Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/137

 THE OLD FAMILY CLOCK. 121

Dreaming that earth is heaven : And thou hast heralded with joyance fair The green-wreath 'd Christmas, and that other feast, With which the hard lot of colonial care The pilgrim-sire besprinkled ; saving well The luscious pumpkin, and the fatted beast, And the rich apple, with its luscious swell, Till, the thanksgiving sermon duly o'er, He greets his children at his humble door, Bidding them welcome to his plenteous hoard,

As, gathering from their distant home, To knit their gladden 'd hearts in love they come, Each with his youngling brood, round the grey father's board.

Thou hast outliv'd thy maker, ancient clock ! He in his cold grave sleeps ; but thy slight wheels

Still do his bidding, yet his frailty mock, While o'er his name oblivion steals.

O man ! so prodigal of pride and praise, Thy works survive thee dead machines perform Their revolution, while thy scythe-shorn days Yield thee a powerless prisoner to the worm How dar'st thou sport with Time, while he

Plunges thee darkly in Eternity ? Haste ! ere its wave engulfs thy form, And make thy peace with Him who rules above the storm.

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