Page Back

Poetry Index

On Time
a poem by John Milton 


Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, 
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, 
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets' pace; 
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, 
Which is no more than what is false and vain, 
And merely mortal dross; 
So little is our loss, 
So little is thy gain. 
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, 
And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd, 
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, 
When every thing that is sincerely good 
And perfectly divine, 
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine 
About the supreme Throne 
Of Him, t'whose happy-making sight alone, 
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb, 
Then all this earthly grossness quit, 
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit, 
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.


On Time - a poem by John Milton

A poem can stir all of the senses, and the subject matter of a poem can range from being funny to being sad. We hope that you liked this poem and the sentiments in the words of  On Time by John Milton you will find even more poem lyrics by this famous author by simply clicking on the Poetry Index link below! Choose Poetry online for the greatest poems by the most famous poets. 

Page BackPoetry Index 2018 Siteseen Ltd Cookie PolicyPrivacy Statement