My future will not copy fair my past - br I wrote that once; and thinking at my side br My ministering life-angel justified br The word by his appealing look upcast br To the white throne of God, I turned at last, br And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied br To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried br By natural ills, received the comfort fast, br While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff br Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.