THE PATH THAT LEADS TO HEAVEN.
By M. J. Clarke
Think'st thou 'mid flowery fields it lies,
The path thine eager spirit tries,
Where faith and hope have striven?
Think'st thou the skies are always clear,
That love and joy are always near,
The path that leads to Heaven? And sweetly in that narrow way,
Will dear ones greet thee day by day?
Ah, no! by tempest driven,
The storm-cloud hovers o'er thy path,
Which seems to thee the way of wrath,
The path that leads to Heaven. And graves are there, and sighs and tears,
And sickness with its train of fears,
And hearts with anguish riven,
And martyrs' blood and dying groans;
And, dark with woes, the world disowns
The path that leads to Heaven. Yes, 'tis the way, the way to God,
The way the ancient worthies trod,
Where they have fought and striven,
The way Christ opened when he died,
And shall we fear the path he tried,
The path that leads to Heaven? No, weary pilgrims, hasten on,
The day of toil is almost gone;
Yon western clouds are given
With gold and purple on their breast,
As emblems of the morrow's rest,
The calm sweet rest of Heaven. M. J. CLARKE.
Knox Co., Ohio.