SONNET.

In life's fair spring, its earliest tender bloom,

Fell Death hath orphaned me; and Sorrow's night

Hath wrapped me round; and the relentless might

Of Sickness bade my days in pain consume;

My hours were shared with Want and Grief and Gloom.

Supports, whereon as pillars firm I leant,

Have all, alas! but failed me, broke or bent;

Alone I bear as best I may my doom.

Nay, not alone! My God forsakes me not,

His Father-heart hath ne'er its truth forgot;

His eye and hand still for His child must care:

When man no help can find, then comes His hour,

When human strength is spent He shows His power,

When hid His presence seems; behold! our God is there.