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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576454" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Gift of Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576454" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Gift of Time<br>It is a mystery what we call Time: <br>A little space of day which turns to night; <br>A little span of sorrow and delight: <br>Of tearful dirges and of joy-bells’ chime.<br>And yet its calm, slow-moving, noiseless feet<br>Can lead to glory-even thru defeat, <br>Enclose the wicked within their self-made bars, <br>And lift God-fearing souls beyond the stars! <br>O but foolish, blind, ungrateful souls are they<br>That, heedless, see no gift in each new day.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576454" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> (Based on “A Jubilee Ode” by Mary Elizabeth Blake)</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Sean+Wright">Sean Wright</a></strong></div>

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