LIKE the summer's sunset ray;
Like the parting beams of day;
Like the mist that's floating now,
Round yon mountain's lofty brow;
Like the bubble on the stream,
Glist'ning in the sun's bright beam;
Like the sparrow's tuneful lay,
Earthly hopes must pass away.
As the spring and summer flowers,
Blooming in the garden bowers,
Fade and wither by the blight,
Of a chill autumnal night;
As the gilded thread of dreams,
Breaks ere yet the morning beams;
So the cherished hopes to-day,
May to-morrow pass away.
As the lightning's vivid glare,
Bursting on the midnight air;
Leaves us, by its dazzling power,
More in darkness than before;
Like the dread tornado's stroke,
Laying low the stately oak;
Dearest hopes, if fixed below,
May in gloom be brought to bow.
As the stars at early dawn,
Fade and vanish one by one;
As Aurora's brilliant gleams,
Shooting light like liquid streams;
As the rainbow's varied hue
Sinks and melts while yet we view;
So our hopes, if centered here,
In a moment disappear.
But there is a hope that's sure,
One that ever will endure;
And though storms and dangers lower,
Lightnings flash, and thunders roar,—
As the needle seeks the pole,
So this hope points as the goal,
That bright, glorious abode,
The home of the eternal God.