IT IS WELL.
THE air has borne some tender words,
As sweet as melodies of birds,
And benedictions soft and clear
Have trembled on the waiting ear;
But never sweeter accents fell
Than Faith has uttered, "It is well."
Hope sits thro' each today and waits
The opening of tomorrow's gates,
And Patience wearily abides
The veil that each tomorrow hides;
But whether good or ill foretell,
Faith sweetly whispers, "It is well."
As soothing as a soothing balm,
A grand and yet a tender psalm
Is floating ever on the air,
Is blending with the mourner's prayer;
And saddest plaints that ever fell
Find answer in the "It is well."
Rural Home.