THE CHRYSANTHEMUM—DECLINING YEARS. 69 
Enough that blessings undeserved 
Have marked my erring track: 
That, wheresoe’er my feet have swerved, 
TTis chastening turned me hack: 
That more and more a Providence 
Of Love is understood, 
Making the springs of time and sense 
Sweet with eternal good :— 
That death seems hut a covered way 
Which opens into light, 
Wherein no blinded child can stray 
Beyond the Father’s sight;— 
That care and trial seem at last, 
Through Memory’s sunset air, 
Like mountain-ranges overpast. 
In purple distance fair; 
That all the jarring notes of life 
Seem blending in a psalm, 
And all the angles of its strife 
Slow rounding into calm ; 
And so the shadows fall apart, 
And so the west-winds play; 
And all the windows of my heart 
I open to the day. 
J. Gr. Whittier. 
