Many aching hearts may yearn,
Many lamps till midnight burn,
But I never shall return,
When I depart.
Trembling, fearing, sorely tried,
Waiting for the ebbing tide,
Who, oh! who will be my guide
When I depart?
Once the river cold and black
Rolled its waves affrighted back,—
I shall see a shining track
When I depart.
There my God and Saviour passed,
He will be my guide at last,—
Clinging to his merits fast,
I shall depart.
—Written in 1858.
TIME FLIES.
Tears are coming, years are going,
Be they fraught with joy or pain,—
Like a river they are flowing
To the everlasting main!
On the banks are thorns and roses,
And we take of both a share
Till the ocean round us closes,
And we drop our anchor—where?
If the future were uncertain,
If across the mighty deep,
Brushing back the misty curtain
Angel pinions did not sweep,—
If there were no bright to-morrow
For our day of toil and strife,
Burdened with its weight of sorrow,
What a curse were human life!