THE morning drum-call on my eager ear
Thrills unforgotten yet; the morning dew
Lies yet undried along my field of noon.
But now I pause at whiles in what I do,
And count the bell, and tremble lest I hear
(My work untrimmed) the sunset gun too soon.
Robert Louis Stevenson
BUT there is nothing that stands still in time, so that no duty at all admits of delay; each is strictly the duty of the moment; and our moral life is a race of perpetual speed, in which, at every step, the ground breaks from beneath us, and if our foot be not ready for the advance we must sink with it and fall away.
THERE is nothing of which we are apt to be so lavish as of Time, and about which we ought to be more solicitous; since without it we can do nothing in this World. Time is what we want most, and what, alas! we use worst; and for which God will certainly most strictly reckon with us, when Time shall be no more.