Life’s Work

Life's Work. (For the Improvement Era.) How weak the words we often choose, How frail the weapons that we use, In teaching truth or fighting wrong! And duty's oft a dusty road, And for our strength too great the load, As the still years pass along. But sometimes, through a mist of tears, Fair blooming in the vale of years, All unexpectedly we meet A young soul saved, a sin laid low, A virtue planted where 'twould grow — A recompense for weary feet. Then to oblivion's shadowy plain, Departs the care, the grief, the pain , The soul bathes in immortal light ; We feel God rather blessed the thought Than anything our hands have wrought, 'Tis his, the soul, the truth, the fight. How bright the blooms from seeds we sow, Only the Infinite can know, Our dim eyes cannot see. What depth of bliss or wordless woe May from our lightest accents flow, Is curtained by eternity. Ellen Lfe Sanders. Provo, Utah.