She was like the lovely Star, whose light around my pathway shone,
  Amid this darksome vale of tears through which I journey on;
  No radiance had obscured the light, which round His throne doth dwell,
  And I wandered far away from Him, who “doeth all things well.”

  That star went down, in beauty, yet, it shineth, sweetly now,
  In the bright and dazzling coronet that decks the Saviour’s brow,
  She bowed to that destroyer, whose shafts none may repel;
  But we know, for God has told us, that “He doeth all things well.”

  I remember well, my sorrow, as I stood beside her bed,
  And my deep and heartfelt anguish when they told me she was dead. 
  And, oh! that cup of bitterness—­but let not this heart rebel,
  God gave; he took; he can restore; “He doeth all things well.”

HOW OLD ART THOU?

  Count not the days that have idly flown,
  The years that were vainly spent;
  Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own,
  When thy spirit stands before the throne
    To account for the talents lent.

  But number the hours redeemed from sin,
  The moments employed for heaven;
  Oh, few and evil thy days have been,
  Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene,
    For a nobler purpose given.

  Will the shade go back on thy dial plate? 
  Will thy sun stand still on his way? 
  Both hasten on, and thy spirit’s fate
  Rests on the point of life’s little date,
    Then live while ’tis called to-day.

  Life’s waning hours, like the Sybil’s page,
  As they lessen, in value rise;
  Oh, then rouse thee, and live nor deem that man’s age
  Stands in the length of his Pilgrimage,
    But in days that are truly wise.

ON TIME.

  Who needs a teacher to admonish him
  That flesh is grass! that earthly things, but mist! 
  What are our joys, but dreams?  And what our hopes? 
  But goodly shadows in the summer cloud? 
  There’s not a wind that blows, but bears with it
  Some rainbow promise.  Not a moment flies,
  But puts its sickle in the fields of life,
  And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares.

  ’Tis but as yesterday, since on those stars,
  Which now I view, the Chaldean shepherd gazed,
  In his mid watch observant, and disposed
  The twinkling hosts, as fancy gave them shape;
  Yet, in the interim, what mighty shocks
  Have buffeted mankind; whole nations razed,
  Cities made desolate; the polished sunk
  To barbarism, and once barbaric states,
  Swaying the wand of science and of arts. 
  Illustrious deeds and memorable names,
  Blotted from record, and upon the tongues
  Of gray tradition, voluble no more.