Adown the stream of years.

Sometimes past hills of joy we glide,

Sometimes through vales of tears.

Age follows youth, which, ere we know,

Has vanished like a dream,

And takes its glamour from the glow

Of mem'ry's silvery gleam.

There is no halt; and more and more

There seems an open sea

Reaching us with its ceaseless roar—

It is eternity.

There is one Pilot that we need,

One who can safely steer,

One who at heaven's court can plead,

And all our journey cheer.

'Tis Jesus Christ; and all who see

In him the truth, the way,

Are in possession of the key

To heaven's eternal day.

WEALTH

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