How often it is thus with those who sail in life's frail bark, out
upon the ocean of time. The morning may be calm and serene, and the
golden sun shed his glad beams upon our joyous pathway, or the pale
moon may walk forth in her beauty, accompanied by all the hosts of
twinkling stars, to gladden the night, while gentle winds sigh around
our dwellings, and we may pass on in the sunshine and the calm. But
clouds will arise, tempests will come, for the waves and billows of
human passions will surge over us, and many a frail bark is shattered
and stranded beneath their giant strength.
Weary pilgrim in life's rugged journey, there is a haven of peace,
where thy worn spirit may find rest. There is a chart to guide thee
over the troubled sea, and a pilot stands ready to steer thy little
bark aright.
His beams can ever shed a cheering ray upon thy toilsome way; and, oh,
may you see light in his light.
The broad ocean of eternity lays before us; into that must our little
shallop pass, and meet its final award. This, this is all that is
worth living for--happy entrance into the presence of God, that
"We may bathe our weary souls,
In seas of heavenly rest."
The Fatal Feast.
Wealth would have a birth-day ball,
A high and lordly feast:
And open'd wide his spacious hall,
And ask'd in many a guest.
They came--the trifling ones of earth,--
A gay and thoughtless throng,
To join in revelry and mirth,
With music, dance and song.
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