Seen through pure crystal the imprisoned sand,
Without a murmur, counts its flowing hour;--
The dial's shifting bar of shade;--the hand
Of the hall--clock, that with a life--like power
Moves undisturbed:--the equal pulse of Time
Throbs on, as beats man's heart in happy health,
Not noticed, yet how sure! with easy stealth,
Unwearied in its ministry sublime:--
And there are those to whom the matin lark
Proclaims day's duties, or the cock, whose cheer
Came sad to panic--stricken Simon's ear,
When for a little moment Faith was dark:--
Frail heart!--that still believed, yet shook to hear
The storm of man's vain anger round his bark!