As briny liquid toward a strand doth flow,
So do our instants, days, and hours pass;
All giving way to what must also go,
And toiling forwards in a changing mass.
Nativity, that in the spotlight stood,
Crawls to maturity, but soon falls back,
His crown through usurpation lost for good.
That which did grant doth now that gift retract.
Hours and days cut down all bloom of youth,
And dig the furrows upon a lady’s brow,
And swallow all things of worth and singular truth;
For nothing stands but passing hours must plow.
And still in days unborn my words shall stay,
Praising thy worth as hours all pass away.