WHAT is Eternity? Can aught
Paint its duration to the thought ?
Tell every beam the sun emits,
When in sublimest noon he sits ;
Tell every light-winged mote that strays
Within its ample round of rays ;
Tell all the leaves and all the buds
That crown the gardens, fields and woods ;
Tell all the spires of grass the meads
Produce, when spring propitious leads
The new-born year.

Be this astonishing account
Augmented with the full amount
Of all the drops the clouds have shed,
Where'er their watery fleeces spread
Through all Time's long-protracted tour.
Tell all the sands the ocean laves ;
Tell all the changes of its waves,
Or tell, with more laborious pains,
The drops its mighty mass contains.

Were there a belt that could contain
In its vast orb the earth and main ;
With figures were it clustered o'er,
And not one cipher in the score ;
And could thy laboring thoughts assign
The total of the extended line ;
How vast the amount, the attempt how vain,
To read duration's endless chain ;
For when as many years have run,
Eternity is but begun !

Then think of life thou mayst attain,
Through years eternal to remain,
And the love which bought it all for thee
When thou wert doomed no life to see ;
And grace which to its boundless store
Adds endless blessings evermore :
And when thy cup of joy runs over,
Let songs of praise rise to the Giver.