The Turret-Clock Poem by William Henry Leatham

Hark! the turret-clock's slow chime,
Faithful tells the lapse of time;—
Warning us from hour to hour,
Of the sure decay of power.
As a watchful sentinel,
The deserter's flight will tell;
So yon measured voice is taking,
Count of moments us forsaking,
As they hurry forth in strife,
With the ehbing tide of life.—
But, some laughing girl will say,
Time brings on my bridal day;
And each minor growing sage,
Ends in lime his tutelage;
And each school-boy looks for play,
As time brings the holiday.
Be it so—but they will find,
Cares come crowding in behind,—
That when life is mid-way spent,
Youth regained were great content.
But, alas! no backward course
Can they take to life's gay source;
Onward, onward is their flight,
Till their very grave 's in sight.
Let us, then, fit warning take,
From yon iron tongue that spake,
Sternly knelling in our ear,
Life is short and death is near!