Poems (Jordan)/The Measures of Life
THE MEASURES OF LIFE
Measure thy life! and dost thou think, oh man,
To circle life within such narrow span?
Measure thy life by days, and years? Ah, no,
When years are done thy life shall onward go.
To circle life within such narrow span?
Measure thy life by days, and years? Ah, no,
When years are done thy life shall onward go.
The years speed o'er our heads, they do not touch,
How long we've lived is quickly told; how much
We cannot tell. Who can measure the thought,
The pain, the overpassing years have brought?
How long we've lived is quickly told; how much
We cannot tell. Who can measure the thought,
The pain, the overpassing years have brought?
Or, who may measure love or grief,—alas,
We age while years would speak us young; the face,
Unfurrowed by the hand of Time, be old
In things of which the years have never told.
We age while years would speak us young; the face,
Unfurrowed by the hand of Time, be old
In things of which the years have never told.
We bow our heads, saluting thus the years;
But oh, if we should measure life with tears;
With heart-aches, or its throbs of joy, ah, then
Youth oft o'erfills the "three score years, and ten!"
But oh, if we should measure life with tears;
With heart-aches, or its throbs of joy, ah, then
Youth oft o'erfills the "three score years, and ten!"
Nay, Life cannot be measured with a clock,
Or be inhaled by breaths; God would not mock
His children thus; 'tis what we've felt and known and done
Which form its measur'ng lines—and these alone!
Or be inhaled by breaths; God would not mock
His children thus; 'tis what we've felt and known and done
Which form its measur'ng lines—and these alone!
The body ages with the years, but Life
Goes ever youthful on, 'mid all the strife,
And care and hope and changing things below,—
Nor aught of Earth can interrupt its flow.
Goes ever youthful on, 'mid all the strife,
And care and hope and changing things below,—
Nor aught of Earth can interrupt its flow.
We live between the years; Thought pulses on
When lips are mute; and heart-throbs, are alone
The spirit's wings, beating its cage of clay—
Longing to rise to Heaven's life, away!
When lips are mute; and heart-throbs, are alone
The spirit's wings, beating its cage of clay—
Longing to rise to Heaven's life, away!