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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HOURS, by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: The hours are viewless angels | |||
The hours are viewless angels, That still go gliding by, And bear each minute's record up To him who sits on high; And we who walk among them, As one by one departs, See not that they are hovering Forever round our hearts. Like summer bees that hover Around the idle flowers, They gather every act and thought, Those viewless angel-hours; The poison or the nectar The heart's deep flower cups yield, A sample still they gather swift, And leave us in the field. And some flit by on pinions Of joyous gold and blue, And some flag on with drooping wing Of sorrow's darker hue; But still they steal the record And bear it far away; Their mission-flight, by day and night, No magic power can stay. And as we spend each minute That God to us has given, The deeds are known before his throne, The tale is told in heaven. Those bee-like hours we see not, Nor hear their noiseless wings; We often feel--too oft--when flown That they have left their stings. So teach me, heavenly Father, To meet each flying hour, That as they go they may not show My heart a poison flower! So, when death brings its shadows, The hours that linger last Shall bear my hopes on angels' wings, Unfettered by the past. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |
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