It is easy to glide with its ripples
Adown the stream of time,
To flow with the course of the river
Like music to some old rhyme;
But ah! it takes courage and patience
Against its currents to ride,
And we must have strength from Heaven
When rowing against the tide. We may float on the river's surface
While our oars scarce touch the stream.
And visions of early glory
On our dazzling sight may gleam;
We forget that on before us
The dashing torrents roar,
And while we are idly dreaming
It's waters will carry us o'er. But a few—ah, would there were many,
Row up the "Stream of Life,"
They struggle against its surges
And mind neither toil nor strife.
Though weary and faint with labor,
Singing triumphant they ride,
For Christ is the hero's captain
When rowing against the tide. Far on through the hazy distance
Like a mist on a distant shore,
They see the walls of a city
With its banner floating o'er;
Seen through the glass so darkly
They almost mistake their way,
But faith grows light on their labor
When darkness shuts out the day. And when shall we be one of that number
Who mind no toil or pain?
Shall we mourn the loss of earthly joys
When we have a crown to gain?
Or shall we glide on with the river,
With death at the end of our ride,
While our brother, with Heaven before him,
Is rowing against the tide?
—Sel.