THE suns of eighty years had o'er him rolled, And age sat heavy on his toppling frame. Decrepitude had held his willing feet Full long from going to the house of God, Where he was wont to greet the meek in heart,' Nor had he hoped to hear again the words That fall like manna from the lips of him whom Heaven has called to publish news of peace. At length, upon s beauteous Sabbath morn, His bended form, supported by a staff, Was seen slow moving up the sacred aisle, To fill once more the long vacated seat. Soon rose the voice of prayer, the song of praise; And truths divine, like music, filled the place, Then, gathering at the table of the Lord, And feasting on the Lamb for sinners slain, The saints were stirred with Pentecostal joys, And seemed impatient for a higher feast, The supper of the Risen One in heaven. And, happiest of them all, the old man rose; And, faltering in his speech, with beaming eye, That seemed to brighten in a dying flash, Spoke of the Saviour, who had been his staff For threescore years; the strengthening of his faith, His near approach to heaven, and willingness To lay aside the burdening ills of age, And seek the rest remaining for his soul. The supper ended, and the hymn was sung; While he, rejoicing with the saintly throng, "Went out;" and when another Sabbath dawned, He sat at meat with Christ among the blest.