This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
GLIMPSES.
227
No changing seasons dim the light
Of stars that peep through ether bright.

Fair as they shone on Eden bowers
They glint above these homes of ours.

Smiling through tears, we gaze on them,
And think of star-crowned Bethlehem.

Dim must the eye be, deaf the ear,
Which cannot see, that will not hear;

When each frail flower some moral teaches,
Each Autumn leaf a sermon preaches.

From withered grass, from garnered grain,
From gathered fruit, comes this refrain—

Our Heaven-appointed earth-work done,
We pass from sight, as sets the sun.

Change is Progression, all things show,
And death is birth, as all shall know.