And when our Saviour, from the grave, Had asked his friends for meat, He ate the honey-comb they gave; And showed his hands and feet. This volume of his will revealed I here can read within, "Behold the lilies of the field-- They neither toil nor spin!" And yet the king "was not arrayed In glory, like to them;" Their Maker's power is so displayed In flower and leaf and stem. And he sat on the mountain's side, Who spake these blessed words, Before him flowery fields spread wide-- Around were trees and birds. The fleecy flocks, that sport so free On hill and valley deep, I love to watch: and here I see 'T is written, "Feed my sheep." For thus I seem to keep in view, And feel how near I am To that dear friend of children, who Has named himself THE LAMB. THE HOARY HEAD. "The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness." Aged man, with locks so hoary, High estate dost thou possess! They appear thy crown of glory, In the way of righteousness. Jewels, not of man's preparing, Form the shining diadem, Thou art from thy Sovereign wearing: God's own finger silvered them. Thine are honors, proved and heightened By the gift of lengthened years; In affliction's furnace brightened, Tried by cares, and washed with tears. Like thy Master, meek and lowly, Thou a thorny earth hast trod; With thy breast a high and holy Temple of the living God. Aged saint, thy form is bending, Sere and withered, to the tomb; But thy spirit, upward tending, Budded for immortal bloom. MY FATHER. "In the evening time there shall be light." Sacred the hour when thou, my sainted father, Wast of thy worn-out, sinking clay undressed, Softly, by his pale hand, who comes to gather Time's weary pilgrims home to joy and rest. Noiseless, and clear, and holiest of the seven, That day when thy last earthly sun went down: Thy Sabbath, closing here, began in heaven; Whilst thy meek brow changed ashes for a crown. Hush was the evening; not a zephyr swelling Heaved the tree-blossom, or the woodbine leaves; Silent the bird, that sang about our dwelling, Slept where she nestled, close beneath its eaves.[1] Cloudless the moon and stars above were shining, When time's last ray to thy mild eye was shed; While death's cold touch, life's silver cord untwining, Brought his chill night-dew on thy reverend head. Ninety full years of pilgrimage completing, Here didst thou linger till one Sabbath more: 'T was holy time; thy pure heart stilled its beating; Pain, work, and warfare were forever o'er!