Time

On Time

John Milton

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but heavy plummet's pace;

And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd

And last of all thy greedy self consum'd,

Then long eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And joy shall overtake us as a flood,

When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With truth, and peace, and love shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone,

When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,

Than all this earthly grossness quit,

Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

Everybody was putting poetry up so I decided to follow suit. I love this poem and read it often. We have nothing but time, there needs to be no rush or hurry. Everything comes in its own time and in the end is the great reward for our paitence.