Robert Laurence Binyon

A Prayer of Time

Move onward, Time, and bring us sooner free
From this self—clouding turmoil where we ply
On others’ errands driven continually:
O lead us to our own souls, ere we die!
 
We toil for that we love not; thou concealest
Our true loves from us; all we thirst to attain
Thou darkly holdest, and alone revealest
A mirror that our sighs for ever stain.
 
Art thou so jealous of our full delight?
Thou takest our strength, toil, fervour, and sweet youth;
And when thou hast taken these, thou givest sight
At last to see and to endure the truth.
 
Thou art too swift to our weak steps; but oh,
To our desire thou movest, Time, how slow!
Other works by Robert Laurence Binyon...



Top