Passing events,—tell, what are they I pray?
Are they some novelty?—Nay, nay, nay!
Ever since the world its course began,
Since the breath of life was breathed into man,
Still rolling on with the wane of time,
Through every nation, in every clime;
In every spot where man has his home,
Ever they long for events to come.
Hours or days or years it may be,
Before hopes realization they see;
And no sooner it comes than it hastes away,
And others rush after no longer to stay.
And there scarcely is time to know its in sight,
E'er its found to be leaving with marvellous flight,
And what had been longed for with eager intent,
Is chronicled but as a passing event.
Hope's joys are uncertain;—anxiety rules,
Expectancy's paradise, peopled by fools;
And the present has oft so much bustle and care,
That the joys spread around we have no time to share.
He is surer of peace who leaves future to fate,
And the present joy snatches before it's too late;
But he's safest by far, who in mem'ry holds fast,
The sweet tastes and joys of events that are past.