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184
poems.
  And as his weary feet
Turn fondly to his home at close of day,
So may thy heart with holy rapture beat,
  To tread death's heavenward way.

  God keep thy soul in love,
Strong through the conquering energy of prayer,
Till gathered to His ministry above,
  Thy Saviour greets thee there.




"IT IS WELL."
It is not when to mortal sight,
Earth's glittering day-dreams seem most bright,
Not when its smiles are all our own,
Are Faith's sublimest triumphs known.
When summer skies, with golden ray,
Illume the flowers that strew our way,
How easy from our joy's full cell,
Gush the sweet accents, "it is well!"

But when, in speechless wo, the heart
Sees one by one its hopes depart,
And earth's most rich and radiant bloom
Lies scentless in its early tomb;
Then through the might of him whose word
The raging waves obedient heard,