THE DIAL-PLATE.

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BY A. J. REQUIER.

———

All rusty is the iron grate

That girds the garden desolate,

But there it stands, the dial-plate,

A thing of antiquated date,

Right opposite the sun.

The wild moss and the fern have grown

Upon its quaint, old-fashioned stone,

And earthy mounds about it strown

Seem each to say, in solemn tone,

“A race is run!”

Of yore, in vernal beauty smiled

This spot of earth so drear and wild,

And you might chance to see a child,

Up-scrambling on the gray stones piled

Around the dial-plate;

Then might you hear his laughter ring

Clear as the chime of bells in spring,

When, like a pompous little king,

He strutted on that queer old thing

In mock estate.

Long years have circled slowly round

Upon that wheel which hath no sound;

The urchin has in manhood found

A beauteous maid, and they are bound

By Hymen’s silken tie;

There stand the couple, side by side,

The bridegroom and his dainty bride,

The sunbeams from the dial slide

Deep in their cells beneath the tide—

As deep Love’s sigh!

Comes tottering age with thin, white hair,

And that same youth is standing there!

But now his head is almost bare,

And twinkles in his eye a tear,

Fresh from his withered core;

Gone are the loved ones of his breast,

Gone to their everlasting rest,

Grim Death has robbed the old man’s nest,

And they are now his mouldering guest

For evermore!

Ye pilgrims on the shores of Time!

Of every age and every clime,

Like flowers ye spring up in your prime,

Like them ye fade at vesper chime

In twilight of the tomb;

Oh! pluck the roses while ye may,

Each instant heralds Life’s decay,

Mark well the dial’s fleeting ray,

There is a world beyond the clay—

Beyond its gloom.

Old father Time expects his fee,

Look how he rubs his hands in glee,

A mighty pair of scales hath he,

To weigh Earth and Eternity,

“As misers count their gold;”

From earth he plucks each minute-pin,

And down the other he drops it in—

Take heed! the weigher soon must win

He stares upon you with a grin—

Your days are told!

W.P. Frith Addison THE BRIDAL NIGHT. Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine