How awful is that hour, when conscience | Skeptic, whoe'er thou art, tell if thou knowest, stings Tell why on unknown evil grief attends, The hoary wretch, who on his death-bed Or joy on secret good? Why conscience acts hears, With tenfold force when sickness, age, or pain Deep in his soul, the thundering voice, that Stands tottering on the precipice of death? rings, Or why such horror gnaws the guilty soul In one dark, damning moment, crimes of Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires? years, CONSOLATION. God's ways seem dark, but soon or late WHITTIER. No groan creation heaves is heaved in vain, That which is added to the troubled past Is taken from the future, whose sad store Grows less and less each day, till soon the last Dull wave of woe shalt break upon our shore. BONAR. Hear what God the Lord hath spoken: "O my people, faint and few, Comfortless, afflicted, broken, Fair abodes I build for you; Thorns of heartfelt tribulation Shall no more perplex your ways; You shall name your walls Salvation, And your gates shall all be Praise." COWPER. Where now with pain thou treadest, trod WHITTIER. Ye who shrink 'Neath time's adversities, the weary months That all things, all, shall work their good who love The Father of their spirits. MRS. SIGOURNEY. Sure stands the promise, ever to the meek A heritage is given; Nor lose they earth, who, single-hearted, seek The righteousness of heaven. WHITTIER. O! there is never sorrow of heart If but to God we turn, and ask WORDSWORTH. All are not taken; there are left behind Living beloveds, tender looks to bring, And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind. 61 But if it were not so-if I could find And if, before those sepulchers unmoving, We sow in tears; but let us keep Our faith in God, and trust him still; No mortal tongue its glory can declare; Changeless and deep and pure, That shall be ours, if here the cross we bear. From the German of HEERMAN. Soon, and forever, The work shall be done, The warfare accomplished, The victory won; Soon, and forever, The soldier lay down His sword for a harp, And his cross for a crown. Then droop not in sorrow, Despond not in fear, A glorious to-morrow Is brightening and near; When, blessed reward Of each faithful endeavor, Christians with Christ shall be, Soon, and forever. J. B. MONSELL. |