No age, my sister. See! the "age-abiding,"
The steadfast, the unerring, the I Am,
If led by Him, our feet can know no sliding,
Our days be always blessed days of calm.
There is no time to limit with its passing,
To fret us as we vainly grasp its hours,—
Its days and months relentlessly swift massing,
Brushing the glittering dew-drops from Life's flowers.
Th' eternal cycles of Love's years we're living;
Our birth-right in His Kingdom we have found.
We're lifted, through the largess of His giving,
To the heights where He dwelleth, glory-crowned.
There, at rest from the fearing, and the seeming,
'Neath the "shadow of the Rock" we bide,—
The day-star of His morning brightly gleaming,
The "Angel of His Presence" close beside.
