The moments around, with its tick and stroke,
Nor hastes for the festal, nor lags for the yoke.
And grandmother never repines at her fate
Of being the last at the "Crystal Gate."
Husband, and daughters, and sons all there,
Wearing the "crown and the garments fair"
Singing the songs that will never tire,
And swelling the chorus of heaven's choir;
But patiently, hopefully, bides the time
That shall bring her at last to a fairer clime.