THE Past, - the realm of clinging memory,
Which reaches, like the landscape's varied sweep,
Before the traveller, as on mountain steep
He pauses in his climbing wearily.
The Present, - filled with glistening beams of light,
Though clouds of sorrow oft its rays conceal
For one short hour, then, vanishing, reveal
A glimpse, perchance, of Future blest and bright.
Vast, untried Future! - none hath turned the page
Of thy closed volume, yet its fate to read.
These are our life, - these close-united three, -
A Past, sprung from the depths of boundless age;
A Present, formed of varying paths which lead
To Future, merged in grand eternity!
I. MCG. F.
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