In fancy I can see many of my young readers, after a well-spent life,
gathered in ripe old age on the banks of old Time's-river, waiting in
bright hope to be summoned over to their rich possessions in the verdant
fields of heaven.
There is nothing more of death than this to a Christian. I pray that
the life of many of you will end like this. I believe it will be so.
Amen.
A strange, sweet vision fills my soul,
A glimpse of glory and of God;
Am I not near life's final goal?
My feet scarce touch this mortal sod.
The zephyrs blow divinely sweet,
With fragrance fill the balmy air;
Are heav'n and earth about to meet?
Who can this vision bright declare?
I hear the notes of seraph song,
The rustle of an angel's wing;
Do signs like these to earth belong?
Do men and angels meet to sing?
Life's journey seems about complete;
I con it well, yet know not why.
My heart with longings is replete,
And yet I do not long to die.
A holy calm my bosom fills,
And silence like the hush of morn;
Such joy through all my being thrills
As swept men's hearts when Christ was born.
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