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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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  6  /  18  

I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the
night cometh, when no read more

I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the
night cometh, when no man can work.

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  4  /  15  

Thou breathing dial! since thy day began
The present hour was ever mark'd with shade.

Thou breathing dial! since thy day began
The present hour was ever mark'd with shade.

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  23  /  24  

Once at a potent leader's voice I stayed;
Once I went back when a good monarch prayed;
read more

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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  6  /  11  

In the day, do the day's work.

In the day, do the day's work.

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  20  /  28  

I mark my hours by shadow;
Mayest thou mark thine
By sunshine.

I mark my hours by shadow;
Mayest thou mark thine
By sunshine.

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  12  /  15  

Give God thy heart, thy service, and thy gold; The day wears on,
and time is waxing old.
read more

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

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  23  /  36  

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!

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  29  /  47  

Let others tell of storms and showers,
I'll only mark your sunny hours.

Let others tell of storms and showers,
I'll only mark your sunny hours.

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  16  /  27  

Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your
wrath: Neither give place to read more

Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your
wrath: Neither give place to the devil.

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