Gently Lead Me, Star Divine.

  Gently lead me, Star Divine,
    Lead with bright unchanging ray;
  O’er my lowly pathway shine,
    I shall never lose my way;
  Though uncertain be my tread,
Pitfalls deep, and mountains high,
  Safely shall my feet be led,
    By Thy beacon, in the sky.

  Long ago, while journeying
    Westward, o’er the desert wild,
  Sages sought a promised King
    In the person of a child;
  By Thy bright illuminings,
    To that manger, in the fold,
  Thou did’st lead those shepherd kings;
    Lead me, as Thou lead’st of old.

[Illustration:  “Wherever I wander my ears hear the sound, Of thy waters which plunge with a turbulent sound.”

Bear Creek falls, Uncompahgre canon,
near Ouray, Colorado.]

Dying Hymn.

  The hour-glass speeds its final sands,
    In splendor sinks the golden sun,
  So men must yield to death’s demands
    When human life its course has run.

  We view the ruins of the past,
    We stand surrounded by decay,
  Our transient hours are speeding fast
    And, e’er we think, have passed away.

  Weep not, nor mourn with idle tear
That hour, inevitable and sure;
  We move, our sojourn finished here,
    To nobler realms which shall endure.

In Mortem Meditare.

Dying thoughts.

As Life’s receding sunset fades
      And night descends,
I calmly watch the gathering shades,
As darkness stealthily invades
      And daylight ends.

Earth’s span is drawing to its close,
      With every breath;
My pain-racked brain no respite knows,
Yet shrinks it, from the grim repose
      It feels in death.

The curtain falls on Life’s last scene,
      The end is neared;
At last I face death’s somber screen,
The fleeting joys which intervene
      Have disappeared.

And as a panoramic scroll
      The past unreels;
The mocking past, beyond control,
Though buried, as a parchment roll,
      Its tale reveals.

I stand before the dread, unknown,
      Yet solemn fact;
I see the seeds of folly sown
In wayward years, maturely grown,
      Nor can retract.

My weaknesses rise to my sight;
      And now, too late,
I fain would former actions right,
Which years have buried in their flight;
      Now sealed by fate.

My frailties and iniquities
      I plainly see;
Committed acts accusive rise,
Omitted duties criticise
    In mockery.

I feel I have offended oft,
      E’en at my best
Have failed to guide my course aloft;
Perhaps in trival hour, have scoffed
      With idle jest.

Prone to misgiving, prone to doubt,
      And frail from birth;
More light and frivolous than devout;
With life’s brief candle flickering out,
      I speed from earth.