The age of men has morning seen,
A blessed hour, pure and new,
When all was fresh and bright and green,
And clad with sparkling drops of dew,
That caught the neonatal light,
Proceeding from the infant star,
That gave to men the gift of sight
And bathed the darkling isles afar.

The age of men has midday known,
And man has seen his golden years,
But monuments of carven stone
And kingdoms forged with swords and spears,
Cannot endure, but pass away.
The years of men are but a breath,
The evening swallows up the day,
And all is swallowed up in death.

The age of men rolls on and on,
The land grows darker year by year,
The chariot of Phaeton and Helios shall disappear,
Then darkness shall o’erspread the land,
A spectral, phantom moon shall rise,
Until a black and withered hand
Shall cover heaven’s watching eyes.
Then blackest night shall cover all,
And darkness will the ruler be,
And in his blindness man will fall
And wish that he had turned to me.