MY OLD HOUSE.

White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 271, 18 January 1918, Page 11

MY OLD HOUSE.

(Written by a Christian lady at the age of (>4.) I hail once more my natal day, Still in my tenement of clay, W ith many favours blest. Now He Who placed the stiucture here, Can prop it up another year If lie should think it best. Long hath it stood through snows and rains. And braved life’s fearful hurricanes, W bile nao) .1 strong! r ft 11. Thj reason why wc cannot see, But what to us seems mystery, The Builder knows full well. But now ’tis weather-worn and old. The summer’s heat and winter’s cold Pierce through the walls and roof. ’Tis like a garment so worn out To mend there seems no whereabout, So gone is warp and woof. The tottering pillars are all weak, The poor old rusty hinges creak, The windows too arc aim. These slight discomforts we’ll let pass. For looking darkly through a glass. W> catch a hopeful gleam. Nature and Scripture tell u-. all, This withered frame ere long must fall, When, where, or how’s unknown. We’ll leave that to the Architect, And trust His w isdom to direct The taking of it down. And when vou see it prostrate lie, Let not sad tears bedim \ our eye, The tenant is not here; But iust beyond Time’s little space She finds with Christ a resting place, No more to date lu r year. And though she walks with you no more. The world will move just a> before, ’Tis meet it should he so. Let each his house in order set, That lie may leave without regret, Whenever called to go.