Message: A Race against Time

The Sage of the History Past! Why, says the ends justify the means! And consider not, the very purpose for which the task is undertaking! Is there satisfaction in the thirst of a desert? Covering in the ruin of desolate waste? Security, in the anguish of pestilence or joy and fulfillment outside the will of the Almighty! Present fears are less than horrible imaginings and nothing is, but that which is not. If chance deliver thee your wishes, not minding how it should come by! Then, come what may, for your time run through, but a shadow fears in the heartless days! There is neither genius nor art to figure out mind construction in human face. Stars hide your fires that reveal the masked and deep desires of men’s heart! Lest, man feels the future in an instants and many be free, from the snare of the momentary bait! Oh! Thou modern days Christian tomb dwellers’ your face, is but a book where time reads illusory events. I know your contents, it reads and I quote: ‘To beguile the time, put on a timely look Paint Christ in thy hands, feet, tongue, face and show. Reflect an innocent lily, but be the thorn bush under it! Take an innocent flower look, but be the serpent under it The youthful lust that follows us sometimes is our trouble, which, still, we take as loves! But not too long, time shall blow the horrid deeds and every eyes, that tears shall drowned the fantasy pleasure, that deceived / burns, but for a moment! Away and mock the time with fairest show…. False face must hide, what the false heart doth know… The death of each day’s life, sore labour bath, balm of hurt mind, distress sharpened heart, fruitless labour of fractured limbs, surging ocean tears of deemed sight! This is the eyes of the childhood, which fears the painted devil: Within the volume of which time, I have seen hours dreadful and things strange. Those who made good of bad and friends of foes! In experience, entreat me, not to know nor live to see! For in transitory death, every soul shall read the page! Upon the daughters of Eve, they place the fruitless crown and put a barren sceptre in the grasp of a child of the clay Rhetoric: In a second are many Days and in an hour are many Years! What are Days? What are years?