The purple flush on yonder fell,
The tinkle of that cattle-bell,
Came, and have never come before,
Go, and are gone forevermore.
Our life is held as with a vice,
We cannot do the same thing twice;
Once we may, but not again;
Only memories remain.
What if memories vanish too,
And the past be lost to view;
Is it all for nought that I
Heard and saw and hurried by?
Where are childhood's merry hours,
Bright with sunshine, crossed with showers?
Are they dead, and can they never
Come again to life forever?
No--'t is false, I surely trow;
Though awhile they vanish now;
Every passion, deed, and thought
Was not born to come to nought!
Will the past then come again,
Rest and pleasure, strife and pain,
All the heaven and all the hell?
Ah, we know not: God can tell.
_GOOD WORDS_.
* * * * *
HUMILITY.
The bird that soars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing
Sings in the shade, where all things rest;
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.
When Mary chose "the better part,"
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet;
And Lydia's gently opened heart
Was made for God's own temple meet:
Fairest and best adorned is she
Whose clothing is humility.
The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown,
In deepest adoration bends:
The weight of glory bows him down
Then most, when most his soul ascends:
Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of humility.
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