WHERE WILT THOU.
Where wilt thou put thy trust?
In a frail form of clay,
That to its element of dust
Must soon resolve away?
Where will thou cast thy care?
Upon an erring heart,
Which hath its own sore ills to bear,
And shrinks from sorrow's dart?
No! place thy trust above
This shadowy realm of night,
In Him, whose boundless power and love
Thy confidence invite.
His mercies still endure
When skies and stars grow dim,
His changeless promise standeth sure,
Go,—cast thy care on Him.
—Mrs. Sigourney.