GRACE.

Ill-wrought life we look at as we die!

Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet;

So graven on the hearts that cruelly

We have deprived of many an hour sweet:

O ill-wrought life we look at as we die!

O day of God we look at as we die!

Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet;

Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by;

Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;—

While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die!