Lynchburg Virginian

POETICAL.

THE LIFE CLOCK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

There is a little mystic clock,
No human eye hath seen;
That beateth on—and beateth on,
From morning until e'en.
And when the soul is wrapped in sleep,
And heareth not a sound,
It ticks and ticks the live long night,
And never runneth down.
O wondrous is the work of art,
Which knells the passing hour,
But art ne'er formed, nor mind conceived,
The life clock's magic power.
Nor set in gold, nor decked with gems,
By pride and wealth possessed;
But rich or poor, or high or low,
Each bears it in his breast.
When life's deep stream, 'mid beds of flowers,
All still and softly glides,
Like the wavelet's step, with a gentle beat,
It warns of passing tides.
When passion nerves the warrior's arm,
For deeds of hate and wrong,
Then! harkened must the fearful sound,
The knell is deep and strong.
When eyes to eyes are gazing soft,
And tender words are spoken,
Then fast and wild it rattles on,
As if with love 'twere broken.
Such is the clock that measures life.
Of flesh and spirit blended,
And thus 'twill run within the breast,
'Till that strange life is ended.