Young hands have gathered brighter flowers
From wisdom's pleasant tree--
But darker still the shadows fall,
There are no flowers for me!
No flowers! where shadows deepest lie
Amid the wint'ry gloom,
Thank God, I see with kindling eye
The Rose of Sharon bloom!
It is enough--my earthly hopes
Are fading one by one;
My God and my Redeemer lives,
And may his will be done.
I know that in a better world
I shall look back and say
I never could have reached my home
By any other way.
And such a home! no frightful dreams,
No wakings to despair--
No cries of--God remove the cup,
Or give me strength to bear!
No pillows wet with burning tears,--
No longings wild and vain
To wander in the pleasant fields,
Or dear old woods again!
But love and peace, and endless joy,
And rest to me how strange!
Lord give me patience to await
The happy, happy change!
THE MIXED CUP.
Joy and sorrow, are they not mingled in every cup? We call some happy,
others unfortunate; and so they appear to us. But could we draw aside
the curtain that conceals the mysteries of the human heart what
problems would be solved, and how often we should be lead to exclaim,
"God dealeth justly: pain and pleasure are more equally distributed
than we imagined"! But this may not be.
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