My future will not copy fair my past---
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life--angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast.
To the white throne of God I turn atlast,
And there, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I,long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff.
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of life's first half
Leave here the ages with long musing curled,
And write me new my future's epigraph.
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
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