This is a soiled and blighted world!
Its joys are poisoned at their source!
Within its roses worms are curled,
Who work with sure, though silent, force;
It carries in its seeds decay,
And all its glories fade away.
How vain the thought, for man to strive,
And fix his roots for blessing here,
Where only worthless weeds can thrive,
And flaunting flowers a moment cheer;
Where all is fleeting as a stream,
And unsubstantial as a dream.
Yet I, like others, once assayed
To find on earth the flower of bliss;
I sought beneath the sun and shade,
O ‘or hill, through vale, by dread abyss;
But though I sought with earnest power,
I never found the unfailing flower.
At length, with sad and sickening heart,
And many wounds from thorns and briers,
With nothing that could heal their smart,
Or quench my bosom’s fervent fires,
I felt the weight of woe and care,
And well-nigh perished in despair.
But One there was—His name, how blest!
The Saviour—God, who dwells on high!
Who saw my bruised and burdened breast,
And looked on me with pitying eye:
He led my soul His Son to see
In death upon the cross for me.
And then He drew my eyes above,
And showed that One upon His throne;
And thus I knew that God was love,
And He had claimed me for His own.
He kissed me with the Father’s kiss,
And led me to the fount of bliss.
And though awhile I tread the waste,
The desert whence no water flows,
Of heavenly joys I freely taste,
Which cheer my heart, and soothe its woes;
But soon shall I, my journey o’er,
Have joy unmixed for evermore.
T.