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MY JOURNAL

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jan 23, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 12.

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MY JOURNAL.

By Jessie Hocker

BY JESSIE HOCKER.
UPON the pure, unsullied white Of this fair page, I pen to-night A word, half prayer, half thought combined, By heart, and mind, and soul assigned. If I could look adown the way That leads to one more "New Year's day" And see wherein for good or ill The countless influences fill, Could read each thought and know each tear That shall be mine within the year, Could know the sorrow deep and strong, Could feel the quickening joys that throng, I would not feel, I would not look Within God's mystic "record book." For well I know that hand divine Is far more strong and wise than mine, And I'm content to know I may Be and abide in him each day. Help me, dear Saviour, to forget The storm of trials that beset; Receive thy robe of spotless white, And give to thee my robe of night. Some day, earth's last "new year" will break, And we within its rapture wake, To find no more the bitter pain Of life's deep loss, its shallow gain; But there, within the city bright, We'll bury memory of earth's night, And 'mid the peal of "New Year's" bells, Which to the universe foretells The endless cycles ushered in, And past for aye the age of sin.
College Place, Wash.