In this life we find alternate day and night,
Not always darkness, sure not always light;
’Tis well it should be so, we’re travellers here,
Home, that “sweet home,” the Christian’s place of rest,
Rises by faith to view when most distressed:
Oh! this life past—mayst thou find entrance there.
Perplexed, distressed, sick, or by friends betrayed,
Beset with snares, deprived of human aid,
In all thy sorrows whatsoe’er they be,
Go to the Saviour, tell him all thy need,
Entreat his pity, he’s a friend indeed;
Lay hold by faith on Him, and he will succor thee.
Oh, do not live for this dull world alone,
When with the Angels thou mayst find a home.
As the shadows of evening around me are falling,
With its dark sombre curtain outspread,
And night’s just at hand, chilly night so appalling,
And day’s brilliant sunshine hath fled,
It is e’en so with me, for the eve of my day
Has arrived, yet I scarcely know how;
Bright morn hath departed, and noon passed away,
And ’tis evening, pale eve with me now.
Oh! where are the friends who in life’s early
With me did their journey commence;
Some are estranged, while some few still remain,
And others departed long since.
And when I too, like them, shall be summoned away,
And the shadows of death on me fall,
Be thou the Great Shepherd of Israel but near,
My Saviour, my God, and my all.
And though the “dark valley” we all must
Yet surely no evil can harm
The sheep, when the Shepherd is walking there too,
And supports them by his mighty arm.
Oh! my Redeemer, wilt thou be with me then,
And food for my journey provide,
Divide the dark waters of Jordan again,
And safe in thy bosom me hide.
Though wild beasts of the desert may roar long and
And the billows of ocean rise high,
With thy rod and thy staff for my strength and support,
I shall pass them in safety all by.
And having crossed Jordan, on Canaan’s bright
With what joy shall I take a survey,
And reflect that the dangers of life are all o’er,
And with unclouded vision enjoy evermore
The bright sun of an endless day.
Weston, Feb. 4, 1852.
Merry, merry little child,
Active, playful, sometimes wild;
Rosy cheeks, and ringlets rare,
Glossy black, with eyes compare.
All, all these belong to thee,
Right pleasant little Margerie.
Every good, dear child, be given
Thee on earth, and rest in heaven.
But who thy future lot can see?
All, every page is hid from me;
Xtended through eternity,
Thy life so late begun will be.