Time, a lilting sea, does lathe,
And casts off dross and hewn,
The rocks and hills of substance raze,
Batters, but not for ruin
Oceans batten against the throes,
Of cliffs and harbors old,
And even mountains ancient shaped,
Well-worn time erodes
Behold the glory of aged faces,
Though rut and weathered by years unkind;
The strength of men decay replaces,
To dust we go from dust resigned
But all manner shall indeed be well,
And new, all loss reviling,
The world to come this world dispels,
And gone shall be all sighing
Eternity beats against the breakers,
And bears the battered born,
From feeble age and melting sun,
Unto an ever newer one.
