Part 41 (1/2)
I do not wish thee worldly wealth-- For it may flee away; I do not wish thee beauty's charms-- For they will soon decay.
I do not wish for thee the joys Which from earth's pleasures spring; These give at best a fleeting bliss, And leave a lasting sting.
I do not wish thee mortal fame-- This, like a meteor bright, Gleams but a moment on the sky, And leaves behind no light.
I wish for thee that richer wealth, No earthly mines reveal, ”Which moth and rust cannot corrupt, And thief can never steal.”
I wish for thee the sweeter joys, Which from religion flow; These have the power to soothe and bless, In hours of deepest woe.
I wish for thee the honor pure, Descending from on high; To lift thy soul away from earth, And raise it to the sky.
I wish that peace through all thy life, May on each step attend; May rapture crown its closing hour, And perfect bliss its end.
THE CHRISTIAN'S ANCHOR.
How oft when youthful skies are clear, And joy's sweet breezes round us play, We dream that as through life we steer, The morrow shall be like to-day.
We paint each scene with rainbow hues, And gaily sail on stormless seas, While hope, through life's bright future, views The port she thinks to make with ease.
But ah! how soon dark clouds of woe Spread o'er those skies a deepening shade, And waves of sorrow overflow, And all the rainbow glories fade.
'Tis thus earth's hopes, however bright, Expire and vanish, one by one, E'en as the sh.o.r.e recedes from sight, When glides the free bark swiftly on.
Yet the redeemed, with anchor firm, Time's swelling billows shall outride, And far beyond the raging storm Shall make the port on Canaan's side.
Oh, may this bright and blissful hope Fill my poor heart with joy and peace, Bid me 'mid all life's storms look up To yon blest land, where storms shall cease.
And when with life's last gale I've striven, And all its raging waves have pa.s.s'd, Oh, may I, in the port of heaven, My anchor Hope securely cast.
CALLANDER PATTERSON.
Callander Patterson was born near Perryville, Cecil county, May 6, 1820.
His education was obtained at the common schools of the neighborhood.
Many years ago he went to Philadelphia, where he studied dentistry, which he has since practiced in that city. Mr. Patterson commenced writing poetry when quite young, but published nothing until upwards of forty years of age. His poetry--of which he has written much--seems to have been of a religious character.
Owing to causes beyond our control, the following poem is the only one, adapted to this book, that we have been able to obtain.
G.o.d IS GREAT.