God counts time not by minutes nor by days, The years, to Him, are but the markings on a dial, 'Round which we circle, madly spinning, Like futile second hands. Our very haste betrays Our fear of time. And all the while, His pointing hand moves slowly in an arc So vast, its end and its beginning Alike are lost in deep impenetrable dark Of Past and Future. And our tick-tick-tock But marks the silence of God's timeless clock. |