I mark my hours by shadow;
Mayest thou mark thine
By sunshine.

I mark my hours by shadow;
Mayest thou mark thine
By sunshine.

Amende to-day and slack not,
Deythe cometh and warneth not,
Tyme passeth and speketh not.

Amende to-day and slack not,
Deythe cometh and warneth not,
Tyme passeth and speketh not.

"Horas non numero nisi serenas."
There stands in the garden of old St. Mark
A sun dial read more

"Horas non numero nisi serenas."
There stands in the garden of old St. Mark
A sun dial quaint and gray.
It takes no heed of the hours which in dark
Pass o'er it day by day.
It has stood for ages amid the flowers
In that land of sky and song.
"I number none but the cloudless hours,"
Its motto the live day long.

Let others tell of storms and showers,
I'll only mark your sunny hours.

Let others tell of storms and showers,
I'll only mark your sunny hours.

I go away and come again each day,
But thou shalt go away and ne'er return.

I go away and come again each day,
But thou shalt go away and ne'er return.

True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shin'd upon.

True as the dial to the sun,
Although it be not shin'd upon.

Once at a potent leader's voice I stayed;
Once I went back when a good monarch prayed;
read more

Once at a potent leader's voice I stayed;
Once I went back when a good monarch prayed;
Mortals, howe'er we grieve, howe'er deplore,
The flying shadow will return no more.

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun.

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To read more

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials, quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run--
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live;
When this is known, then to divide the times--
So many hours must I tend my flock,
So many hours must I take my rest,
So many hours must I contemplate,
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece.
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this!