Think not, my child, life's stream will always flow so bright, Or pleasure's sunny beam will never lose its light; Think not you ne'er will see life's scene with winter bound, Or from its brown and faded tree the leaves all dropping round: God changes weal to woe, and sunny things makes dim, Lest, loving earth below, your heart be turned from Him; He bids affliction lower to break your thoughtless pride, And makes you by each wintry hour draw closer to His side. Through pathways dark and strange, through sorrow and through gloom, He leads you to a realm of light beyond the silent tomb; And by each gloomy night He sends you kindly warning To wait the everlasting light that cometh in the morning. Oh wait, until the spring in those unfading bowers You know your Lord is at the end,—and all is light with Him. R. W. EVANS. The Cuckoo. "Where self and pleasure are but one, F. W. FABER. W ITHOUT a home, without a nest, With no parental love possessed, A creature all alone,— He tells of selfish pleasures That love abroad to roam, Where the heart can have no treasures, Because it knows no home. This world, my child, hath many a voice That calls to idle pleasure, And bids the thoughtless heart rejoice In hours of selfish leisure; And not in that which dwells within, The holy peace of spirits blest, And there are watching day and night Who'll open wide those portals bright, This world can never meet the need And though they speak of flowerets strewn Like the hoarse cuckoo heard in June, They'd be a weary song. R. W. EVANS. Song of the Goldfinch. SING to my mate on her mossy nest Beneath the chestnut spray; And I strive to gladden her anxious breast With my merry and simple lay : For she feels no fear When I am near, And oh, as each soothing note I try, How soft is the glance of her hazel eye. And I sing to Him in my thankful mirth Whose hand is nigh Where'er I fly, Holding me up, as the pinion light In the warm nest as I naked lay On my wings He rolled A bar of gold, And He sent me forth, when all was done, I fled far and wide, rejoicing and free, For the tall fir's cone, And the thistle down, And the groundsel mean, with its feathered seed, All wait in their turn to supply my need. Thus merry within the chestnut grove To Him my voice I raise; And full in the depths of its thankful tone, My heart beats forth in praise. Through the dark night I am in His sight, And all day long is His love display'd There is one that watches for you, my child, And follows by day your motions wild, Goes Oh, soothe her care, For a daily prayer up from that anxious mother's breast, That thou, the child of her love, be blest. And oh, there is One that dwells above, Beyond all sight and thought, Who gave to that mother her ceaseless love, And in her bosom wrought An image true Where thou may'st view The type of a love no time can strain, Clasping thee round with a viewless chain. |