A PASTOR'S RETROSPECT.
Oft I see the little chapel
Where I preached in bygone years,
With the courage of a prophet,
And a faith undimmed by tears.
Where I preached in bygone years,
With the courage of a prophet,
And a faith undimmed by tears.
Ah! those golden days resplendent
With their promises of good,
When I sang as glad hosannas
As the wild birds of the wood.
With their promises of good,
When I sang as glad hosannas
As the wild birds of the wood.
For I labored, never doubting
That the seed I planted then,
Would be wrought in nobler living,
Would "uplift the hearts of men."
That the seed I planted then,
Would be wrought in nobler living,
Would "uplift the hearts of men."
But to-day the sense of failure
Is upon me as I preach,
I am saddened by the memory
Of the truths I could not teach.
Is upon me as I preach,
I am saddened by the memory
Of the truths I could not teach.
Ah! the anguish of that knowledge
As it slowly, surely grew.
When I felt the "incompleteness"
Of the work I strove to do.
As it slowly, surely grew.
When I felt the "incompleteness"
Of the work I strove to do.
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