Tears are coming, years are going,
Be they fraught with joy or pain,—
Like a river they are flowing
To the everlasting main!

On the banks are thorns and roses,
And we take of both a share
Till the ocean round us closes,
And we drop our anchor—where?

If the future were uncertain,
If across the mighty deep,
Brushing back the misty curtain
Angel pinions did not sweep,—

If there were no bright to-morrow
For our day of toil and strife,
Burdened with its weight of sorrow,
What a curse were human life!

Locks are whitening, cheeks are paling,
With each month and year that flies;
Youth and vigor both are failing,
But the spirit never dies!

Short indeed is our probation,
Dark and certain is the tomb,—
But the Lamp of revelation
Dissipates the fearful gloom.

Oh, we take our life too sadly,
Ever grieve and mourn too much,
Turn to ashes what would gladly
Turn to gold beneath our touch.

'Tis because that in our blindness
We imagine God is blind,—
'Tis because we doubt his kindness,
That we cannot be resigned.

Nature cries amid the trials
That beset our thorny path:
"God outpoureth all the vials
Of his anger and his wrath!"

Such complaints are more surprising
Since the declaration runs:
"If ye be without chastising,
Then indeed, ye are not sons."

All our future course He seeth
Better than we see our past,
And whatever he decreeth
We shall understand at last.

Let us then in our affliction
Meekly trust our gracious Lord,—
Well assured his benediction
Will ere long be our reward.

Let us beautify the present,—
There is much we all can do
That will make the year more pleasant,
For ourselves and others too.