Page:Poems Ryan.djvu/37

While joys like oases green,
Ofttimes on the vast waste are seen

Or like a bird singing in glee,
Though shot in sport, falls from its tree,

So at the zenith of my joy
In fortune's hand I seemed a toy;

And into woe's deep pit was cast
To bear alone its fiery blast.

But dust to dust is God's decree
To things of earth whate'er they be;

And he who stores his treasures here,
Like bubbles sees them disappear.

So, well for us, that each some day
At death's dark door, life's ills can lay;

With sorrows, tears, and griefs all o'er,
E'en lost in joy forevermore.

For if to self we but prove true,
From Sharon's rose we'll sip the dew.

In the darkest gloom of night
We'll see by faith a distant light,

And hear a voice, "All's well with thee,
True to thyself and true to me."