Old-Fashioned Uncouth Measurer Of The Day, I Love To Watch Thy Filtering Burthen Pass; Though Some There Are That Live Would Bid Thee Stay; But These View Reasons Through A Different Glass From Him, Time'S Meter, Who Addresses Thee. The World Has Joys Which They May Deem As Such; The World Has Wealth To Season Vanity, And Wealth Is Theirs To Make Their Vainness Much: But Small To Do With Joys And Fortune'S Fee Hath He, Time'S Chronicler, Who Welcomes Thee. So Jog Thou On, Through Hours Of Doom'D Distress; So Haste Thou On The Glimpse Of Hopes To Come; As Every Sand-Grain Counts A Trouble Less, As Every Drain'D Glass Leaves Me Nearer Home.