Chide, chide no more away 
The fleeting daughters of the day, 
Nor with impatient thoughts outrun
      The lazy sun, 
Nor think the hours do move too slow;
      Delay is kind, 
   And we too soon shall find
That which we seek, yet fear to know.

   The mystic dark decrees
Unfold not of the Destinies.
Nor boldly seek to antedate 
      The laws of Fate; 
Thy anxious search awhile forbear,
      Suppress thy haste,
   And know that Time at last
Will crown thy hope, or fix thy fear.