"There goes a gentle angel
Throughout this earthly land,
To comfort all earth's sorrows
Sent by the Father's hand;
And in his look is quiet,
And mercy soft and mild—
O, follow him forever,
Patience, the Angel Child!
Reply he hath not always
In answer to thy quest:
'Endurance' is still his motto,
Not far the place of rest;—
And so, without much speaking,
He journeys by thy side,
And thinks but of the fair, grand goal,
Far in the distance wide."
Oh Life, what would'st thou be worth but for the hereafter! Liable at any moment to be clouded by sorrow, thy sunniest hours are but a passing dream! Thy happiest memories chilled by some poignant regret, thy noblest aspirations checked by the promptings of distrust or inefficiency, thy highest sense of duty overpowered by timid counsels, thou art one continued struggle between heaven-born impulses on the one side, and earth-bound propensities on the other. Aye, but it is for the hereafter thou wast created.
What we call life is only birth;—birth of the spirit-life, the soul,
First link in the chain of being, part of one harmonious whole.
Through toil and sacrifice; up the rugged ascent
