How far beyond the loftiest powers
Of little, finite man!

E'en daring fancy's fearless flight
In vain would grasp the whole,
And then, "How short man's mortal life!"
Exclaims the wondering soul.

A bubble on the ocean's breast,
A glow-worm's feeble ray,
That loses all its brilliancy
Beneath the orb of day.

Can it be joyful, then, to find
That life is hastening fast?
Can it be joyful to reflect,
This year may be our last?

Look on the firmament above,
From south to northern pole:
Can we find there a resting-place
For the immortal soul?

* * * * *


Where can we search to find its home?
The still small voice in thee
Answers, as from the eternal throne,
"My own shall dwell with me."