What ups and downs have passed since then! Who knew the future, where, how, and when The lightning's flash from out the storm Would crush to earth some loved one's form-- Or tear loved branches from the tree, And shroud the home in misery? For pain and death come to the earth Unheralded. Not so with birth. Death comes; we have no power to stay the blow. It strikes; the dearest ones are first to go, No matter how firm the heart-strings cling; 'Tis like a bird upon the wing-- Soon 'scapes the reach of our weak hands, And takes its flight to other lands While we, held by an unseen power, Are crushed by the sorrows of the hour; We droop, and like the bird we've caged, Against our prison bars we wage A restless warfare, seeking in vain, Freedom from life that gives us pain. But freedom's boon will never come, Until we learn, "Thy will be done," And every quiver of the soul By patient guard has learned control; And prove another law divine, That every act reaps of its kind, And all who sow in purity and love, Reap a rich harvest from above. You, dear child, born forty years ago, Have drunk your cup of grief and woe. This is the arch of the span of life; It marks the zenith of earthly strife. For forty years you've climbed and climbed-- It is enough. Hereon the path shall wind 'Mid shaded groves of field and flowers, Bringing bright days, and pleasant hours; No storm shall rise to cross your path again, But what the cold shall turn to summer rain, And every cloud, by children's love dispelled, Will whisper peace, and, mother, all is well. These are the words a father's lips declare; From this time on your life shall taste, and share The peace and love, the joy and bliss That crowns a life of righteousness. SOME THINGS THAT I REMEMBER I am seventy-seven years old today-- My step is light, but my hair is gray. The ear and eye are not so bright, Showing a failing in hearing and sight. And I cannot run as once I could, When legs and lungs were strong and good. My breath goes short as I climb the hill, Showing that strength is not equal to will; For hope and will, blessed gifts of God, Are strong in my heart like an iron rod; Leading my feet in their earthly strife, Pointing my soul to a higher life.