And when I reach the sea of death,
    To sail its silent waters o’er,
    This thought shall calm my latest breath
    And waft me to the golden shore. 
    Not only that my Savior died,
    The atoning lamb on Calvary,
    But—­was there ever love so wide?—­
    Still lives and intercedes for me.

EVE’S FLOWERS

    Eve must have wept to leave her flowers,
    And plucked some roots to tell
    Of Eden’s happy, sinless bowers,
    Where she in bliss did dwell.

    Roses and lilies, pansies gay,
    Violets with azure eyes,
    Her favorites must have been, for they
    Seem born in paradise.

    And when they drooped, did she not sigh
    And kiss their petals fair,
    Thinking, “Alas, ye too must die
    And in our sorrow share”?

    And then perhaps unto her soul
    This answer sweet was given,
    “Like you we fade and perish here;
    For you we’ll bloom in heaven.”

    Roses and lilies are the type
    Of him who from above,
    The lamb of God, gave up his life,
    A sacrifice of love.

    He was her hope in those sad hours
    Of blight and sure decay;
    The sin that drove her from her flowers
    His blood could wash away.

COME UNTO ME

    “Come unto me!” Ah, gentlest word
    E’er breathed in human ear! 
    “I am thy Savior and thy Lord;
    Dear child, thou need’st not fear.

    “Come unto me in sorrow’s hour
    When life seems dark and drear;
    I’ll shield thee from the tempter’s power;
    Dear child, thou need’st not fear.

    “Come unto me when hopes have flown
    Like leaves wind-swept and sere,
    When every joy thou may’st bemoan;
    Dear child, thou need’st not fear.

    “Come unto me.  I’ll give thee rest,
    Will wipe away each tear;
    Come lean thy head upon my breast;
    Dear child, thou need’st not fear.”

NOVEMBER

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice.—­Psalm 5:11.

    November is so drear and chill
    Whilst making leafless branch and tree,
    Whilst sweeping over vale and hill
    With all her doleful minstrelsy. 
    November wails the summer’s death
    In such a melancholy voice,
    She has a withering, blighting breath;
    She does not bid the heart rejoice.

    Yet why repine, thou stricken one? 
    Grief is the common fate of all. 
    This the refrain beneath the sun: 
    Mortals must die, and leaves must fall. 
    They’ll live again, the leaves and flowers,
    When spring returns to bless the earth;
    They’ll waken ’neath her sunny hours
    Through nature’s touch to beauteous birth.