HOPING UNTO THE END

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 6, 1857

HOPING UNTO THE END.

WHENEVER I am led to think Of God's rich promises to me, It lengthens with a golden link, The safety chain I cannot see. And girded for the pilgrimage, I tread the intervening way, To where the promised heritage Looks over to the endless day.

And with the fragment of a hymn, I grasp my staff, and journey on, Even though faint in heart and limb, And resting ever and anon.

And as the startled music floats Along to find the answering wires, I catch the spirit of the notes In a sweet union of desires.

Then in a sweet forgetfulness Of all but harps with golden strings, I stop and listen, none the less That it is but myself that sings.

And hoping that in God's good time, My voice shall with the angels blend, I brave this uncongenial clime Longing, and hoping, to the end. [Rural New Yorker.]