LOST DAYS

We never can recall a day; When it is past, it rolls away Into the lap of time. We might as well attempt to sow Our seed amid the falling snow, And hope for fruitage rare, As, life’s bright spring of action o’er, Amid the present’s din and roar Strive to reclaim the past. Though we should call, with sobs of pain, For the old year to come again, In vain would be our cry. Full many a fault we would correct, And many a scrawl we would reject, Were we to write anew. But, while we wish the year’s return, While for the past our spirits yearn, A cheerful voice exclaims: “He who would reach sublimest height Must toil by day, and pray by night, And struggle with the tide— Now is the time to carve your fate! Time never lags, though man be late— Lost days will ne’er return.”