HOUR-GLASS AND BIBLE.

Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass

That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days,

And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says,

To every human heart: so mortals pass

On to their dark and silent grave! Alas

For man! an exile upon earth he strays,

Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;

To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass

That withers at his feet!— Lift up thy head,

Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;

That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,

Who died to give thee life; and though thy years

Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,

Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,

And by his guiding hand thy steps to heaven are led!