LIFE'S DISCIPLINE. N hours of overhanging gloom The seasons roll away, December's shades the life entomb Whose years are in their May: Affection, with strong trees of love, Encamped my cot around, But Death's keen axe in that fair grove Has never ceased to sound. Those stalwart guardians erect No more my vision meet, No more their bowering shades protect My home from western heat; Their merriment of rustling leaves Delights and cheers no more; The unchecked gale my casement cleaves, Unhindered rains inpour. What if my joy had been unchecked, Life always bright and gay; If no fair project had been wrecked, No loved friend torn away, These days had been too free from pain For mortal life to be, And not a fitting school to train For immortality. Let me then own God's perfect skill And pleasure with the pain; Who makes life not too short nor long; And as our wisest Friend Builds up our frames not weak nor strong To fit His purposed end. THE POWER OF THE WORLD TO COME. HENE'ER apart I meditate On blessed service, deep repose, Of that unknown transcendent state, Prepared in highest heaven for those Who in their brief career below, I count Earth's varied sufferings, TRUST. HY should I fear these woes that flock, 'Tis but the shadow of that Rock 'Neath which I rest. Is not this portal to the tomb Better, than if, 'mid leaf and bloom Let me not then in rebel rage Nor beat my wings against the cage When faith is drooping to expire, And round my back foams seething spray, The midnight waves are bright with fire Unseen by day. As blind men walk the well-known street, As sentries pace th' accustomed beat, Thus, let us climb th' ascent of Pain, Better His pruning blade should hack Each useless bough, each wayward shoot; If their luxuriance caused a lack Of heavenly fruit. |