Time and the hour run through the roughest day.

The poet and seer William Shakespeare, in the tragedy of Macbeth, gave us this immortal line: “Time and the hour run through the roughest day.” These words are not mere ornament to his play, but the distillation of eternal wisdom. They speak to the weary and the burdened, reminding them that no night is so endless, no storm so fierce, that the march of time will not carry them through it. The hours do not halt for sorrow, nor do they pause for pain—they flow ceaselessly, lifting us, often unwillingly, into the dawn of another day.

Shakespeare’s words are uttered in the dark corridors of Macbeth’s ambition and fear. The protagonist, wavering under the weight of his dreadful purpose, consoles himself with the truth that even the most dreadful hours must pass. It is as if Shakespeare, through his character, whispers to all generations: despair not, for even in agony, time moves forward. And with its forward march, it brings relief, change, and the possibility of renewal.

Think upon the trials of Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War. Burdened with defeat after defeat, mocked by his enemies, and haunted by grief at the loss of his young son, he lived through days that seemed unendurable. Yet the clock’s hand never ceased its circle. The battles dragged on, yet with each hour the nation moved closer to resolution. At last, through unrelenting patience and courage, the long night broke into the morning of freedom. Lincoln, whether he knew Shakespeare’s words or not, lived their truth: even the roughest day yields to the turning of the hour.

The ancients, too, understood this. The Stoics of Rome taught that suffering must be endured as one endures the course of the sun across the sky. Marcus Aurelius, philosopher and emperor, wrote in his meditations that one must endure “as a rock endures the waves.” He knew, as Shakespeare knew, that time itself is the healer, and that what seems unbearable in one moment becomes a memory in the next. Thus the soul is preserved by patience, as the body is preserved by breath.

But let us not mistake Shakespeare’s counsel for passivity. To say that “time runs through the roughest day” is not to sit idle and wait. It is to remember that endurance itself is an action, that patience is a weapon, and that hope is a shield. To live through the hard hour is to conquer it, for once it has passed, it can harm you no more. Even the hardest battle cannot outlast the steady march of time.

Therefore, my teaching to you is this: when you feel crushed beneath the weight of grief, labor, or despair, remind yourself of the clock’s unyielding truth. Say to your heart: “This too shall pass.” Anchor your spirit in small acts—one breath, one step, one hour. For as the river wears down stone, so too does the passage of time wear down suffering. No pain, no trial, no rough day can resist forever the march of the hours.

Practical wisdom flows from this truth. When you are lost in sorrow, divide the day into portions, and promise yourself to endure only until the next hour. When your task feels impossible, break it into small labors, trusting that the passage of time will carry you from effort to effort. And when fear grips you in its claws, remind yourself that fear, too, is mortal, bound to the hours as all things are. In this way, you shall overcome.

So take this teaching into your heart, O listener. The days may be rough, and the hours may be cruel, but they are not eternal. All sorrow is bound by the chains of time. All storms yield to the steady march of the clock. Walk faithfully, endure patiently, and know this truth as the ancients knew it: time and the hour run through the roughest day—and with that passage comes the promise of dawn.