This Is The Mockery Of The Moving Years; Youth'S Colour Dies, The Fervid Morning Glow Is Gone From Off The Foreland; Slow, Slow, Even Slower Than The Fount Of Human Tears To Empty, The Consuming Shadow Nears That Time Is Casting On The Worldly Show Of Pomp And Glory. But Falter Not; - Below That Thought Is Based A Deeper Thought That Cheers. Glean Thou Thy Past; That Will Alone Inure To Catch Thy Heart Up From A Dark Distress; It Were Enough To Find One Deed Mature, Deep-Rooted, Mighty 'Mid The Toil And Press; To Save One Memory Of The Sweet And Pure, From Out Life'S Failure And Its Bitterness.