As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to his musings,
Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered home.
And though he often sin, he returneth with weeping eyes:
For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer gratitude.
Thus did he walk in happiness, and sorrow was a stranger to his soul;
The light of affection sunned his heart, the tear of the grateful bedewed his feet,
He put his hand with constancy to good, and angels knew him as a brother,
And the busy satellites of evil trembled as at God's ally:
He used his wealth as a wise steward, making him friends for futurity:
He bent his learning to religion, and religion was with him at the last: