I heard a voice—the voice of Fate—
That whispered when the hour was late—
'The past claims all things soon or late.
'The little children on the street,
The youth, strong-limbed and swift of feet,
The bridegroom and the bride so sweet.
'The old man and his life-long mate,
Who watch the fire within the grate
At night when shadows form and wait.
'The king, who wears but for an hour
The golden circle of his power
And feels it a most dangerous dower.
'The warrior, who lays aside
The blood-red banner of his pride,
The sword whose steel perchance is dyed.'
All these and more—they pass from view,
But Life, still eager to pursue,
Whispers, 'Shall we the game renew?'
So this came from the lips of Fate—
'Make the first move, I only wait,
The past claims all things soon or late.'