Bitter the anguish with these two words blended,
For those contemplating their hopeless lot,
Who find life's summer past, — its harvest ended, —
And winter nigh! while they are gather'd not.

Yet do thou, Lord, by thy supreme conviction,
Give them to feel that, though their sins are great,
Thy love and mercy own not our restriction,
But that, with Thee , it NEVER IS TOO LATE .