Years may the beautiful destroy, The joy of youth, without a care Is beautiful, and bright and fair, The joy of Spring is told in song, But other days to life belong, Far other strains requiring. The joy of health, how true its worth! The mainspring of endeavour! The joy of wealth ascends and sings, Yet there's a joy that never dies, To godly spirits given; By faith they draw it from the skies, And it draws them to heaven. THIS is a cheerful time-this time of harvest. It is a thankful time too-that of harvest, Is put into the bank, in hope of interest. A HYMN OF HARVEST HOME. The first life death e'er reaped on earth, The Hebrew in the days of old, He who both giveth life and breath, Up! let the offering--heart-own'd song- He to the sowing season lent He bade the summer days hold out The four winds of the world in check Were held by angel hands, That grass might clothe, and fair flowers deck, And fruit enrich the lands. Oh! then at harvest home give thanks; For that his shining angel ranks Because no good thing comes to earth PEACE. AND thou hast been in trouble-been in debt; Hast had to do with sickness-had to war With what is difficult, or stern, or stormy. All that is gone, and quietness has come. Thou art now solvent, and, instead of fear, Hast found the calm of owing nought to any! The difficult is overcome, and on the bankThe blooming bank of credit, thou hast rest! Health has come back, and with it a young sense Of soft enjoyment, fair as infant pleasure! Thou hast the battle braved; what then of peace? Tell us in singing if 't is worth the having. PEACE. O Peace is a treasure of truthful cheer, It keepeth apart from the pain of war, It sheddeth a charm on the cheerful Spring, 'T is a blessing that cometh to favour'd lands, From the place where the throne of the Highest stands, Who dwelleth in temples not made with hands, In the land of the last release; And O, when the tempest has blown its last, O then for the glory of peace! |