His Light, a Poem

HIS LIGHT.

His light shines on me from above, His low voice speaks within The patience of immortal love Outwearing mortal sin.

Not mindless of the growing years Of care and loss and pain, My eyes are wet with thankful tears For blessings which remain.

If dim the gold of life has grown, I will not count it dross, Nor turn from treasures still my own To sigh for lack and loss.

And if the eye must fail of light, The ear forget to hear, Make clearer still the spirit's sight, More fine the inward ear! —J. G. Whittier.