Time Brings Roses
When from my mountain-top of years I gaze
Backward upon the scenes that I have passed,
How pleasant is the view! and yet how vast
The deserts where I thirsted many days!
There, where now hangs that blue and shimmering haze,
And there, and there, my lot with pain was cast,
Hopeless and dark; but always at the last
Deliverance came, from unexpected ways.
And now all past grief is as but a dream:
Yet even now there loom before my path
Shadows whose gloomy portent checks my breath.
But shadows are not always what they seem —
God's love sometimes appears to be his wrath,
And his best gift is the white rose of death.
Backward upon the scenes that I have passed,
How pleasant is the view! and yet how vast
The deserts where I thirsted many days!
There, where now hangs that blue and shimmering haze,
And there, and there, my lot with pain was cast,
Hopeless and dark; but always at the last
Deliverance came, from unexpected ways.
And now all past grief is as but a dream:
Yet even now there loom before my path
Shadows whose gloomy portent checks my breath.
But shadows are not always what they seem —
God's love sometimes appears to be his wrath,
And his best gift is the white rose of death.
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