a potent leader's voice I stayed;
Once I went back when a good monarch prayed;
Mortals, howe'er we grieve, howe'er deplore,
The flying shadow will return no more.

Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole,
The index pointing at Him is our soul;
Death read more

Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole,
The index pointing at Him is our soul;
Death the horizon, when our sun is set,
Which will through Christ a resurrection get.

Time is
Too Slow for those who Wait,
Too Swift for those who Fear,
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Time is
Too Slow for those who Wait,
Too Swift for those who Fear,
Too Long for those who Grieve,
Too Short for those who Rejoice;
But for those who Love,
Time is not.
- Henry Jackson van Dyke,

As the long hours do pass away,
So doth the life of man decay.

As the long hours do pass away,
So doth the life of man decay.

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To read more

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials, quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run--
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live;
When this is known, then to divide the times--
So many hours must I tend my flock,
So many hours must I take my rest,
So many hours must I contemplate,
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece.
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this!

Give God thy heart, thy service, and thy gold; The day wears on,
and time is waxing old.
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Give God thy heart, thy service, and thy gold; The day wears on,
and time is waxing old.
- Unattributed Author,