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Years may the beautiful destroy,
And may restore it never.
The joy of youth, without a care
To trouble or becloud it,
Is beautiful, and bright and fair,
But darkness will enshroud it.
The joy of Spring is told in song,
Pleasant and love-inspiring;
But other days to life belong,
Far other strains requiring.
The joy of health, how true its worth! The mainspring of endeavour! There's not a truer joy on earth;
But, doth it last for ever?
The joy of wealth ascends and sings,
Fearless of stormy weather;
But riches on their shining wings,
May leave us altogether.
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.
The clusters on the hazel in the hedges,
The blued-black sloe, the berries of the bramble,
The round red hips, and the hurrahs of children,
Heard in the golden sunshine, make it cheerful.
It is a thankful time too-that of harvest,
Because one of receiving. In the Spring
Seed is deposited in earth, as gold
Is put into the bank, in hope of interest.
And here the interest is the principal,
By goodly numbers multiplied! and, hark!
The first life death e'er reaped on earth,
Was gathered into heaven;
And unto Him who gave all birth,
All surely should be given.
He who both giveth life and breath,
And heareth when we call,-
He who redeemeth life from death,
Should have the praise of all.
Up! let the offering--heart-own'd song-
A full-ripe sheaf be given;
Up! thankful peals of praise belong
Unto the God of heaven.
He to the sowing season lent
The seasonable rain-
Freely and mercifully sent
Sunshine on hill and plain.
He bade the summer days hold out
The hope of good to come,—
The good time of the grateful shout
That hails the harvest home.
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;
Praise God's loved name aloud,
For that his shining angel ranks
Kept back the blight and cloud.
Because no good thing comes to earth
That does not come from heaven,
To God who blessing brings to birth,
The glory shall be given.
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.
O Peace is a treasure of truthful cheer,
An angel of harmony good to hear,
A light for the hopeful fair and clear,
A blessing wherever we roam;
It keepeth apart from the pain of war,
It loveth to be where the gentle are,
And brightly as shining of morning star,
It bringeth the sunshine home.
It sheddeth a charm on the cheerful Spring,
Befriendeth the beauty of each fair thing,
And as the bird gathers beneath her wing
Her brood when the night draws nigh,
So careth true peace for the heart's repose,
So guardeth the good from the fear of foes;
And when this life reacheth its earthly close,
Peace goes with the spirit on high.
'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,
And rumours of battle are over and past:
When once and for ever is silenced the blast,
O then for the glory of peace!