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 True as the dial to the sun,
 Although it be not shin'd upon.  
 True as the dial to the sun,
 Although it be not shin'd upon. 
 I mark my hours by shadow;
 Mayest thou mark thine
  By sunshine.  
 I mark my hours by shadow;
 Mayest thou mark thine
  By sunshine. 
Live ye, he says, I flee.
Live ye, he says, I flee.
 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, 
 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. 
 Hours fly,
 Flowers die.
  New days,
   New ways,
    Pass by.
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 Hours fly,
 Flowers die.
  New days,
   New ways,
    Pass by.
     Love stays. 
 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. 
 I count only the hours that are serene.
 [Lat., Horas non numero nisi serenas.]  
 I count only the hours that are serene.
 [Lat., Horas non numero nisi serenas.] 
 O God! methinks it were a happy life
 To be no better than a homely swain;
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 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!