Another day my memory holds as sacred,—
Marking its year and date I've set a cross,
That tells a double tale of faith's completeness,
And sorrow's tears when first I knew my loss.
Marking its year and date I've set a cross,
That tells a double tale of faith's completeness,
And sorrow's tears when first I knew my loss.
Linked one by one, a chain of days engirdleth
The round of duties making up our life,—
Now fair with peace, and gemmed with pearls of gladness,
Now, woeful dark with grief and doubt's dull strife.
The round of duties making up our life,—
Now fair with peace, and gemmed with pearls of gladness,
Now, woeful dark with grief and doubt's dull strife.
And He who views the end from the beginning,
Watches our way with love's own pitying care;
And knows that evening will be sweet with praises,
Whose morn was hallowed with the voice of prayer.
Watches our way with love's own pitying care;
And knows that evening will be sweet with praises,
Whose morn was hallowed with the voice of prayer.
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