TREES FOR THE PILGRIM'S WREATH.

Tribulation, if by loss, Or by thorny gain, the cross, Thou art not a barren tree; Seeds of Patience drop from thee.

Patience, bitter from thy root Upward, till we reach the fruit, Thou hast golden grains to sow, Whence Experience full shall grow.

Broad Experience, rank and dark; Thick in leaves, and rough in bark; Through thy dubious shade we grope, Till we grasp the bough of Hope.

Hope, we 're not ashamed, with thee Showered by drops from Calvary, When thy branches shoot and bloom Through a Saviour's broken tomb.

Trees, whereof the pilgrim weaves For his crown the mingled leaves, Wreaths of you are rich and bright; Earth 's the shade, and heaven 's the light.