Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/314

 year has run Its round of seasons, has fulfilled its course, Absolved its destined period, and is borne, Silent and swift, to that devouring gulf, Their womb and grave, where seasons, months and years, Revolving periods of uncounted time, All merge, and are forgotten. Thou alone, In thy deep bosom burying all the past, Still art ; and still from thine exhaustless store New periods spring, Eternity.—Thy name Or glad, or fearful, we pronounce, as thoughts Wandering in darkness shape thee. Thou strange being, Which art and must be, yet which contradict'st All sense, all reasoning,—thou, who never wast