To seek eternal bliss
Within time's narrow span,
Is man's best int'rest;--only this
Can form the future man.
Let dying mortals then
Their foolish dreams forsake;
Unto their rest return again,
And Christ their refuge make.
Then, even timid youth
May smile upon the tomb;
And festive moments welcome truth,
Though clad in robes of gloom.
By Jesus' death, is broke
Death's dark and powerful spell;
And, while to Him by faith we look,
We know that all is well.
"While meeting the little company my soul was blest. O for spiritual
discernment and grace, that I may be truly helpful to them, and deal
faithfully. Visited a dying person who says, she dare not rest on
Jesus;--yet HE is a tower."
ON THE DEATH OF POPE PIUS XIII.
His Holiness, the Pope,
Hath yielded up his breath;
He, who could sins forgive,
Hath no command o'er death;
How wonderful! such power to have,
And yet to sink into the grave!
If sin, the sting of Death,
His Holiness could draw;
Why render up His breath
Unto a conquered foe?
Either, he fallible must be,
Or sin hath gained the victory.
"I am thankful for the decision of character I feel. My daily want is
more of the love 'that conquers all, and every mountain moves.'--My
private communings with God are my most precious seasons. There I
can tell all my wants, unbosom all my griefs, reveal all my secrets,
expose all my temptations, and there the Lord graciously condescends
to visit me with fresh manifestations of His love and power.
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