(Henry Law, "The Incense Altar")
You may have wealth.
It cannot profit long.
You may have health.
Decay will cause its flower to fade.
You may have strength.
It soon will totter to the grave.
You may have honors.
A breath will blast them.
You may have flattering friends.
They are but as a summer brook.
These boasted joys often now cover
an aching heart, but . . .
they never gave a grain of solid peace;
they never healed a wounded conscience;
they never won approving looks from God;
they never crushed the sting of sin.