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Robert Laurence Binyon - A Prayer Of Time
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Move onward, Time, and bring us sooner free
 From this self--clouding turmoil where we ply
 On others` errands driven continually:
 O lead us to our own souls, ere we die!

 We toil for that we love not; thou concealest
 Our true loves from us; all we thirst to attain
 Thou darkly holdest, and alone revealest
 A mirror that our sighs for ever stain.

 Art thou so jealous of our full delight?
 Thou takest our strength, toil, fervour, and sweet youth;
 And when thou hast taken these, thou givest sight
 At last to see and to endure the truth.

 Thou art too swift to our weak steps; but oh,
 To our desire thou movest, Time, how slow!
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