As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more. Psalm ciii. v. 15 and 16. How frail the joys humanity can boast! The fairest are but blossoms of to-day. To-morrow that we love and value most May drop its withering head and fade away. The homeward sailor sees the morn arise Serene; its radiance gilds the Ocean o'er Lulls every fear, and leads his longing eyes To hail the prospect of his native shore. Yet e'er the evening or the noon shall come, A passing cloud may the calm Ocean swell, Obscure the visage of his much-lov❜d home, And from his lips require the last farewell! Not so the joys that lie beyond the tomb ! Joys-that no change nor chances can control; Joys-that the chambers of the grave illume, And shed eternal sunshine on the soul. |