3.
“How is the gold become dim! how is the most fine gold changed!”
How terrible the night that broods around,
That we should e'er forget our Present God!
They who with Him the ways of sorrow trod,
Have been with Him in Tabor, and abound
With signs of love, with countless favours crown'd,
With whom He hath ta'en up His own abode,
Who companied with Him along the road,
And with Him were in season more profound;
They who had all things for His sake resign'd—
Home, friends, and calling—for a martyr's wreath,
And boast of faithfulness to chains and death,
In high resolves and protestations blind,—
When they forget to pray, one little breath
Blows all away, like leaves before the wind.
