I do not wish for thee the joys
Which from earth’s pleasures spring;
These give at best a fleeting bliss,
And leave a lasting sting.
I do not wish thee mortal fame—
This, like a meteor bright,
Gleams but a moment on the sky,
And leaves behind no light.
I wish for thee that richer wealth,
No earthly mines reveal,
“Which moth and rust cannot corrupt,
And thief can never steal.”
I wish for thee the sweeter joys,
Which from religion flow;
These have the power to soothe and bless,
In hours of deepest woe.
I wish for thee the honor pure,
Descending from on high;
To lift thy soul away from earth,
And raise it to the sky.
I wish that peace through all thy life,
May on each step attend;
May rapture crown its closing hour,
And perfect bliss its end.
[The Christian’s Anchor.]
How oft when youthful skies are clear,
And joy’s sweet breezes round us play,
We dream that as through life we steer,
The morrow shall be like to-day.
We paint each scene with rainbow hues,
And gaily sail on stormless seas,
While hope, through life’s bright future, views
The port she thinks to make with ease.
But ah! how soon dark clouds of woe
Spread o’er those skies a deepening shade,
And waves of sorrow overflow,
And all the rainbow glories fade.