A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Just as of old! The world rolls on and on;
The day dies into night - night into dawn -
Dawn into dusk - through centuries untold. -
Just as of old.

Time loiters not. The river ever flows,
Its brink or white with blossoms or with snows;
Its tide or warm with Spring or Winter cold:
Just as of old.

Lo! where is the beginning, where the end
Of living, loving, longing? Listen, friend! -
God answers with a silence of pure gold -
Just as of old.

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