The speaker doesn’t fear Time — he taunts it. He commands Time to fly, to hurry those leaden hours along, to glut itself on everything false and empty, because none of it truly matters. The loss is small, he insists, and Time’s gain even smaller. There’s a defiant, almost triumphant energy here. Eventually, Time will entomb every bad thing and then, having nothing real to feed on, greedily consume itself. Once that happens, eternity swoops in with a deeply personal kiss, and joy floods over the soul like a wave. All that is sincerely good — truth, peace, love — will shine forever around God’s throne. The heavenly-guided soul sheds its earthly grossness, is dressed in stars, and sits in triumph over Death, Chance, and Time. The opening scorn gives way to serene, exalted confidence, leaving you with the feeling of someone already seated in that radiant victory, looking back at the fleeting hours and laughing.
On Time — Summary
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace; And glut thy self with what thy womb devours, Which is no more then what is false and vain, And meerly mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine About the supreme Throne Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone, When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime, Then all this Earthy grosnes quit, Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.