Ah! then will our sky be without a cloud. All joyous and happy will
we tune our harps anew to the praise of Him who loved us and hath
given us the victory!
AN ANGEL OF PATIENCE.
BESIDE the toilsome way,
Lowly and sad, by fruits and flowers unblest,
Which my lone feet tread sadly, day by day,
Longing in vain for rest,
An angel softly walks,
With pale, sweet face, and eyes cast meekly down,
The while from withered leaves and flowerless stalks
She weaves my fitting crown.
A sweet and patient grace,
A look of firm endurance true and tried,
Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her face,
So pure--so glorified.
And when my fainting heart
Desponds and murmurs at its adverse fate,
Then quietly the angel's bright lips part,
Murmuring softly, "Wait!"
"Patience!" she meekly saith--
"Thy Father's mercies never come too late;
Gird thee with patient strength and trusting faith,
And firm endurance wait!"
THE GRANDFATHER'S ADVICE.
IT was a golden sunset, which was fondly gazed upon by an old man on
whose broad brow the history of seventy winters had been written.
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