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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,

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  4  /  13  

Begone about your business.

Begone about your business.

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  4  /  9  

The Natural Clock-work by the might One
Wound up at first, and ever since have gone.

The Natural Clock-work by the might One
Wound up at first, and ever since have gone.

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  21  /  23  

I am moved by the light.
[Lat., A lumine motus.]

I am moved by the light.
[Lat., A lumine motus.]

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  20  /  30  

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.

by Barton Booth Found in: Sun dial mottoes Quotes,
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  23  /  24  

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.

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  10  /  25  

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.

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  3  /  13  

I go away and come again each day,
But thou shalt go away and ne'er return.

I go away and come again each day,
But thou shalt go away and ne'er return.

by Anonymous Found in: Sun dial mottoes Quotes,
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  8  /  14  

Live ye, he says, I flee.

Live ye, he says, I flee.

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  23  /  36  

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!

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