Life's Mystery

Life is a dower of mingled care, —

A passing mystery which we share

Each with all, yet little know

Whence we come or whither go.

Oh, hand that sweeps the chords of life,

That melts in love or stirs in strife,

Whence are the echoes of the soul?

Oh, tell its import, where its goal!

Baptismal font and funeral urn

Pass in review, in changing turn;

The bridal veil, the sombre bier,

A glad'ning smile, a bitter tear.

Ont from darkness into the light,

Swift receding again to night;

Bat yester morn earth knew us not;

To-morrow noon perchance forgot.

Oh, light and shadow, smile and tear,

For all thy changing earth is dear;

In spite of cloud and sodden ground,

Heart-stiring faith within is found.

And like a star its rays are shed

Above the living and the dead;

A beacon-light from shining shore

To guide us here and evermore.

—John Latham

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