Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRANSITION - SHORT METER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The golden wings of time
Last Line: The image of his son.


The golden wings of time
Are ever gliding by;
They bear my body to the tomb,
My spirit to the sky.

This life is but a breath
Which is and is no more.
'Tis like the struggle of a wave
To reach some distant shore.

But tossed upon the deep,
Strong billows o'er it surge;
Its drops are scattered far and wide
Ere it can reach the verge.

Eternally 'tis lost,
Nor will it more arise,
'Till nature shall its vapors bear
To mingle in the skies.

And I, alas! I die!
On earth I cannot stay!
My soul returns to God who gave,
My body to the clay!

I'm like the fallen race
Which pass from mortal sight,
To dwell in one eternal day,
Or one eternal night.

But am I like the wave
Whose parts can never meet,
Except it be by chance when they
Shall mingle in the deep?

Ah! no, for I'll arise
Upon the last great day;
My spirit from its God shall come,
My body from the clay.

United, we shall stand
Eternally in one.
Yes, in the likeness of my God
The image of His son.





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