The Lean Old Man

I fell asleep; and my chainless soul Far abroad on fancy's pinions flew; It soared to the sky, and away to the pole, And saw things old and new.

I thought I could compass the land and sea, Look away where a thousand years had fled, And behold all that was, or that is to be, Like a spirit of the dead.

I looked on that bustling, busy crew, Earth's children, great and small; But a lean old man, who met my view, Seemed busiest of them all.

And stranger still it seemed to me, That through the wide earth or air, Not a single spot could I ever see, But that same old man was there.

I saw a young grove in its leafy dress, And I sought its cooling shade, And flowers were springing in gladfulness, Where the cherishing breezes played.

But the old man was there, and his work begun, For his touch on the trees was found, And the branches soon withered, and one by one Their old trunks strew'd the ground.

I saw him again in a crowded town, As he hurried through the street, And steeples and towers were crumbling down And lying beneath his feet.

I lean'd against a castle gate, 'Twas barr'd and bolted strong; Within were seen the proud and great, And I heard their mirth and song.

The old man came, and the bolts gave way, He frowned, and the mirth and song were o'er; And the castle walls in ruins lay, And the proud ones were no more.

A little child, a rose-lip'd boy, Came wandering idly by; His face was smooth, and light and joy Were dancing in his eye.

That old man's grasp was quick and strong, As he seiz'd his hand and flew--- I watched them all their journey long, And mark'd what changes grew.

'Twas but a moment ere that child Was a feeble gray old man; And his guide look'd on him and grimly smiled, But still the couple ran.

A moment more and his limbs grew cold, And he shrunk from the grasp of his guide, And fell at his feet, for his sands were told, And the light in his eye had died.

I wondered and wept, that the bright and fair Must all feel his deadly sway--- When a trumpet came sounding through the air, And the sky like a scroll rolled away.

And an angel came down on his wings of gold, Whose brightness outshone the sun, And he cried, as he flew, ' thy sands are told, And thy race, O Time, is run.'