The Old Measure - Daniel Martin Moore

As a sigh comes finally

At the end of a regret

Some things are just impossible

To forget

My affections and reflections

The many irons in a lasting burn

And each extracts its due

In its own turn

Our small measure, the old measure

Our muscle our mettle our nerve

May temper but can’t change

What we deserve

I have read by my own dim light

And of these matters at hand

I recount to you

What truths i can

Our small measure, the old measure

Our muscle our mettle our nerve

May temper but can’t change

What we deserve