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CONSOLATION

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 26, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 17.

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CONSOLATION.

And your heart, too, is sad, my friend; Does love to your life no glamor lend? Go, sow your sympathy far and wide, And then, in the gladsome harvest tide, The seeds of pain will be grains of gold, And each tear that glistens, cold, so cold, In your secret heart will shine a gem On the future's starry diadem.
Peace, troubled soul! 'Tis not in vain This bitter sorrow, this weary pain; Each thorn of trouble, each weed of care, Time's touch will turn to a flowret fair. God seeth the heart; he knoweth best. Some day thou shalt know perfect rest. —Sacramento Bee.