You would measure time the measureless and the
immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of
your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you
would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but to-day’s memory and to-morrow
is to-day’s dream.
And that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling
within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the
stars into space.
Who among you does not feel that his power to love is
boundless?
And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless,
encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not
from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other
love deeds?
And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless?
But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons,
let each season encircle all the other seasons,
And let to-day embrace the past with remembrance and the
future with longing.
