Reverses

  When mirth is full and free,
  Some sudden gloom shall be;
  When haughty power mounts high,
  The Watcher’s axe is nigh.
All growth has bound; when greatest found,
  It hastes to die.

  When the rich town, that long
  Has lain its huts among,
  Uprears its pageants vast,
  And vaunts⁠—it shall not last!
Bright tints that shine, are but a sign
  Of summer past.

  And when thine eye surveys,
  With fond adoring gaze,
  And yearning heart, thy friend⁠—
  Love to its grave doth tend.
All gifts below, save Truth, but grow
  Towards an end.