Time
A Sharpened Scythe
The speaker confronts Time about its dull scythe, and Time replies that most people find it already too sharp.
Meeting Time—that lazy thing—I said, "Your scythe is dull; sharpen it for shame."1 "No wonder, Sir," he replied, "if in the end it deserves some blame. But where one man would have me grind it, twenty find it too sharp already."2
From Hatchet to Pruning Knife
Time reflects that for those who loved this life, its scythe was a hatchet, but Christ's coming has transformed it into a pruning knife that makes man grow better.
Perhaps there were people like that long ago who loved this life above everything else—people for whom your scythe was a hatchet, but now is only a pruning knife. Christ's coming has made man your debtor, since through your cutting he grows better.
The Gardener and the Usher
Time is blessed through Christ, becoming a gardener and an usher that carries souls beyond the stars.
And in his blessing you are blessed: for where before you were only an executioner at best, you are a gardener now—and more, an usher to carry our souls beyond the farthest stars and poles.
The Longing for God
Life feels long because it keeps us from God; pleasures and long days only increase our separation, and to lack God's presence is to share half of hell.
And this is what makes life so long, while it keeps us from our God. Even pleasures here increase the wrong, and length of days lengthens the rod.3 Whoever lacks the place where God dwells already shares half of hell.4
Time's Rebuke
The speaker ponders the strange length of separation from God, but Time interrupts, accusing the speaker of self-deception and craving more time.
How strangely long must that be—so long that even eternity shuts it out! Up to this point Time listened to me patiently. Then, growing impatient, he said, "This man is fooling himself. What am I doing here at his door?" He doesn't want less time—he wants more.
Read the original English
MEeting with Time, slack thing, said I, Thy sithe is dull; whet it for shame. No marvell Sir, he did replie, If it at length deserve some blame: But where one man would have me grinde it, Twentie for one too sharp do finde it.
Perhaps some such of old did passe, Who above all things lov’d this life; To whom thy sithe a hatchet was, Which now is but a pruning knife. Christs coming hath made man thy debter, Since by thy cutting he grows better.
And in his blessing thou art blest: For where thou onely wert before An executioner at best; Thou art a gard’ner now, and more, An usher to convey our souls Beyond the utmost starres and poles.
And this is that makes life so long, While it detains us from our God. Ev’n pleasures here increase the wrong, And length of dayes lengthen the rod. Who wants the place, where God doth dwell, Partakes already half of hell.
Of what strange length must that needs be, Which ev’n eternitie excludes! Thus farre Time heard me patiently: Then chafing said, This man deludes: What do I here before his doore? He doth not crave lesse time, but more.
Notes
- 1 ↩sithe = scythe (Time's traditional blade); slack thing = idle/lazy creature, a colloquial rebuke of Time's slowness.
- 2 ↩grinde it = grind/sharpen the scythe; Twentie for one = twenty for every one (overwhelming majority).
- 3 ↩rod: the rod of chastisement/correction (not a physical staff only); earthly pleasures and long life intensify the affliction of being held from God.
- 4 ↩Early Modern wants means lacks/is without, not desires; rendered as lacks so the sense is not inverted.
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