Seven times ten — they came and fled,
Fled as fleeth a morning dream;
My tale is told, my say is said,
I read the past by memory's beam.
Seven times ten, with untold woe
For sin unseen by all save One,
For evil thoughts that come and go,
For evil deeds, for good undone.
I've mourned the loss of precious things,
I've wept beside the honored dead,
Health has flown and riches had wings,
And thus the seventy years were sped.
With wayward steps my path I trod,
But oh! what mercies marked my way!
The love that led my soul to God
Has turned my darkness into day.
Seven times ten; all fades not yet, —
Sweet flowers, and fields, and books are mine,
Dear friends are round my table set,
And daily gifts of corn and wine.
Safe hid beneath overshadowing wings,
Age need not fear the winter blast;
Sure watered by celestial springs',
The path has verdure to the last.
For countless gifts, for bounteous grace,
Break forth, my soul, in songs of praise,
To him whose love redeems our race,
And crowns with blessing all our days.
By him is every want supplied;
And not alone from youth to age,
In death we live, for he hath died
To win our glorious heritage.