THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.

We wander through the smiling fields, We gather fragrant flowers, Our childish eyes the sunshine watch From shady, sheltered bowers; We have our dreams of joy to be, Nor give a thought to loss; For youth is all too blind to see The Shadow of the Cross. Years come and go; tears flow and fall, Grief touches us awhile; And then we sleep, while round us glows The sunset of a smile; Joy lingers just a day with us, Life’s pathway seems as moss: But, faintly purple, looms ahead The Shadow of the Cross. Time’s drifted snows have gathered thick, Yet still the chase is long, Truth’s snow-white bird soars out of sight, But faint we hear its song; And we have lost Hope’s Light awhile, Count Love at best but dross; We struggle through a purple gloom— The Shadow of the Cross. At last! At last! a music rare Enchants our aching ears; And once again, not far ahead, The radiant sun appears: Our souls on buoyant wings are borne, And we retrieve our loss,— A rich content is ours, beyond The Shadow of the Cross.