Grace.

Ill-wrought life we look at as we die! Mistaken, selfish, meagre, and unmeet; So graven on the hearts that cruelly We have deprived of many an hour sweet: O ill-wrought life we look at as we die! O day of God we look at as we die! Grace, like a river flowing toward our feet; Wide pardon blowing with the breezes by; Love telling us bright tales of the Complete;— While listening, hoping, thanking, lo, we die!