Effie D. Threet, "Father Time" (1903)
Thou art the theme of prose and rhyme.
Oh, let me now thy praises sing,
For Time, thou art a mighty king!
Thy golden scepter sways o'er all,
Before thee kingdoms rise and fall;
Still never weary on thy way
Thou ploddeth on from day to day.
By thy command comes lovely Spring,
The flowers bloom and sweet birds sing,
And while all nature seems in tune,
We see the rosy face of June.
Oh! how delightful is the scene,
When earth is all arrayed in green;
Bedecked with Summer roses rare,
Sweet pinks and waving lilies fair!
Say, Father Time, now pause a while,
And let us bask in Summer's smile;
And linger 'neath her cooling shade,
'Oh why should Summer roses fade?'
But no! Once more thy scepter sways,
And now come on September days;
Earth's verdant robe is changed to gold
The flowers fade—the year grows old.
Thou moveth on with steady tread,
November's snowflakes brush thy head;
Around thee blows the chilling blast,
And now the old year breathes its last.
Yes, Father Time, thou art a king,
And well of thee let poets sing,
For thou dost hold a rightful sway,
And thy commands we must obey.
The rosy cheek, the sparkling eye,
Before thee slowly fade and die
The strong man droops, his strength decays,
And o'er him pass thy fleeting days.
By thy command loved ones must part
The eye grows dim and sad the heart.
Then to the soul bowed down with grief,
Thy soothing balm brings sure relief.
Still ever on thy ages run,
What others dare not, thou hast done.
Well might thy praises tune this rhyme,
Oh Prince of Rulers, Father Time!
March on! Thou king, March on thy way!
Still o'er us let thy scepter sway,
And bring us to that golden shore
Where friends and loved ones part no more.
Published in Colored American Magazine, January 1903