Life is the child's frail wreath,
And I a drop of dew
Upon its fading beauty. In the breath
Of the still night-air came I forth to view,
But with the reddening morn
I silently return
To holy realms unseen,
Where death hath never been,
Where He hath his abode,
Who is my God!

Life is the wind-snapp'd bough,
And I a little bird;
My motherland a fairer, calmer clime,
Whose olive groves no storm has ever stirred;—
A little bird that came from far,
Beyond the evening star,
Alighting in my untried flight
Upon this tree of night.
Yet ere another sun
His race shall have begun,
I shall have pass'd from sight,
To realms of truer light,
These twilight skies above,
To be with Him I love,
My God, my God.

Life is the mountion lake,
And I a drifting cloud,
Or a cloud's broken shadow on the wave,
One of the silent multitude that crowd,
With ever-varying pace,
Across the water's face!
Soon must I pass from earth,
To the calm azure of my better birth,
My sky of holy bliss;
With Him in love and peace,
To have my long abode,
Who is my God!

Life is the tossing ark,
And I the wandering dove,
Resting to-day mid clouds and waters dark,
To morrow to my peaceful olive-grove
Returning, in glad haste,
Across time's billowy waste.
For evermore to rest;
Upon the faithful breast,
Of Him who is my King,
My Christ and God!

Life is the changing deep,
And I a little wave,
Rising a moment and then passing down,
Amid my fellows, to a peaceful grave;
For this is not my rest,
It is not here I can be blest.
Far from this sea of strife,
With Christ is hid my life,
With Christ my glorious Lord,
My King and God.

Life is a well-strung lyre,
And I a wandering note,
Struck from its cunning chords, and left alone
A moment in the quivering air to float;
Then, without echo, die,
And upward from this earthly jarring fly,
To form a truer note above
In the great song of joy and love,
The never-ending, never-jarring song
Of the immortal throng;
Sung to the praise of Him
Who is at once its leader and its theme,
My Christ, my King, my God!