In praise of the dread chronicles of time,
I do in discomfort construct my claim,
Where youth’s exquisite phrases therein chime,
That prophesies and portends defend the same.
Making progress a dirge in this vexing race.
As master’s peer into love’s divine eyes,
Spreading goodwill o’er all Earth’s sacred place,
E’en so speed may flux as well as the prize.
Of this our time, all rise to noble birth,
Though skill may be lacking and outlook bleak,
For antique hath value and novice worth
What possible can change from week to week?
So, join in harmony, and music seek,
Time of the essence tis golden and meek.