  By Mrs. EMILY J. BUGBEE. All’s lost, do we say? When the stars of earthly hope go down, When the light fades out in shadows gray, When thorns grow sharp on the rugged ground, And the birds of the summer flee away? What’s lost? Why, only our little throne of pride, Only the outward trappings of life, Only the friends that could not abide, When sunshine faded and storms were rife. What’s left? Why God! and His true Heaven above, The glory of earth, and sea and air, The deathless pulse in His heart of love, And we to His grand estate are heir. Infinite gain: The riches that never more take wing, The gold wrought out in the furnace fire, The strength that is born of suffering, And the upward lift of the soul’s desire. decorative line
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