The age of men has morning seen, A blessed hour, bright and new, When all was fresh,

and bright and green, And clad with sparkling drops of dew That caught the neonatal light, Proceeding from the infant star, That gave to men the gift of sight, And bathed the darkling isles afar.

The age of men has midday known, And man has seen his golden years, But monuments of carven stone, And kingdoms forged with swords and spears, Cannot endure, but pass away. The years of men are but a breath, The evening swallows up the day, And all is swallowed up in death.

The age of men rolls on and on, The land grows darker year by year, The chariot of Phaeton, And Helios shall disappear. Then twilight shall oerspread the land, A spectral, phantom moon will rise, Until a black and withered hand, Shall cover heavens watching eyes. Then blackest night shall swallow all, And darkness shall the ruler be, And in his blindness, man will fall, And wish that he had turned to me.