FORGETTING THE THINGS THAT ARE BEHIND.
By Frances E. Bolton
LIKE a host of dreary shadows,
How they crowd the soul;
Pouring gloom upon the meadows,
Hushing song in dole.
Can we ever cease t' regret them?
What can ease the mind?
Only this: “Forget, forget them—
Things that are behind.” Let them not, like tyrant wardens,
Chain and guard the heart;
Let them not in life's fair gardens,
Blight the buds that start;
Let them not undo, enslave thee,
And good impulse bind.
There is One who died to save thee
From the things behind. But press on, undaunted spirit,
Full of zeal and fire,
Hoping still to rich inherit
All thy soul's desire.
Yes, press on, and engrossed solely
With the things that are,
All enraptured with the holy,
All the past debar. O most blessed, blessed token
Of the love of heaven,
Are the precious words so spoken
To the souls so riven;
God knew how the past would fret them,
And in mercy kind,
Said, “Press on, rejoice, forget them—
Things that are behind.” So my soul, and my poor brothers,
Dwell not in the gloom;
Turn thy thought from self to others,—
Make life's pathways bloom.
Conquer him who taunts and teases
With defeat that's past;
Through the tender love of Jesus,
Conqueror be at last.