Amidst this array comes the solemn thought stealing,
That these glowing colors will soon pass away.
Each rude blast of wind seems a passing bell pealing,
And loudly is calling all Christians to pray.
For full preparation, ere Death comes to call them
To lay all earth's cares and sweet pleasures aside;
That they may be happy whatever befall them,
Still trusting in Jesus, the Lamb who hath died.
HIS SONG TO A RILL.
Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill,
Murm'ring softly down this hill,
Oft I list thy charming voice,
At the bright and early morn,
As the Sun comes from the East,
While his beams these scenes adorn,
To furnish minds like mine a feast.
Sweetly musical, pure Rill,
Thou dost me with pleasure fill.
As I note thy varied charms
Dulcet sounds fall on my ear,
Soothing much a saddened heart;
Easing me of grief and fear,
Till I grieve from thee to part.
Modest, unassuming Rill,
Thou art formed by matchless skill.
Grace and beauty are displayed
In thy ever-smiling face
And the objects which surround
This thy home; where I can trace
Traits to make this hallowed ground.
Lively, joyous, trickling Rill!
As I gaze upon thee still,
Wanders back my mind afar
To those haunts of boyish days,
When my young and ardent soul
Warbled forth its earnest lays,
Gladly following Nature's call.
Glittering, dancing, pearly Rill!
Thou dost well thy Maker's will
In regarding his behest.
Teaching Christians all the way
They must take to please their God;
Lest in dangerous paths they stray,
And bring upon themselves his Rod.
Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill,
Murm'ring softly down this hill,
I must bid thee now farewell;
Other scenes my presence claim.
My dear Master's work demands
What will bring no earthly fame—
The labor of my heart and hands.