God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late, They touch the shining hills of day; The evil cannot brook delay, The good can well afford to wait, Give ermined knaves their hour of crime; Yet have the future grand and great, The safe appeal of Truth to Time!

Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat- No worthier cat Ever sat on a mat, Or caught a rat. Requiescat!

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!

What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie?

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.

God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late, They touch the shining hills of day; The evil cannot brook delay, The good can well afford to wait, Give ermined knaves their hour of crime; Yet have the future grand and great, The safe appeal of Truth to Time!

Few have borne unconsciously the spell of loveliness.