’Twas only a minute that would not stay,
But how many noticed its flight?
And yet for one it parted the way,
Betwixt life’s bloom and its blight.
It pointed the new-born baby’s breath,
First felt on the mother’s breast;
For another it sounded the summons of death
And a weary one gone to his rest.
At that moment two souls were together wed
Till death should call them apart;
Another to virtue bowed his head
And consecrated his heart.
Ah! big was the moment that flitted away,
And hardly one noticed its flight;
And hundreds of minutes make up the day,
And hundreds are lost in the night.
--BENJAMIN REYNOLDS BULKELEY, _New England Magazine_.
(2031)