TO DEACON J. W. CONVERSE, ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY.
Hail! friend and brother, on this bright birthday!
Bright in its thoughts, its memories, hopes, and feeling;
The years have scarcely tinged thy locks with gray,
Thy honored age revealing, yet concealing.
O'er what long, winding ways thy steps have trod!
What varied cares and trusts, successive pressing,
Have taught thee, leaning on the arm of God,
The rugged path becomes the path of blessing!
What changes to thy wondering eyes have come!
A scroll of miracles, slowly unfolding,—
Some, grandly understood; mysterious, some,—
But one dear Hand above, thy own hand holding.
And yet, so quick thy step, so lithe thy frame,
The tell-tale years seeming so little weighty,
Thy buoyant, youthful vigor still the same,—
It might be but eighteen, instead of eighty.
Sheltered and guided by that Power above
To reverend age, up from the infant's prattle;
Living for Christ's dear cause a life of love;
Honored to dare and do in life's great battle.
'T is thine to bring forth fruit still, even in age,—
Thou to whom fruitful years have long been granted,
Like trees, still verdant 'mid the winter's rage,
Like the rich palms in God's own garden planted.
The years roll on; so from the mountain-thread
Swells and expands the deepening, widening river;
So life grows onward from its infant seed,
Broadening, prophetic of the grand forever.
Long may thy well-strung bow in strength abide;
And far the day, thou to whom much is given,
Ere the celestial gates shall open wide
To add to all the crown of life in heaven.
January 11, 1888.
