The leaves, around me falling,
Are preaching decay,
The hollow winds are calling,
“Come, pilgrim, come away!”
The day, in night, declining,
Says I must, too, decline;
The year, its life resigning,-
Its lot foreshadows mine.
The light my path surrounding,
The loves, to which I cling,
The hopes within me bounding,
The joys that round me wing,-
All melt, like stars of even,
Before the morning’s ray,
Pass upward unto heaven,
And chide at my delay.
The friends, gone there before me,
Are calling from on high;
And joyous angels o’er me
Tempt sweetly to the sky:
“Why wait,” they say, “and wither
‘Mid scenes of death and sin?
O rise to glory, hither,
And find true life begin.”
I hear the invitation,
And fain would rise and come,-
A sinner, to salvation;
An exile, to his home:
But, while I here must linger,
Thus, thus let all I see
Point on, with faithful finger,
To heaven, O Lord, and thee.
Henry F. Lyte
Light after darkness,
Gain after loss,
Strength after weakness,
Crown after cross,
Sweet after bitter,
Hope after fears,
Home after wand’ring,
Praise after tears.
Sheaves after sowing,
Sun after rain,
Sight after myst’ry,
Peace after pain,
Joy after sorrow,
Calm after blast,
Rest after weariness,
Sweet rest at last.
Near after distant,
Gleam after gloom,
Love after loneliness,
Life after tomb;
After long agony
Rapture and bliss;
Right was the pathway
Leading to this.
Miss F. R. Havergal
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