Reward of the Righteous.
By Vesta N. Cudworth
AIR—"What is home, without a Mother?" Ps. xvi, 6—"The lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places." Is life's pathway growing lonely,
Where earth's flowerets bloomed so fair?
Do its withered blossoms only
Strew thy lengthened path of care?
Jesus beckons, oh! how cheering,
Where eternal roses bloom;
And the glory we are nearing,
Pierces through the night of gloom. Do not think to fathom glory
As you'd measure joys of time;
Nor its countless years before thee,
Which eternally shall shine
With its costly garnered riches,
Songs of joy, and gems of worth;
Inexhaustless stores of beauty,
Gathered for the loved of earth. Life is just the shade we make it,
If we sow our seed with care;
If with heavenly plants we set it,
We shall reap a harvest rare.
Outward things may be distasteful,
While within, a heaven bright;
If "thy God is all thy glory,"
How can earth be all a night? Envious ones may spoil the casket,
But the pearl they cannot find;
All thine outward jewels perish,
But a pure and loving mind—
Is a sanctum here for angels,
Garnished o'er with every gem;
God's own Spirit is its sunshine,
Peace its royal diadem. Sweetly on faith's mighty bosom,
In composure fearless lean;
Hope's bright star will ever glisten,
While you need its kindly beam.
"Thou art mine," "I have redeemed thee,"
(Blessed promise, all thine own;)
I have borne the cross before thee,
And with thee, will wear the crown.