Threefold is the march of time
While the future slow advances,
Like a dart the present glances,
Silent stands the past sublime.
No impatience eer can speed
On his course if he delay;
No alarm, no doubts impede him
If he keep his onward way;
No regrets, no magic numbers
Wake the tranced one from his slumbers.
Wouldst thou wisely and with pleasure,
Pass the days of lifes short measure,
From the slow one counsel take,
But a tool of him neer make;
Neer as friend the swift one know,
Nor the constant one as foe!
Threefold is the form of space:
Length, with ever restless motion,
Seeks eternitys wide ocean;
Breadth with boundless sway extends;
Depth to unknown realms descends.
All as types to thee are given;
Thou must onward strive for heaven,
Never still or weary be
Wouldst thou perfect glory see;
Far must thy researches go.
Wouldst thou learn the world to know;
Thou must tempt the dark abyss
Wouldst thou prove what Being is.
Naught but firmness gains the prize,-
Naught but fulness makes us wise,-
Buried deep, truth ever lies!