Revolution of All Things

The gentle primrose leads the train Of vernal flow'rs that grace the plain; The daisy and the vi'let lead The summer-blooms that scent the mead; The last of winter's hardy train Lead on the laughing spring again, Nor first nor last we clearly trace In the bright perennial race. All, all, in endless circles run To the point where they begun. The planets whirl, the sun about, Nor tell us where they first set out; All living things new shoots supply, And only in the old ones die. Mortals quickly, too, advance, In the never-ceasing dance; Men ever in their offspring live, And as they get still freely give; Like the swift night-racing band, Who bear the torch from hand to hand, Giving life and labour o'er To the youths who run before. All, all, in endless circles run To the point where they begun, Nor first nor last we clearly trace In the bright perennial race.