The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul, by Various, Edited by James Mudge This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Author: Various Editor: James Mudge Release Date: April 22, 2009 [eBook #28591] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL*** E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Pilar Somoza Fernandez, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Transcriber's note: Spelling mistakes have been left in the text to match the original, except for obvious typographical errors, which have been corrected. POEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL Compiled and Edited by JAMES MUDGE Revised and Enlarged Edition The Abingdon Press New York Cincinnati Chicago Copyright, 1907, 1909, by Eaton & Mains Printed in the United States of America First Edition Printed November, 1907 Second Printing, March, 1909 Third Printing, October, 1911 Fourth Printing, July, 1915 Fifth Printing, May, 1919 Sixth Printing, January, 1922 Seventh Printing, April, 1925 Eighth Printing, March, 1928 Ninth Printing, October, 1930 Tenth Printing, September, 1934 TO ALL WHO ARE AT THE SAME TIME LOVERS OF GOOD POETRY AND LOVERS OF GOOD CHARACTER, DEVOTED TO GOD AND THEIR FELLOW-MEN, AS WELL AS TO LITERATURE, THE COMPILER, WHO CLAIMS A LITTLE PLACE IN THIS LARGE COMPANY, DEDICATES THE RESULT OF HIS PLEASANT LABORS CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE vii SUBJECTS: HEROISM--CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH 1 COURAGE--CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR 14 INDEPENDENCE--MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION 22 GREATNESS--FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY 28 DUTY--LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL 41 SERVICE--USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR 50 BROTHERHOOD--CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE 66 CONSECRATION--SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY 79 PEACE--REST, CALM, STILLNESS 88 HUMILITY--MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS 95 CONTENTMENT--RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION 103 ASPIRATION--DESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH 115 PRAYER--WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION 123 JOY--PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS 138 AFFLICTION--CONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE 149 LOVE--DIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS 163 HOPE--PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM 170 FAITH--ASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF 177 TRUST--GUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS 187 GOD'S CARE--PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE 199 GOD'S WILL--OBEDIENCE, DIVINE UNION 209 GOD'S PRESENCE--POSSESSION, SATISFACTION, REFLECTION 221 JESUS--HIS PRECIOUSNESS, AND BEAUTY, AND LOVE 233 LIFE--TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER 250 AGE AND DEATH--MATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN 267 APPENDIX--MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 278 INDEX TO AUTHORS 288 INDEX TO TITLES 292 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 298 PREFACE This is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it a hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly practical end, the production of high personal character; and only those poems which have an immediate bearing in this direction have been admitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this special line. There are fine hymnals, deservedly dear to the Church, but they are necessarily devoted in large measure to institutional and theological subjects, are adapted to the wants of the general congregation and to purposes of song; while many poetical productions that touch the heart the closest are for that very reason unsuited to the hymnal. There are many anthologies and plentiful volumes of religious poetry, but not one coming within our ken has been made up as this has been. We have sought far and wide, through many libraries, carefully conning hundreds of books and glancing through hundreds more, to find just those lines which would have the most tonic and stimulating effect in the direction of holier, nobler living. We have coveted verses whose influence would be directly on daily life and would help to form the very best habits of thought and conduct, which would have intrinsic spiritual value and elevating power; those whose immediate tendency would be to make people better, toughening their moral fibre and helping them heavenward; those which they could hardly read attentively without feeling an impulse toward the things which are pure and true and honorable and lovely and of good report, things virtuous and praiseworthy. It is surprising to one who has not made the search how very many poets there are whose voluminous and popular works yield nothing, or scarcely anything, of this sort. We have looked carefully through many scores of volumes of poetry without finding a line that could be of the slightest use in this collection. They were taken up altogether with other topics. They contained many pretty conceits, pleasant descriptions, lovely or lively narrations--these in abundance, but words that would send the spirit heavenward, or even earthward with any added love for humanity, not one. On the other hand, in papers and periodicals, even in books, are great multitudes of verses, unexceptionable in sentiment and helpful in influence, which bear so little of the true poetic afflatus, are so careless in construction or so faulty in diction, so imperfect in rhyme or rhythm, so much mingled with colloquialisms or so hopelessly commonplace in thought, as to be unworthy of a permanent place in a book like this. They would not bear reading many times. They would offend a properly educated taste. They would not so capture the ear as to linger on the memory with compelling persistence, nor strike the intellect as an exceptional presentation of important truth. The combination of fine form and deep or inspiring thought is by no means common, but, when found, very precious. We will not claim that this has been secured in all the poems here presented. Not all will approve our choice in all respects. There is nothing in which tastes more differ than in matters of this kind. And we will admit that in some cases we have let in--because of the important truth which they so well voiced--stanzas not fully up to the mark in point of poetic merit. Where it has not been possible to get the two desirable things together, as it has not always, we have been more solicitous for the sentiment that would benefit than for mere prettiness or perfection of form. Helpfulness has been the test oftener than a high literary standard. The labored workmanship of the vessel has not weighed so much with us as its perfect fitness to convey the water of life wherewith the thirsty soul of man has been or may be refreshed. If poets are properly judged, as has been alleged, by the frame of mind they induce, then some who have not gained great literary fame may still hold up their heads and claim a worthy crown. Some poems fully within the scope of the book--like Longfellow's "Psalm of Life"--have been omitted because of their exceeding commonness and their accessibility. Many hymns of very high value--like "Jesus, Lover of my soul," "My faith looks up to thee," "Nearer, my God, to thee," "When all thy mercies, O my God," "How firm a foundation"--have also been omitted because they are found in all the hymnals, and to include them would unduly swell the size of the book. A few others, although similarly familiar, like "Jesus, I my cross have taken," and "God moves in a mysterious way," have been inserted from a feeling that even yet their depth and richness are not properly appreciated and that they can never be sufficiently pondered. A few poems we have been unable to procure permission to use; but in nearly all cases we have met with most generous treatment from both authors and publishers owning copyrights, and we take this occasion to express our hearty thanks for the kindness afforded in the following instances: Houghton, Mifflin & Company, for the use of the poems and stanzas here found from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Edward Rowland Sill, Celia Thaxter, Caroline Atherton Mason, Edna Dean Proctor, Edmund Clarence Stedman, John Burroughs, John Hay, William Dean Howells, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Lucy Larcom, Margaret E. Sangster, Francis Bret Harte, James Freeman Clarke, Samuel Longfellow, Samuel Johnson, Christopher Pearse Cranch, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and John Vance Cheney. Little, Brown & Company, for poems by Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise Chandler Moulton, William Rounseville Alger, "Susan Coolidge" [Sarah Chauncey Woolsey], and John White Chadwick. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, for poems by Sam Walter Foss. D. Appleton & Company, for poems by William Cullen Bryant. T. Y. Crowell & Company, for poems by Sarah Knowles Bolton. Charles Scribner's Sons, for poems by Josiah Gilbert Holland. The Century Company, for poems by Richard Watson Gilder. The Bobbs-Merrill Company, for poems by James Whitcomb Riley. Harper & Brothers, for poems by Edward Sandford Martin. Small, Maynard & Co., for poems by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. The Rev. D. C. Knowles, for poems by Frederic Lawrence Knowles, especially from "Love Triumphant," published by Dana, Estes & Company. The Rev. Frederic Rowland Marvin, for poems from his "Flowers of Song from Many Lands." Professor Amos R. Wells, for poems from his "Just to Help." Mr. Nixon Waterman, for poems from "In Merry Mood," published by Forbes & Co., of Chicago. The selections from the above American authors are used by special arrangements with the firms mentioned, who are the only authorized publishers of their works. Many other poems used have been found in papers or other places which gave no indication of the original source. In spite of much effort to trace these things it is quite likely we have failed in some cases to give due credit or obtain the usual permission; and we hope that if such omissions, due to ignorance or inadvertence, are noticed they will be pardoned. Many unknown writers have left behind them some things of value, but their names have become detached from them or perhaps never were appended. Many volumes consulted have been long out of print. We are glad to record our large indebtedness to the custodians of the Boston, Cambridge, Malden, Natick, Brookline, Jamaica Plain, Somerville, and Newton Public Libraries, the Boston Athenæum, the Congregational Library, the General Theological Library, and the Library of Harvard College, for free access to their treasures. By far the greater part of the contents are from British and other foreign authors, such as William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson, Robert Browning, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, Mrs. S. F. Adams, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Mrs. Charles, Frances Ridley Havergal, Anna Letitia Waring, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Anne Procter, Mme. Guyon, Theodore Monod, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, William Shakespeare, John Milton, George Gordon Byron, Robert Burns, William Cowper, George Herbert, Robert Herrick, Francis Quarles, Frederick W. Faber, John Keble, Charles Kingsley, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison, John Gay, Edward Young, Thomas Moore, John Newton, John Bunyan, H. Kirke White, Horatius Bonar, James Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Richard Baxter, Norman Macleod, George Heber, Richard Chenevix Trench, Henry Alford, Charles Mackay, Gerald Massey, Alfred Austin, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Hugh Clough, Henry Burton, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hartley Coleridge, Joseph Anstice, George Macdonald, Robert Leighton, John Henry Newman, John Sterling, Edward H. Bickersteth, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and many others. Of German authors there are not a few, including Johann W. von Goethe, Johann C. F. Schiller, George A. Neumarck, Paul Gerhardt, Benjamin Schmolke, S. C. Schoener, Scheffler, Karl Rudolf Hagenbach, S. Rodigast, Novalis, Wolfgang C. Dessler, L. Gedicke, Martin Luther, and Johann G. von Herder. The number of American poets drawn upon is small compared with this list. It is the case in all such collections. According to an analysis of the hymns contained in the most widely used American hymnals down to 1880 the average number of hymns of purely American origin was not quite one in seven; the proportion would be a little larger now. And the number of Methodist poets is almost nil, in spite of the fact that the compiler is a Methodist and the volume is issued from the official Methodist Publishing House. But if we thought that this would be any barrier to its wide circulation in Methodist homes we should be deeply ashamed for our church. We are confident it will not be. For mere denominational tenets do not at all enter into these great matters of the soul's life. A book like this speaks loudly for the real oneness, not only of all branches of the Christian Church, but of all religions, in some respects. Not only do we find the various Protestant denominations amply represented here; not only have we most inspiring words from Roman Catholic writers like Francis Xavier, Madame Guyon, Alexander Pope, John Henry Newman, Frederick W. Faber, and Adelaide Anne Procter; but from Mohammedan sources, from Sufi saints of Persia, and the Moslem devotees of Arabia, and even from Hinduism, there are utterances of noblest truth which we cannot read without a kindling heart. These are all brought together from the ends of the earth into a delightful "upper chamber," where the warring discords of opinion cease and an exceedingly precious peace prevails. It should be said, though it is perhaps hardly necessary, that this is by no means a book to be read at a sitting. It furnishes very concentrated nourishment. It can be taken with largest profit only a little at a time, according as the mood demands and circumstances appoint. There should be very much meditation mingled with the perusal, an attempt to penetrate the deep meaning of the lines and have them enter into the soul for practical benefit. Some of these hymns have great histories: they are the war cries of combatants on hard-fought battle fields; they are living words of deep experience pressed out of the heart by strong feeling; they are the embodiment of visions caught on some Pisgah's glowing top. Here will be found and furnished hope for the faint-hearted, rest for the weary, courage for the trembling, cheer for the despondent, power for the weak, comfort for the afflicted, guidance in times of difficulty, wise counsel for moments of perplexity, a stimulant to faithfulness, a cure for the blues, exhilaration, jubilation. Everything of a depressing nature has been scrupulously ruled out. The keynote, persistently followed through all the pages, is optimistic, bright, buoyant. Trumpet calls and bugle notes are furnished in abundance, but no dirges or elegies. Large space, it will be seen, is given to such topics as Heroism, True Greatness, the Care and Presence of God, the blessings of Brotherliness, the privilege of Service, the path of Peace, the secret of Contentment, the mission of Prayer, the joy of Jesus, the meaning of Life, the glory of Love, the promise of Faith, the happy aspect of old Age and Death; for these subjects come very close home to the heart, and are illustrated in daily experience. Anyone who feels a special need in any of these directions is confidently recommended to turn to the proper sections and read the selections. Very much that is here may easily and suitably be committed to memory, that thus it may the more permanently penetrate into the inmost depth of being. It may be used with most telling effect in sermons to give point and pungency to the thought of the preacher. Alike in popular discourse and public testimony or in private meditation these gems of sentiment and thought will come into play with great advantage. The benefit which may be derived from them can scarcely be overestimated. President Eliot, of Harvard University, has said: "There are bits of poetry in my mind learned in infancy that have stood by me in keeping me true to my ideas of duty and life. Rather than lose these I would have missed all the sermons I have ever heard." Many another can say substantially the same, can trace his best deeds very largely to the influence of some little stanza or couplet early stored away in his memory and coming ever freshly to mind in after years as the embodiment of truest wisdom. We cannot guarantee in all cases the absolute correctness of the forms of the poems given, though much pains have been taken to ensure accuracy; but authors themselves make changes in their productions at different times in different editions. Nor have we always been able to trace the poem to its source. Slips and errors of various kinds can hardly be avoided in such matters. Even so competent an editor as John G. Whittier, in his "Songs of Three Centuries," ascribes "Love divine, all love excelling" to that bitter Calvinist, Augustus M. Toplady, giving it as the sole specimen of his verse; when it was really written by the ardent Arminian, Charles Wesley, with whom Toplady was on anything but friendly terms. If Whittier could make a blunder of this magnitude we may be pardoned if possibly a keen-eyed critic spies something in our book almost as grossly incorrect. In some cases we have been obliged to change the titles of poems so as to avoid reduplication in our index, or to adapt them the better to the small extract taken from the much longer form in the original. In a few cases we have made (indicated) alterations in poems to fit them more fully to the purpose of the book. The volume will be found not only a readable one, we think, but also an uncommonly useful one for presentation by those who would do good and give gratification to their serious-minded friends with a taste for religious poetry and a love for wandering in the "holy land of song." He who would put before another the essential elements of religion would do better to give him such a book as this than a treatise on theology. He who would himself get a clear idea of what the religious life really is will do better to pore over these pages than to dip into some philosophical discussion. Here the best life is expressed rather than analyzed, exhibited rather than explained. Mrs. Browning has well said, "Plant a poet's word deep enough in any man's breast, looking presently for offshoots, and you have done more for the man than if you dressed him in a broadcloth coat and warmed his Sunday pottage at your fire." We who, by preparing or circulating such volumes, aid the poets in finding a larger circle to whom to give their message, may claim a part of the blessing which comes to those who in any way aid humanity. George Herbert has said, "A verse may find him who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice." He himself most excellently illustrated the sentiment by bequeathing to the world many beautiful verses that are sermons of the most picturesque sort. One definition of poetry is "a record of the best thoughts and best moments of the best and happiest minds." This in itself would almost be sufficient to establish the connection between poetry and religion. It is certain that the two have very close and vital relations. Dr. Washington Gladden has admirably remarked, "Poetry is indebted to religion for its largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is indebted to poetry for its subtlest and most luminous interpretations." No doubt a man may be truly, deeply religious who has little or no development on the æsthetic side, to whom poetry makes no special appeal. But it is certain that he whose soul is deaf to the "concord of sweet sounds" misses a mighty aid in the spiritual life. For a hymn is a wing by which the spirit soars above earthly cares and trials into a purer air and a clearer sunshine. Nothing can better scatter the devils of melancholy and gloom or doubt and fear. When praise and prayer, trust and love, faith and hope, and similar sentiments, have passed into and through some poet's passionate soul, until he has become so charged with them that he has been able to fix them in a form of expression where beauty is united to strength, where concentration and ornamentation are alike secured, then the deepest needs of great numbers are fully met. What was vague and dim is brought into light. What was only half conceived, and so but half felt, is made to grip the soul with power. Poetry is of the very highest value for the inspiration and guidance of life, for calling out the emotions and opening up spiritual visions. It carries truths not only into the understanding, but into the heart, where they are likely to have the most direct effect on conduct. In the language of Robert Southey, I commit these pages to the Christian public, with a sincere belief that much benefit will result to all who shall read them: "Go forth, little book, from this my solitude; I cast thee on the waters,--go thy ways; And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, The world will find thee after many days. Be it with thee according to thy worth; Go, little book! in faith I send thee forth." JAMES MUDGE. Malden, Mass. HEROISM CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH THE INEVITABLE I like the man who faces what he must, With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; Who fights the daily battle without fear; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God; that somehow, true and just, His plans work out for mortals; not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, Falls from his grasp: better, with love, a crust Than living in dishonor: envies not, Nor loses faith in man; but does his best, Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot, But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest To every toiler: he alone is great Who by a life heroic conquers fate. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. DEFEATED YET TRIUMPHANT They never fail who die In a great cause. The block may soak their gore; Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs Be strung to city gates and castle walls; But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years Elapse and others share as dark a doom, They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts Which overpower all others and conduct The world, at last, to freedom. --George Gordon Byron. A HERO GONE He has done the work of a true man-- Crown him, honor him, love him; Weep over him, tears of woman, Stoop, manliest brows, above him! For the warmest of hearts is frozen; The freest of hands is still; And the gap in our picked and chosen The long years may not fill. No duty could overtask him, No need his will outrun: Or ever our lips could ask him, His hands the work had done. He forgot his own life for others, Himself to his neighbor lending. Found the Lord in his suffering brothers, And not in the clouds descending. And he saw, ere his eye was darkened, The sheaves of the harvest-bringing; And knew, while his ear yet hearkened, The voice of the reapers singing. Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin. He has heard the Master's blessing, "Good and faithful, enter in!" --John Greenleaf Whittier. THE CHARGE They outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee? Better men fared thus before thee; Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, Hotly charged--and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall! --Matthew Arnold. THE REFORMER Before the monstrous wrong he sets him down-- One man against a stone-walled city of sin. For centuries those walls have been abuilding; Smooth porphyry, they slope and coldly glass The flying storm and wheeling sun. No chink, No crevice, lets the thinnest arrow in. He fights alone, and from the cloudy ramparts A thousand evil faces gibe and jeer him. Let him lie down and die: what is the right, And where is justice, in a world like this? But by and by earth shakes herself, impatient; And down, in one great roar of ruin, crash Watch-tower and citadel and battlements. When the red dust has cleared, the lonely soldier Stands with strange thoughts beneath the friendly stars. --Edward Rowland Sill. LIFE AND DEATH So he died for his faith. That is fine-- More than most of us do. But, say, can you add to that line That he lived for it, too? In his death he bore witness at last As a martyr to truth. Did his life do the same in the past From the days of his youth? It is easy to die. Men have died For a wish or a whim-- From bravado or passion or pride. Was it harder for him? But to live--every day to live out All the truth that he dreamt, While his friends met his conduct with doubt And the world with contempt. Was it thus that he plodded ahead, Never turning aside? Then we'll talk of the life that he lived. Never mind how he died. --Ernest Crosby. THE RED PLANET MARS The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm. Oh, fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong,-- Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS PRAISE THEE Not they alone who from the bitter strife Came forth victorious, yielding willingly That which they deem most precious, even life, Content to suffer all things, Christ, for Thee; Not they alone whose feet so firmly trod The pathway ending in rack, sword and flame, Foreseeing death, yet faithful to their Lord, Enduring for His sake the pain and shame; Not they alone have won the martyr's palm, Not only from their life proceeds the eternal psalm. For earth hath martyrs now, a saintly throng; Each day unnoticed do we pass them by; 'Mid busy crowds they calmly move along, Bearing a hidden cross, how patiently! Not theirs the sudden anguish, swift and keen, Their hearts are worn and wasted with small cares, With daily griefs and thrusts from foes unseen; Troubles and trials that take them unawares; Theirs is a lingering, silent martyrdom; They weep through weary years, and long for rest to come. They weep, but murmur not; it is God's will, And they have learned to bend their own to his; Simply enduring, knowing that each ill Is but the herald of some future bliss; Striving and suffering, yet so silently They know it least who seem to know them best. Faithful and true through long adversity They work and wait until God gives them rest; These surely share with those of bygone days The palm-branch and the crown, and swell their song of praise. THE HAPPY WARRIOR 'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a nation's eye, Or left unthought of in obscurity, Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,-- Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won; Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that former work stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpast; Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth Forever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, And leave a dead, unprofitable name-- Finds comfort in himself and in his cause, And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy warrior; this is he That every man in arms should wish to be. --William Wordsworth. Aground the man who seeks a noble end Not angels but divinities attend. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. ROBERT BROWNING'S MESSAGE Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made; Our times are in His hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!" Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast; Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men: Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! For thence--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. * * * * * Not on the vulgar mass Called "work" must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb, So passed in making up the main account; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. * * * * * Fool! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee _That_ was, is, and shall be: Time's wheel runs back or stops; Potter and clay endure. --From "Rabbi Ben Ezra." TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right, And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word; Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne-- Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch, above his own. Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified, And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied. Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes--they were souls that stood alone While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone; Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track, Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned One new word of that grand _Credo_ which in prophet-hearts hath burned Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned. For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. 'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves; Worshipers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;-- Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time? Turn those tracks toward Past or Future that make Plymouth Rock sublime? They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires; Shall we make their creed our jailer? shall we in our haste to slay, From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. --James Russell Lowell. COLUMBUS Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now, we must pray, For lo! the very stars are _gone_, Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" "Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" "My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say at break of day, 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say--" He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate: "This mad sea shows its teeth to-night. He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word. What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt as a leaping sword, "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- A light! A light! A light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn: He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: "On, and on!" --Joaquin Miller. THE CHOSEN FEW The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain; His blood-red banner streams afar; Who follows in his train. Who best can drink His cup of woe, And triumph over pain, Who patient bears His cross below-- He follows in His train. A glorious band, the chosen few, On whom the Spirit came; Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, And mocked the cross and flame. They climbed the dizzy steep to heaven Through peril, toil and pain; O God! to us may grace be given To follow in their train! --Reginald Heber. HOW DID YOU DIE? Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful, Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? O, a trouble is a ton, or a trouble is an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only--how did you take it? You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there--that's disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight--and why? And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could. If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only--how did you die? --Edmund Vance Cooke. LUTHER That which he knew he uttered, Conviction made him strong; And with undaunted courage He faced and fought the wrong. No power on earth could silence him Whom love and faith made brave; And though four hundred years have gone Men strew with flowers his grave. A frail child born to poverty, A German miner's son; A poor monk searching in his cell, What honors he has won! The nations crown him faithful, A man whom truth made free; God give us for these easier times More men as real as he! --Marianne Farningham. THE MARTYRS Flung to the heedless winds, Or on the waters cast, The martyrs' ashes, watched, Shall gathered be at last; And from that scattered dust, Around us and abroad, Shall spring a plenteous seed Of witnesses for God. The Father hath received Their latest living breath; And vain is Satan's boast Of victory in their death; Still, still, though dead, they speak, And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim To many a wakening land, The one availing name. --Martin Luther, tr. by John A. Messenger. Stainless soldier on the walls, Knowing this--and knows no more-- Whoever fights, whoever falls, Justice conquers evermore, Justice after as before; And he who battles on her side, God, though he were ten times slain, Crowns him victor glorified, Victor over death and pain. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. ETERNAL JUSTICE The man is thought a knave, or fool, Or bigot, plotting crime, Who, for the advancement of his kind, Is wiser than his time. For him the hemlock shall distil; For him the axe be bared; For him the gibbet shall be built; For him the stake prepared. Him shall the scorn and wrath of men Pursue with deadly aim; And malice, envy, spite, and lies, Shall desecrate his name. But Truth shall conquer at the last, For round and round we run; And ever the Right comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done. Pace through thy cell, old Socrates, Cheerily to and fro; Trust to the impulse of thy soul, And let the poison flow. They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay That holds a light divine, But they cannot quench the fire of thought By any such deadly wine. They cannot blot thy spoken words From the memory of man By all the poison ever was brewed Since time its course began. To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored, For round and round we run, And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done. Plod in thy cave, gray anchorite; Be wiser than thy peers; Augment the range of human power, And trust to coming years. They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed, And load thee with dispraise; Thou wert born five hundred years too soon For the comfort of thy days; But not too soon for human kind. Time hath reward in store; And the demons of our sires become The saints that we adore. The blind can see, the slave is lord, So round and round we run; And ever the Wrong is proved to be wrong And ever is Justice done. Keep, Galileo, to thy thought, And nerve thy soul to bear; They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring From the pangs of thy despair; They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide The sun's meridian glow; The heel of a priest may tread thee down And a tyrant work thee woe; But never a truth has been destroyed; They may curse it and call it crime; Pervert and betray, or slander and slay Its teachers for a time. But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, As round and round we run; And the Truth shall ever come uppermost, And Justice shall be done. And live there now such men as these-- With thoughts like the great of old? Many have died in their misery, And left their thought untold; And many live, and are ranked as mad, And are placed in the cold world's ban, For sending their bright, far-seeing souls Three centuries in the van. They toil in penury and grief, Unknown, if not maligned; Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn Of the meanest of mankind! But yet the world goes round and round, And the genial seasons run; And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done. --Charles Mackay. We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides. The spirit bloweth and is still; In mystery our soul abides: But tasks in hours of insight willed Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled. With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern. --Matthew Arnold. WHAT MAKES A HERO? What makes a hero?--not success, not fame, Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted avarice--caps tossed up in air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name-- These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. What makes a hero?--An heroic mind, Expressed in action, in endurance proved. And if there be preëminence of right, Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse--ingratitude and poisonous darts, Launched by the country he had served and loved. This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, This, in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown; This is the hero's complement and crown; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still-- One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts. --Henry Taylor. As the bird trims her to the gale I trim myself to the storm of time; I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime; "Lowly faithful banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed." --Ralph Waldo Emerson. DEMAND FOR MEN The world wants men--large-hearted, manly men; Men who shall join its chorus and prolong The psalm of labor, and the psalm of love. The times want scholars--scholars who shall shape The doubtful destinies of dubious years, And land the ark that bears our country's good Safe on some peaceful Ararat at last. The age wants heroes--heroes who shall dare To struggle in the solid ranks of truth; To clutch the monster error by the throat; To bear opinion to a loftier seat; To blot the era of oppression out, And lead a universal freedom on. And heaven wants souls--fresh and capacious souls; To taste its raptures, and expand, like flowers, Beneath the glory of its central sun. It wants fresh souls--not lean and shrivelled ones; It wants fresh souls, my brother, give it thine. If thou indeed wilt be what scholars should; If thou wilt be a hero, and wilt strive To help thy fellow and exalt thyself, Thy feet at last shall stand on jasper floors; Thy heart, at last, shall seem a thousand hearts-- Each single heart with myriad raptures filled-- While thou shalt sit with princes and with kings, Rich in the jewel of a ransomed soul. Blessed are they who die for God, And earn the martyr's crown of light; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater conqueror in his sight. Better to stem with heart and hand The roaring tide of life than lie, Unmindful, on its flowery strand, Of God's occasions drifting by! TRUTH Truth will prevail, though men abhor The glory of its light; And wage exterminating war And put all foes to flight. Though trodden under foot of men, Truth from the dust will spring, And from the press--the lip--the pen-- In tones of thunder ring. Beware--beware, ye who resist The light that beams around, Lest, ere you look through error's mist, Truth strike you to the ground. --D. C. Colesworthy. TO A REFORMER Nay, now, if these things that you yearn to teach Bear wisdom, in your judgment, rich and strong, Give voice to them though no man heed your speech, Since right is right though all the world _go_ wrong. The proof that you believe what you declare Is that you still stand firm though throngs pass by; Rather cry truth a lifetime to void air Than flatter listening millions with one lie! --Edgar Fawcett. TEACH ME THE TRUTH Teach me the truth, Lord, though it put to flight My cherished dreams and fondest fancy's play; Give me to know the darkness from the light, The night from day. Teach me the truth, Lord, though my heart may break In casting out the falsehood for the true; Help me to take my shattered life and make Its actions new. Teach me the truth, Lord, though my feet may fear The rocky path that opens out to me; Rough it may be, but let the way be clear That leads to thee. Teach me the truth, Lord. When false creeds decay, When man-made dogmas vanish with the night, Then, Lord, on thee my darkened soul shall stay, Thou living Light. --Frances Lockwood Green. HEROISM It takes great strength to train To modern service your ancestral brain; To lift the weight of the unnumbered years Of dead men's habits, methods, and ideas; To hold that back with one hand, and support With the other the weak steps of the new thought. It takes great strength to bring your life up square With your accepted thought and hold it there; Resisting the inertia that drags back From new attempts to the old habit's track. It is so easy to drift back, to sink; So hard to live abreast of what you think. It takes great strength to live where you belong When other people think that you are wrong; People you love, and who love you, and whose Approval is a pleasure you would choose. To bear this pressure and succeed at length In living your belief--well, it takes strength, And courage, too. But what does courage mean Save strength to help you face a pain foreseen? Courage to undertake this lifelong strain Of setting yours against your grand-sire's brain; Dangerous risk of walking lone and free Out of the easy paths that used to be, And the fierce pain of hurting those we love When love meets truth, and truth must ride above. But the best courage man has ever shown Is daring to cut loose and think alone. Dark are the unlit chambers of clear space Where light shines back from no reflecting face. Our sun's wide glare, our heaven's shining blue, We owe to fog and dust they fumble through; And our rich wisdom that we treasure so Shines from the thousand things that we don't know. But to think new--it takes a courage grim As led Columbus over the world's rim. To think it cost some courage. And to go-- Try it. It takes every power you know. It takes great love to stir the human heart To live beyond the others and apart. A love that is not shallow, is not small, Is not for one or two, but for them all. Love that can wound love for its higher need; Love that can leave love, though the heart may bleed; Love that can lose love, family and friend, Yet steadfastly live, loving, to the end. A love that asks no answer, that can live Moved by one burning, deathless force--to give. Love, strength, and courage; courage, strength, and love. The heroes of all time are built thereof. --Charlotte Perkins Stetson. TO TRUTH O star of truth down shining Through clouds of doubt and fear, I ask but 'neath your guidance My pathway may appear. However long the journey How hard soe'er it be, Though I be lone and weary, Lead on, I'll follow thee. I know thy blessed radiance Can never lead astray, However ancient custom May trend some other way. E'en if through untried deserts, Or over trackless sea, Though I be lone and weary, Lead on, I'll follow thee. The bleeding feet of martyrs Thy toilsome road have trod. But fires of human passion May light the way to God. Then, though my feet should falter, While I thy beams can see, Though I be lone and weary, Lead on, I'll follow thee. Though loving friends forsake me, Or plead with me in tears-- Though angry foes may threaten To shake my soul with fears-- Still to my high allegiance I must not faithless be. Through life or death, forever, Lead on, I'll follow thee. --Minot J. Savage. NOBLESSE OBLIGE Not ours nobility of this world's giving Granted by monarchs of some earthly throne; Not this life only which is worth the living, Nor honor here worth striving for alone. Princes are we, and of a line right royal; Heirs are we of a glorious realm above; Yet bound to service humble, true, and loyal, For thus constraineth us our Monarch's love. And looking to the joy that lies before us, The crown held out to our once fallen race; Led by the light that ever shineth o'er us, Man is restored to nature's noblest place. _Noblesse oblige_--(our very watchword be it!) To raise the fallen from this low estate, To boldly combat wrong whene'er we see it, To render good for evil, love for hate. _Noblesse oblige_--to deeds of valiant daring In alien lands which other lords obey, And into farthest climes our standard bearing, To lead them captive 'neath our Master's sway. _Noblesse oblige_--that, grudging not our treasure, Nor seeking any portion to withhold, We freely give it, without stint or measure, Whate'er it be--our talents, time, or gold. _Noblesse oblige_--that, looking upward ever, We serve our King with courage, faith, and love, Till, through that grace which can from death deliver, We claim our noble heritage above! OUR HEROES The winds that once the Argo bore Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines, And her hull is the drift of the deep sea floor, Though shaped of Pelion's tallest pines. You may seek her crew in every isle, Fair in the foam of Ægean seas, But out of their sleep no charm can wile Jason and Orpheus and Hercules. And Priam's voice is heard no more By windy Illium's sea-built walls; From the washing wave and the lonely shore No wail goes up as Hector falls. On Ida's mount is the shining snow, But Jove has gone from its brow away, And red on the plain the poppies grow Where Greek and Trojan fought that day. Mother Earth! Are thy heroes dead? Do they thrill the soul of the years no more? Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red All that is left of the brave of yore? Are there none to fight as Theseus fought, Far in the young world's misty dawn? Or teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught? Mother Earth! Are thy heroes gone? Gone?--in a nobler form they rise; Dead?--we may clasp their hands in ours, And catch the light of their glorious eyes, And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers. Whenever a noble deed is done, There are the souls of our heroes stirred; Whenever a field for truth is won, There are our heroes' voices heard. Their armor rings in a fairer field Than Greek or Trojan ever trod, For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield, And the light above them the smile of God! So, in his Isle of calm delight, Jason may dream the years away, But the heroes live, and the skies are bright, And the world is a braver world to-day. --Edna Dean Proctor. The hero is not fed on sweets, Daily his own heart he eats; Chambers of the great are jails, And head winds right for royal sails. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. TRIUMPH OF THE MARTYRS They seemed to die on battle-field, To die with justice, truth, and law; The bloody corpse, the broken shield, Were all that senseless folly saw. But, like Antæus from the turf, They sprung refreshed, to strive again, Where'er the savage and the serf Rise to the rank of men. They seemed to die by sword and fire, Their voices hushed in endless sleep; Well might the noblest cause expire Beneath that mangled, smouldering heap; Yet that wan band, unarmed, defied The legions of their pagan foes; And in the truths they testified, From out the ashes rose. WORTH WHILE I pray thee, Lord, that when it comes to me To say if I will follow truth and Thee, Or choose instead to win, as better worth My pains, some cloying recompense of earth-- Grant me, great Father, from a hard-fought field, Forspent and bruised, upon a battered shield, Home to obscure endurance to be borne Rather than live my own mean gains to scorn. --Edward Sandford Martin. WILL O, well for him whose will is strong! He suffers, but he will not suffer long; He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong. For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, Who seems a promontory of rock, That, compassed round with turbulent sound, In middle ocean meets the surging shock, Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned. --Alfred Tennyson. NOBLE DEEDS Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares. Honor to those whose words or deeds Thus help us in our daily needs, And by their overflow Raise us from what is low! --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. GOD'S HEROES Not on the gory field of fame Their noble deeds were done; Not in the sound of earth's acclaim Their fadeless crowns were won. Not from the palaces of kings, Nor fortune's sunny clime, Came the great souls, whose life-work flings Luster o'er earth and time. For truth with tireless zeal they sought; In joyless paths they trod-- Heedless of praise or blame they wrought, And left the rest to God. The lowliest sphere was not disdained; Where love could soothe or save, They went, by fearless faith sustained, Nor knew their deeds were brave. The foes with which they waged their strife Were passion, self, and sin; The victories that laureled life Were fought and won within. Not names in gold emblazoned here, And great and good confessed, In Heaven's immortal scroll appear As noblest and as best. No sculptured stone in stately temple Proclaims their rugged lot; Like Him who was their great example, This vain world knew them not. But though their names no poet wove In deathless song or story, Their record is inscribed above; Their wreaths are crowns of glory. --Edward Hartley Dewart. WORLDLY PLACE "Even in a palace, life may be led well!" So spoke the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell, Our freedom for a little bread we sell, And drudge under some foolish master's ken, Who rates us if we peer outside our pen-- Matched with a palace, is not this a hell? "Even in a palace!" On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words no shadow ever came; And when my ill-schooled spirit is aflame Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop and say: "There were no succor here! The aids to noble life are all within." --Matthew Arnold. THE VICTORY To do the tasks of life, and be not lost; To mingle, yet dwell apart; To be by roughest seas how rudely tossed, Yet bate no jot of heart; To hold thy course among the heavenly stars, Yet dwell upon the earth; To stand behind Fate's firm-laid prison bars, Yet win all Freedom's worth. --Sydney Henry Morse. 'Twere sweet indeed to close our eyes with those we cherish near, And wafted upward by their sighs soar to some calmer sphere; But whether on the scaffold high or in the battle's van The fittest place where man can die is where he dies for man. --Michael Joseph Barry. A TRUE HERO (James Braidwood of the London Fire Brigade; died June, 1861.) Not at the battle front, writ of in story, Not in the blazing wreck, steering to glory; Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever, Died he--this Hero now; hero forever. No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him; No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him; Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty. Only an honest man doing his duty; Just a God-fearing man, simple and lowly, Constant at kirk and hearth, kindly as holy; Death found--and touched him with finger in flying-- Lo! he rose up complete--hero undying. Now all men mourn for him, lovingly raise him, Up from his life obscure, chronicle, praise him; Tell his last act; done 'midst peril appalling, And the last word of cheer from his lips falling; Follow in multitudes to his grave's portal; Leave him there, buried in honor immortal. So many a Hero walks unseen beside us, Till comes the supreme stroke sent to divide us. Then the Lord calls his own--like this man, even, Carried, Elijah-like, fire-winged, to heaven. --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man. --Samuel Daniel. BATTLES Nay, not for place, but for the right, To make this fair world fairer still-- Or lowly lily of the night, Or sun topped tower of a hill, Or high or low, or near or far, Or dull or keen, or bright or dim, Or blade of grass, or brightest star-- All, all are but the same to him. O pity of the strife for place! O pity of the strife for power! How scarred, how marred a mountain's face! How fair the face of a flower! The blade of grass beneath your feet The bravest sword--aye, braver far To do and die in mute defeat Than bravest conqueror of war! When I am dead, say this, but this: "He grasped at no man's blade or shield. Or banner bore, but helmetless, Alone, unknown, he held the field; He held the field, with sabre drawn, Where God had set him in the fight; He held the field, fought on and on, And so fell, fighting for the right!" --Joaquin Miller. While thus to love he gave his days In loyal worship, scorning praise, How spread their lures for him in vain, Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain! He thought it happier to be dead, To die for Beauty than live for bread. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. Whether we climb, whether we plod, Space for one task the scant years lend, To choose some path that leads to God, And keep it to the end. --Lizette Woodworth Reese. Bravely to do whate'er the time demands, Whether with pen or sword, and not to flinch, This is the task that fits heroic hands; So are Truth's boundaries widened, inch by inch. --James Russell Lowell. COURAGE CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR THE BATTLEFIELD Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave-- Gushed, warm with life and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm and fresh and still, Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talks of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry; Oh, be it never heard again! Soon rested those who fought; but thou Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare! lingering long Through weary day and weary year; A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. And blench not at thy chosen lot; The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown--yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell at last The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers. Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed, The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. --William Cullen Bryant. DARE YOU? Doubting Thomas and loving John, Behind the others walking on: "Tell me now, John, dare you be One of the minority? To be lonely in your thought, Never visited nor sought, Shunned with secret shrug, to go Through the world esteemed its foe; To be singled out and hissed, Pointed at as one unblessed, Warned against in whispers faint, Lest the children catch a taint; To bear off your titles well,-- Heretic and infidel? If you dare, come now with me, Fearless, confident and free." "Thomas, do you dare to be Of the great majority? To be only, as the rest, With Heaven's common comforts blessed; To accept, in humble part, Truth that shines on every heart; Never to be set on high, Where the envious curses fly; Never name or fame to find, Still outstripped in soul and mind; To be hid, unless to God, As one grass-blade in the sod; Underfoot with millions trod? If you dare, come with us, be Lost in love's great unity." --Edward Rowland Sill. SENSITIVENESS Time was I shrank from what was right, From fear of what was wrong; I would not brave the sacred fight Because the foe was strong. But now I cast that finer sense And sorer shame aside; Such dread of sin was indolence, Such aim at heaven was pride. So when my Saviour calls I rise, And calmly do my best; Leaving to Him, with silent eyes Of hope and fear, the rest. I step, I mount, where He has led; Men count my haltings o'er; I know them; yet, though self I dread, I love His precept more. --John Henry Newman. COURAGE Because I hold it sinful to despond, And will not let the bitterness of life Blind me with burning tears, but look beyond Its tumult and its strife; Because I lift my head above the mist, Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blow, By every ray and every raindrop kissed That God's love doth bestow; Think you I find no bitterness at all? No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack? Think you there are no ready tears to fall Because I keep them back? Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve, To curse myself and all who love me? Nay! A thousand times more good than I deserve God gives me every day. And in each one of these rebellious tears Kept bravely back He makes a rainbow shine; Gratefully I take His slightest gift, no fears Nor any doubts are mine. Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past One golden day redeems a weary year; Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last Will sound his voice of cheer. Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be. I must be glad and grateful to the end. I grudge you not your cold and darkness,--me The powers of light befriend. --Celia Thaxter. DO AND BE BLEST Dare to think, though others frown; Dare in words your thoughts express; Dare to rise, though oft cast down; Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. Dare from custom to depart; Dare the priceless pearl possess; Dare to wear it next your heart; Dare, when others curse, to bless. Dare forsake what you deem wrong; Dare to walk in wisdom's way, Dare to give where gifts belong, Dare God's precepts to obey. Do what conscience says is right, Do what reason says is best, Do with all your mind and might; Do your duty and be blest. A PLACE WITH HIM O tired worker, faltering on life's rugged way, With faithful hands so full they may not rest, Forget not that the weak of earth have one sure stay, And humblest ones by God himself are blest, Who work for Him! Then courage take, faint heart! and though the path be long God's simple rule thy steps will safely guide:-- "Love Him, thy neighbor as thyself, and do no wrong"; In calm content they all shall surely bide Who walk with Him! So banish every fear, each daily task take up, God's grace thy failing strength shall build anew; His mercy, in thy sorrows, stay the flowing cup: And His great love keep for thy spirit true A place with him! --J. D. Seabury. GOD A FORTRESS A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing: Our Helper, he, amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe; His craft and power are great, And, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal. Did we in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing; Were not the right man on our side, The man of God's own choosing. Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is he; Lord Sabaoth is his name, From age to age the same, And he must win the battle. And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us; We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us. The Prince of darkness grim-- We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, For lo! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him. That word above all earthly powers-- No thanks to them--abideth; The Spirit and the gifts are ours Through him who with us sideth. Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also; The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still, His kingdom is forever. --Martin Luther, tr. by Frederick H. Hedge. STRENGTH Be strong to hope, O heart! Though day is bright, The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, O heart of mine, Look toward the light. Be strong to bear, O heart! Nothing is vain: Strive not, for life is care, And God sends pain. Heaven is above, and there Rest will remain. Be strong to love, O heart! Love knows not wrong; Didst thou love creatures even, Life were not long; Didst thou love God in heaven Thou wouldst be strong. Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph? Pray, "Lead us into no such temptation, Lord!" Yea, but, O thou whose servants are the bold, Lead such temptations by the head and hair, Reluctant dragons, up to who dares fight, That so he may do battle and have praise. --Robert Browning. BE JUST AND FEAR NOT Speak thou the truth. Let others fence, And trim their words for pay: In pleasant sunshine of pretense Let others bask their day. Guard thou the fact; though clouds of night Down on thy watch tower stoop: Though thou shouldst see thine heart's delight Borne from thee by their swoop. Face thou the wind. Though safer seem In shelter to abide: We were not made to sit and dream: The safe must first be tried. Where God hath set His thorns about, Cry not, "The way is plain": His path within for those without Is paved with toil and pain. One fragment of His blessed Word, Into thy spirit burned, Is better than the whole half-heard And by thine interest turned. Show thou thy light. If conscience gleam, Set not thy bushel down; The smallest spark may send his beam O'er hamlet, tower, and town. Woe, woe to him, on safety bent, Who creeps to age from youth, Failing to grasp his life's intent Because he fears the truth. Be true to every inmost thought, And as thy thought, thy speech: What thou hast not by suffering bought, Presume thou not to teach. Hold on, hold on--thou hast the rock, The foes are on the sand: The first world tempest's ruthless shock Scatters their drifting strand: While each wild gust the mist shall clear We now see darkly through, And justified at last appear The true, in Him that's True. --Henry Alford. COURAGE DEFINED The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. As for your youth whom blood and blows delight, Away with them! there is not in their crew One valiant spirit. --Joanna Baillie. DEMAND FOR COURAGE Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art; Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart Thy two-edged weapon; patience is thy shield, Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field. To be afraid to die, or wish for death, Are words and passions of despairing breath. Who doth the first the day doth faintly yield; And who the second basely flies the field. --Francis Quarles. When falls the hour of evil chance-- And hours of evil chance will fall-- Strike, though with but a broken lance! Strike, though you have no lance at all! Shrink not, however great the odds; Shrink not, however dark the hour-- The barest possibility of good Demands your utmost power. They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three. --James Russell Lowell. TRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT Courage, brother, do not stumble, Though thy path be dark as night; There's a star to guide the humble-- Trust in God and do the right. Though the road be long and dreary, And the end be out of sight; Foot it bravely, strong or weary-- Trust in God and do the right. Perish "policy" and cunning, Perish all that fears the light; Whether losing, whether winning, Trust in God and do the right. Shun all forms of guilty passion, Fiends can look like angels bright; Heed no custom, school, or fashion-- Trust in God and do the right. Some will hate thee, some will love thee, Some will flatter, some will slight; Cease from man and look above thee, Trust in God and do the right. Simple rule and safest guiding-- Inward peace and shining light-- Star upon our path abiding-- TRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT. --Norman Macleod. THE PRESENT CRISIS We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful time. In an age on ages telling to be living is sublime. Hark! the waking up of nations; Gog and Magog to the fray. Hark! what soundeth? 'Tis creation groaning for its latter day. Will ye play, then, will ye dally, with your music and your wine? Up! it is Jehovah's rally; God's own arm hath need of thine; Hark! the onset! will ye fold your faith-clad arms in lazy lock? Up! O up, thou drowsy soldier! Worlds are charging to the shock. Worlds are charging--heaven beholding; thou hast but an hour to fight; Now the blazoned cross unfolding, on, right onward for the right! On! let all the soul within you for the truth's sake go abroad! Strike! let every nerve and sinew tell on ages; tell for God! --Arthur Cleveland Coxe. BRAVERY We will speak on; we will be heard; Though all earth's systems crack, We will not bate a single word, Nor take a letter back. We speak the truth; and what care we For hissing and for scorn While some faint gleaming we can see Of Freedom's coming morn! Let liars fear; let cowards shrink; Let traitors turn away; Whatever we have dared to think, That dare we also say. --James Russell Lowell. NO ENEMIES He has no enemies, you say? My friend, your boast is poor; He who hath mingled in the fray Of duty, that the brave endure, Must have made foes. If he has none Small is the work that he has done. He has hit no traitor on the hip; He has cast no cup from tempted lip; He has never turned the wrong to right; He has been a coward in the fight. One deed may mar a life, And one can make it. Hold firm thy will for strife, Lest a quick blow break it! Even now from far, on viewless wing, Hither speeds the nameless thing Shall put thy spirit to the test. Haply or e'er yon sinking sun Shall drop behind the purple West All shall be lost--or won! --Richard Watson Gilder. In spite of sorrow, loss, and pain, Our course be onward still; We sow on Burmah's barren plain, We reap on Zion's hill. --Adoniram Judson. I find no foeman in the road but Fear. To doubt is failure and to dare success. --Frederic Lawrence Knowles. DARE TO DO RIGHT Dare to do right! dare to be true! You have a work that no other can do, Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well, Angels will hasten the story to tell. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Other men's failures can never save you; Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith; Stand like a hero, and battle till death. Dare to do right! dare to be true! God, who created you, cares for you too; Treasures the tears that his striving ones shed, Counts and protects every hair of your head. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Keep the great judgment-seat always in view; Look at your work as you'll look at it then-- Scanned by Jehovah, and angels, and men. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Cannot Omnipotence carry you through? City, and mansion, and throne all in sight-- Can you not dare to be true and do right? Dare to do right! dare to be true! Prayerfully, lovingly, firmly pursue The path by apostles and martyrs once trod, The path of the just to the city of God. --George Lansing Taylor. PLUCK WINS Pluck wins! It always wins! though days be slow, And nights be dark 'twixt days that come and go, Still pluck will win; its average is sure, He gains the prize who will the most endure; Who faces issues; he who never shirks; Who waits and watches, and who always works. BE NEVER DISCOURAGED Be never discouraged! Look up and look on; When the prospect is darkest The cloud is withdrawn. The shadows that blacken The earth and the sky, Speak to the strong-hearted, Salvation is nigh. Be never discouraged! If you would secure The earth's richest blessings, And make heaven sure, Yield not in the battle, Nor quail in the blast; The brave and unyielding Win nobly at last. Be never discouraged! By day and by night Have glory in prospect And wisdom in sight; Undaunted and faithful, You never will fail, Though kingdoms oppose you And devils assail. --D. C. Colesworthy. NEVER SAY FAIL Keep pushing--'tis wiser than sitting aside And dreaming and sighing and waiting the tide. In life's earnest battle they only prevail Who daily march onward, and never say fail. With an eye ever open, a tongue that's not dumb, And a heart that will never to sorrow succumb, You'll battle--and conquer, though thousands assail; How strong and how mighty, who never say fail. In life's rosy morning, in manhood's firm pride, Let this be the motto your footsteps to guide: In storm and in sunshine, whatever assail, We'll onward and conquer, and never say fail. ONLY ONE WAY However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes, With fluttering flags and prancing nags And echoing roll of drums, Still truth proclaims this motto, In letters of living light: No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Though the heel of the strong oppressor May grind the weak in the dust, And the voices of fame with one acclaim May call him great and just, Let those who applaud take warning, And keep this motto in sight: No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Let those who have failed take courage; Though the enemy seemed to have won, Though his ranks are strong, if in the wrong The battle is not yet done. For, sure as the morning follows The darkest hour of the night, No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. FORTITUDE AMID TRIALS O, never from thy tempted heart Let thine integrity depart! When Disappointment fills thy cup, Undaunted, nobly drink it up; Truth will prevail and Justice show Her tardy honors, sure, though slow. Bear on--bear bravely on! Bear on! Our life is not a dream, Though often such its mazes seem; We were not born for lives of ease, Ourselves alone to aid and please. To each a daily task is given, A labor which shall fit for Heaven; When Duty calls, let Love grow warm; Amid the sunshine and the storm, With Faith life's trials boldly breast, And come a conqueror to thy rest. Bear on--bear bravely on! He that feeds men serveth few; He serves all who dares be true. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. PLUCK Be firm. One constant element in luck Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck. See yon tall shaft? It felt the earthquake's thrill, Clung to its base, and greets the sunlight still. Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip, But only crow-bars loose the bulldog's grip; Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields. Yet, in opinions look not always back; Your wake is nothing,--mind the coming track; Leave what you've done for what you have to do, Don't be "consistent," but be simply true. --Oliver Wendell Holmes. Do thy little; do it well; Do what right and reason tell; Do what wrong and sorrow claim: Conquer sin and cover shame. Do thy little, though it be Dreariness and drudgery; They whom Christ apostles made Gathered fragments when he bade. Is the work difficult? Jesus directs thee. Is the path dangerous? Jesus protects thee. Fear not and falter not; Let the word cheer thee: All through the coming year He will be near thee. Well to suffer is divine. Pass the watchword down the line Pass the countersign, Endure! Not to him who rashly dares, But to him who nobly bears, Is the victor's garland sure. --John Greenleaf Whittier. If thou canst plan a noble deed And never flag till thou succeed, Though in the strife thy heart shall bleed, Whatever obstacles control, Thine hour will come; go on, true soul! Thou'lt win the prize; thou'lt reach the goal. I honor the man who is willing to sink Half his present repute for freedom to think; And when he has that, be his cause strong or weak, Will risk t'other half for freedom to speak. --James Russell Lowell. The word is great, and no deed is greater When both are of God, to follow or lead; But alas! for the truth when the word comes later, With questioned steps, to sustain the deed. --John Boyle O'Reilly. Stand upright, speak thy thought, declare The truth thou hast that all may share; Be bold, proclaim it everywhere; They only live who dare. --Lewis Morris. There is no duty patent in the world Like daring try be good and true myself, Leaving the shows of things to the Lord of show And Prince o' the power of the air. --Robert Browning. Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. --Aaron Hill (1685-1750). On the red rampart's slippery swell, With heart that beat a charge, he fell Foeward, as fits a man; But the high soul burns on to light men's feet Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet. --James Russell Lowell. I do not ask that Thou shalt front the fray. And drive the warring foeman from my sight: I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day, Strength for the fight! No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere; I see Heaven's glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. --Emily Brontë. You will find that luck Is only pluck To try things over and over; Patience and skill, Courage and will, Are the four leaves of luck's clover. The chivalry That dares the right and disregards alike The yea and nay o' the world. --Robert Browning. God has his best things for the few Who dare to stand the test; He has his second choice for those Who will not have his best. Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most grows two thereby. --George Herbert. INDEPENDENCE MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION WANTED God give us men! A time like this demands Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; Men whom the lust of office does not kill; Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; Men who possess opinions and a will; Men who have honor--men who will not lie. Men who can stand before a demagogue And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking; Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog In public duty and in private thinking; For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds, Their large professions and their little deeds, Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps, Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps. --Josiah Gilbert Holland. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE By thine own soul's law learn to live, And if men thwart thee take no heed; And if men hate thee have no care; Sing thou thy song, and do thy deed; Hope thou thy hope, and pray thy prayer, And claim no crown they will not give, Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair. Keep thou thy soul-won, steadfast oath, And to thy heart be true thy heart; What thy soul teaches learn to know, And play out thine appointed part, And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow, Nor helped nor hardened in thy growth, To thy full stature thou shalt grow. Fix on the future's goal thy face, And let thy feet be lured to stray Nowhither, but be swift to run, And nowhere tarry by the way, Until at last the end is won, And thou mayst look back from thy place And see thy long day's journey done. --Pakenham Beatty. LORD OF HIMSELF How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill. Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath. Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise, Nor rules of state but rules of good. Who hath his life from rumors freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great. Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all. --Henry Wotton. High above hate I dwell; O storms, farewell! UNCONQUERED Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. --William Ernest Henley. RELIGION AND DOCTRINE He stood before the Sanhedrim: The scowling rabbis gazed at him. He recked not of their praise or blame; There was no fear, there was no shame, For one upon whose dazzled eyes The whole world poured its vast surprise. The open heaven was far too near His first day's light too sweet and clear, To let him waste his new-gained ken On the hate-clouded face of men. But still they questioned, Who art thou? What hast thou been? What art thou now? Thou art not he who yesterday Sat here and begged beside the way, For he was blind. "_And I am he; For I was blind, but now I see._" He told the story o'er and o'er; It was his full heart's only lore; A prophet on the Sabbath day Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, And made him see who had been blind, Their words passed by him like the wind Which raves and howls, but cannot shock The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. Their threats and fury all went wide; They could not touch his Hebrew pride. Their sneers at Jesus and his band, Nameless and homeless in the land, Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, All could not change him by one word. "_I know not what this man may be, Sinner or saint; but as for me One thing I know: that I am he Who once was blind, and now I see._" They were all doctors of renown, The great men of a famous town With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise Beneath their wide phylacteries; The wisdom of the East was theirs, And honor crowned their silvery hairs. The man they jeered, and laughed to scorn Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; But he knew better far than they What came to him that Sabbath day; And what the Christ had done for him He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. --John Hay. THE OLD STOIC Riches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream, That vanished with the morn. And, if I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!" Yes, as my swift days near their goal, 'Tis all that I implore, In life and death a chainless soul And courage to endure. --Emily Brontë. Keep to the right, within and without, With stranger and pilgrim and friend; Keep to the right and you need have no doubt That all will be well in the end. Keep to the right in whatever you do, Nor claim but your own on the way; Keep to the right, and hold on to the true, From the morn to the close of life's day! FOR A' THAT Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that; For a' that and a' that; Our toils obscure and a' that; The rank is but the guinea-stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden gray, and a' that: Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that; For a' that and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men, for a' that. You see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts and stares, and a' that: Though hundreds worship at his word He's but a coof for a' that. For a' that and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, he mauna fa' that, For a' that and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith of sense and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will, for a' that, That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree and a' that; For a' that and a' that, It's comin' yet for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be, for a' that. --Robert Burns. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. --Richard Lovelace. "A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT" (A new song to an old tune.) "A man's a man," says Robert Burns, "For a' that and a' that"; But though the song be clear and strong It lacks a note for a' that. The lout who'd shirk his daily work, Yet claim his wage and a' that, Or beg when he might earn his bread, Is _not_ a man for a' that. If all who "dine on homely fare" Were true and brave and a' that, And none whose garb is "hodden gray" Was fool or knave and a' that, The vice and crime that shame our time Would disappear and a' that, And plowmen be as great as kings, And churls as earls for a' that. But 'tis not so; yon brawny fool, Who swaggers, swears, and a' that, And thinks because his strong right arm Might fell an ox, and a' that, That he's as noble, man for man, As duke or lord, and a' that, Is but an animal at best But _not_ a man for a' that. A man may own a large estate, Have palace, park, and a' that, And not for birth, but honest worth, Be thrice a man for a' that. And Sawnie, herding on the moor, Who beats his wife and a' that, Is nothing but a brutal boor, Nor half a man for a' that. It comes to this, dear Robert Burns, The truth is old, and a' that, The rank _is_ but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. And though you'd put the self-same mark On copper, brass, and a' that, The lie is gross, the cheat is plain, And will not pass for a' that. "For a' that and a' that" 'Tis soul and heart and a' that That makes a king a gentleman, And not his crown for a' that. And whether he be rich or poor The best is he, for a' that, Who stands erect in self-respect, And acts the man for a' that. --Charles Mackay. ESSE QUAM VIDERI The knightly legend on thy shield betrays The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, And that large honor that deceit defies, Inspired thy fathers in the elder days, Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase, _To be, rather than seem._ As eve's red skies Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies, Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays, Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend. The ever-mutable multitude at last Will hail the power they did not comprehend-- Thy fame will broaden through the centuries; As, storm and billowy tumult overpast, The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas. --John Hay. THE HIGHER LAW Man was not made for forms, but forms for man, And there are times when law itself must bend To that clear spirit always in the van, Outspeeding human justice. In the end Potentates, not humanity, must fall. Water will find its level, fire will burn, The winds must blow around the earthly ball, The earthly ball by day and night must turn; Freedom is typed in every element, Man must be free, if not through law, why then Above the law, until its force be spent And justice brings a better. But, O, when, Father of Light, when shall the reckoning come To lift the weak, and strike the oppressor dumb. --Christopher Pearse Cranch. What I am, what I am not, in the eye Of the world, is what I never cared for much. --Robert Browning. I RESOLVE To keep my health; To do my work; To live; To see to it that I grow and gain and give; Never to look behind me for an hour; To wait in meekness, and to walk in power; But always fronting onward, to the light, Always and always facing toward the right. Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide-astray-- On, with what strength I have-- Back to the way. --Charlotte Perkins Stetson. IN MYSELF I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win; Nor try to conquer any world Except the one within. Be thou my guide until I find Led by a tender hand, The happy kingdom in myself And dare to take command. --Louisa May Alcott. HIDE NOT THY HEART This is my creed, This is my deed: "Hide not thy heart!" Soon we depart; Mortals are all; A breath, then the pall; A flash on the dark-- All's done--stiff and stark. No time for a lie; The truth, and then die. Hide not thy heart! Forth with thy thought! Soon 'twill be naught, And thou in thy tomb. Now is air, now is room. Down with false shame; Reck not of fame; Dread not man's spite; Quench not thy light. This be thy creed, This be thy deed: "Hide not thy heart!" If God is, he made Sunshine and shade, Heaven and hell; This we know well. Dost thou believe? Do not deceive; Scorn not thy faith-- If 'tis a wraith Soon it will fly. Thou who must die, Hide not thy heart! This is my creed, This be my deed: Faith, or a doubt, I shall speak out-- And hide not my heart. --Richard Watson Gilder. A GENTLEMAN (Psa. XV.) 'Tis he whose every thought and deed By rule of virtue moves; Whose generous tongue disdains to speak The thing his heart disproves. Who never did a slander forge His neighbor's fame to wound; Nor hearken to a false report By malice whispered round. Who vice in all its pomp and power Can treat with just neglect; And piety, though clothed in rags, Religiously respect. Who to his plighted word of truth Has ever firmly stood; And, though he promised to his loss, Still makes his promise good. Whose soul in usury disdains His treasure to employ; Whom no reward can ever bribe The guiltless to destroy. I hold it as a changeless law, From which no soul can sway or swerve, We have that in us which will draw Whate'er we need or most deserve. BE TRUE THYSELF Thou must be true thyself If thou the truth wouldst teach; Thy soul must overflow if thou Another's soul wouldst reach. It needs the overflow of heart To give the lips full speech. Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. --Horatius Bonar. Keep pure thy soul! Then shalt thou take the whole Of delight; Then, without a pang, Thine shall be all of beauty whereof the poet sang-- The perfume and the pageant, the melody, the mirth, Of the golden day and the starry night; Of heaven and of earth. Oh, keep pure thy soul! --Richard Watson Gilder. Somebody did a golden deed; Somebody proved a friend in need; Somebody sang a beautiful song; Somebody smiled the whole daylong; Somebody thought, "'Tis sweet to live." Somebody said, "I'm glad to give"; Somebody fought a valiant fight; Somebody lived to shield the right; Was it you? Then draw we nearer, day by day, Each to his brethren, all to God; Let the world take us as she may, We must not change our road; Not wondering, though in grief, to find The martyr's foe still keep her mind; But fixed to hold Love's banner fast, And by submission win at last. --John Keble. Knowing, what all experience serves to show, No mud can soil us but the mud we throw. --James Russell Lowell. Be no imitator; freshly act thy part; Through this world be thou an independent ranger; Better is the faith that springeth from thy heart Than a better faith belonging to a stranger. --From the Persian. None but one can harm you, None but yourself who are your greatest foe, He that respects himself is safe from others, He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And some innative weakness there must be In him that condescends to victory Such as the _present_ gives, and cannot wait-- Safe in himself as in a fate. --James Russell Lowell. To be the thing we seem, To do the thing we deem Enjoined by duty; To walk in faith, nor dream Of questioning God's scheme Of truth and beauty. To live by law, acting the law we live by without fear, And, because right is right, to follow right, Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence. --Alfred Tennyson. Though love repine, and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply: "'Tis man's perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die." --Ralph Waldo Emerson. Whatever you are--be that; Whatever you say--be true; Straightforwardly act-- Be honest--in fact Be nobody else but you. If thou _hast_ something, bring thy goods; A fair exchange be thine! If thou _art_ something, bring thy soul, And interchange with mine. --Schiller, tr. by Edward Bulwer Lytton. However others act toward thee, Act thou toward them as seemeth right; And whatsoever others be, Be thou the child of love and light. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. --William Shakespeare. My time is short enough at best, I push right onward while I may; I open to the winds my breast, And walk the way. --John Vance Cheney. Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves are triumph and defeat. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It becomes no man to nurse despair, But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms To follow up the worthiest till he die. --Alfred Tennyson. GREATNESS FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY A GREAT MAN That man is great, and he alone, Who serves a greatness not his own, For neither praise nor pelf; Content to know and be unknown: Whole in himself. Strong is that man, he only strong, To whose well-ordered will belong, For service and delight, All powers that, in the face of Wrong, Establish Right. And free is he, and only he, Who, from his tyrant passions free, By Fortune undismayed, Hath power upon himself, to be By himself obeyed. If such a man there be, where'er Beneath the sun and moon he fare, He cannot fare amiss; Great Nature hath him in her care, Her cause is his; Who holds by everlasting law Which neither chance nor change can flaw, Whose steadfast course is one With whatsoever forces draw The ages on; Who hath not bowed his honest head To base Occasion; nor, in dread Of Duty, shunned her eye; Nor truckled to loud times; nor wed His heart to a lie; Nor feared to follow, in the offense Of false opinion, his own sense Of justice unsubdued; Nor shrunk from any consequence Of doing good; He looks his Angel in the face Without a blush; nor heeds disgrace Whom naught disgraceful done Disgraces. Who knows nothing base Fears nothing known. Not morseled out from day to day In feverish wishes, nor the prey Of hours that have no plan, His life is whole, to give away To God and man. For though he live aloof from ken, The world's unwitnessed denizen, The love within him stirs Abroad, and with the hearts of men His own confers. The judge upon the justice-seat; The brown-backed beggar in the street; The spinner in the sun; The reapers reaping in the wheat; The wan-cheeked nun In cloisters cold; the prisoner lean In lightless den, the robèd queen; Even the youth who waits, Hiding the knife, to glide unseen Between the gates-- He nothing human alien deems Unto himself, nor disesteems Man's meanest claim upon him. And where he walks the mere sunbeams Drop blessings on him. Because they know him Nature's friend, One whom she doth delight to tend With loving kindness ever: Helping and heartening to the end His high endeavor. --Edward Bulwer Lytton. FAME AND DUTY What shall I do lest life in silence pass? "And if it do, And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, What need'st thou rue? Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute-- The shallows roar; Worth is the ocean--fame is but the bruit Along the shore." What shall I do to be forever known? "Thy duty ever!" This did full many who yet slept unknown. "O never, never! Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown Whom thou know'st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown-- Divine their lot." What shall I do, an heir of endless life? "Discharge aright The simple dues with which each day is rife, Yea, with thy might. Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise Will life be fled, While he who ever acts as conscience cries, Shall live, though dead." --Johann C. F. Schiller. NOBLE LIVES There are hearts which never falter In the battle for the right; There are ranks which never alter Watching through the darkest night; And the agony of sharing In the fiercest of the strife Only gives a nobler daring, Only makes a grander life. There are those who never weary Bearing suffering and wrong; Though the way is long and dreary It is vocal with their song, While their spirits in God's furnace, Bending to His gracious will, Are fashioned in a purer mold By His loving, matchless skill. There are those whose loving mission 'Tis to bind the bleeding heart; And to teach a calm submission When the pain and sorrow smart. They are angels, bearing to us Love's rich ministry of peace, While the night is nearing to us When life's bitter trials cease. There are those who battle slander, Envy, jealousy and hate; Who would rather die than pander To the passions of earth's great; No earthly power can ever crush them, They dread not the tyrant's frown; Fear or favor cannot hush them, Nothing bind their spirits down. These, these alone are truly great; These are the conquerors of fate; These truly live, they never die; But, clothed with immortality, When they lay their armor down Shall enter and receive the crown. THE HIGHER LIFE To play through life a perfect part, Unnoticed and unknown; To seek no rest in any heart Save only God alone; In little things to own no will. To have no share in great; To find the labor ready still And for the crown to wait. Upon the brow to bear no trace Of more than common care; To write no secret in the face For men to read it there; The daily cross to clasp and bless With such familiar zeal As hides from all that not the less The daily weight you feel; In toils that praise will never pay, To see your life go past; To meet in every coming day Twin sister of the last; To hear of high heroic things, And yield them reverence due, But feel life's daily sufferings Are far more fit for you; To own no secret, soft disguise To which self-love is prone, Unnoticed by all other eyes, Unworthy in your own; To yield with such a happy art, That no one thinks you care, And say to your poor bleeding heart, "How little you can bear!" O 'tis a pathway hard to choose, A struggle hard to share; For human pride would still refuse The nameless trials there. But since we know the gate is low That leads to heavenly bliss, What higher grace could God bestow Than such a life as this? --Adelaide Anne Procter. NOBILITY OF GOODNESS My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you, For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song! --Charles Kingsley. THE GLORY OF FAILURE We who have lost the battle To you who have fought and won: Give ye good cheer and greeting! Stoutly and bravely done! Reach us a hand in passing, Comrades--and own the name! Yours is the thrill and the laurel: Ours is the smart and shame. Though we were nothing skillful, Pity us not nor scorn! Send us a hail as hearty-- "Stoutly and bravely borne!" Others may scorn or pity; You who are soldiers know. Where was the joy of your battle Save in the grip with the foe? Did we not stand to the conflict? Did we not fairly fall? Is it your crowns ye care for? Nay, to have fought is all. Humbled and sore we watch you, Cheerful and bruised and lamed. Take the applause of the conquered-- Conquered and unashamed! --Alice Van Vliet. He is brave whose tongue is silent Of the trophies of his word. He is great whose quiet bearing Marks his greatness well assured. --Edwin Arnold. THE LOSING SIDE Helmet and plume and saber, banner and lance and shield, Scattered in sad confusion over the trampled field; And the band of broken soldiers, with a weary, hopeless air, With heads in silence drooping, and eyes of grim despair. Like foam-flakes left on the drifting sand In the track of a falling tide, On the ground where their cause has failed they stand, The last of the losing side. Wisdom of age is vanquished, and generous hopes of youth, Passion of faith and honor, fire of love and truth; And the plans that seemed the fairest in the fight have not prevailed, The keenest blades are broken, and the strongest arms have failed. But souls that know not the breath of shame, And tongues that have never lied, And the truest hearts, and the fairest fame, Are here--on the losing side. The conqueror's crown of glory is set with many a gem, But I join not in their triumph--there are plenty to shout for _them;_ The cause is the most applauded whose warriors gain the day, And the world's best smiles are given to the victors in the fray. But dearer to me is the darkened plain, Where the noblest dreams have died, Where hopes have been shattered and heroes slain In the ranks of the losing side. --Arthur E. J. Legge. IO VICTIS I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the battle of life, The hymn of the wounded and beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife; Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resounding acclaim Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chaplet of fame, But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary and broken in heart, Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part; Whose youth bore no flower on its branches, whose hopes burned in ashes away, From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at the dying of day With the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied, unheeded, alone, With death swooping down o'er their failure, and all but their faith overthrown. While the voice of the world shouts its chorus--its pean for those who have won; While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, and high to the breeze and the sun Glad banners are waving, hands clapping, and hurrying feet Thronging after the laurel-crowned victors, I stand on the field of defeat, In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wounded, and dying, and there Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their pain-knotted brows, breathe a prayer, Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, "They only the victory win, Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within; Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high; Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight--if need be, to die." Speak, History! who are Life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say, Are they those whom the world called the victors? who won the success of a day? The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans who fell at Thermopylæ's tryst, Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges, or Socrates? Pilate, or Christ? --William M. Story. He makes no friend who never made a foe. --Alfred Tennyson. THE TRUE KING 'Tis not wealth that makes a king, Nor the purple coloring; Nor the brow that's bound with gold, Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled. The king is he who, void of fear, Looks abroad with bosom clear; Who can tread ambition down, Nor be swayed by smile or frown, Nor for all the treasure cares, That mine conceals or harvest wears, Or that golden sands deliver Bosomed in the glassy river. What shall move his placid might? Not the headlong thunder's light, Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, With onward lance or fiery blade. Safe, with wisdom for his crown, He looks on all things calmly down, He welcomes Fate when Fate is near, Nor taints his dying breath with fear. No; to fear not earthly thing, That it is that makes the king; And all of us, whoe'er we be, May carve us out that royalty. --Seneca, tr. by Leigh Hunt. With comrade Duty, in the dark or day, To follow Truth--wherever it may lead; To hate all meanness, cowardice or greed; To look for Beauty under common clay; Our brothers' burden sharing, when they weep, But, if we fall, to bear defeat alone; To live in hearts that loved us, when we're gone Beyond the twilight (till the morning break!)--to sleep-- That is Success! --Ernest Neal Lyon. The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is, not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be, but, finding first What may be, then find out how to make it fair Up to our means; a very different thing. --Robert Browning. BETTER THAN GOLD Better than grandeur, better than gold, Than rank and titles a thousandfold, Is a healthy body, a mind at ease, And simple pleasures that always please; A heart that can feel for another's woe, That has learned with love's deep fires to glow, With sympathy large enough to enfold All men as brothers, is better than gold. Better than gold is a conscience clear, Though toiling for bread in a humble sphere; Doubly blest is content and health Untried by the lusts and the cares of wealth. Lowly living and lofty thought Adorn and ennoble the poor man's cot; For mind and morals in nature's plan Are the genuine tests of the gentleman. Better than gold is the sweet repose Of the sons of toil when labors close; Better than gold is the poor man's sleep And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep. Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed, Where luxury pillows its aching head; The toiler a simple opiate deems A shorter route to the land of dreams. Better than gold is a thinking mind That in the realm of books can find A treasure surpassing Australian ore, And live with the great and good of yore; The sage's lore and the poet's lay; The glories of empires passed away; The world's great dream will thus unfold And yield a pleasure better than gold. Better than gold is a peaceful home, Where all the fireside characters come, The shrine of love, the heaven of life, Hallowed by mother or by wife. However humble the home may be, Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree, The blessings that never were bought or sold And center there, are better than gold. --Abram J. Ryan. When success exalts thy lot God for thy virtue lays a plot. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. MAXIMUS I hold him great who, for Love's sake, Can give with generous, earnest will; Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake I think I hold more generous still. I bow before the noble mind That freely some great wrong forgives; Yet nobler is the one forgiven, Who bears that burden well and lives. It may be hard to gain, and still To keep a lowly, steadfast heart; Yet he who loses has to fill A harder and a truer part. Glorious it is to wear the crown Of a deserved and pure success; He who knows how to fail has won A crown whose luster is not less. Great may he be who can command And rule with just and tender sway; Yet is Diviner wisdom taught Better by him who can obey. Blessed are those who die for God, And earn the martyr's crown of light; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater conqueror in his sight. --Adelaide Anne Procter. 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great: Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains; Like good Aurelius, let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates--that man is great indeed. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels. --Alexander Pope. Though world on world in myriad myriads roll Round us, each with different powers, And other forms of life than ours, What know we greater than the soul? On God and Godlike men we build our trust. --Alfred Tennyson. THE GOOD, GREAT MAN How seldom, friend, a good, great man inherits Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains! It seems a story from the world of spirits When any man obtains that which he merits, Or any merits that which he obtains. For shame, my friend; renounce this idle strain! What would'st thou have a good, great man obtain? Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain, Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain? Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. Hath he not always treasurer, always friends, The great, good man? Three treasures--love, and light, And calm thoughts, equable as infants' breath; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night-- Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. --Samuel Taylor Coleridge. THE POEM OF THE UNIVERSE The poem of the universe Nor rhythm has nor rhyme; For God recites the wondrous song A stanza at a time. Great deeds is he foredoomed to do-- With Freedom's flag unfurled-- Who hears the echo of that song As it goes down the world. Great words he is compelled to speak Who understands the song; He rises up like fifty men, Fifty good men and strong. A stanza for each century: Now heed it all who can! Who hears it, he, and only he, Is the elected man. --Charles Weldon. When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead! --John Greenleaf Whittier. FAILURE AND SUCCESS He fails who climbs to power and place Up the pathway of disgrace. He fails not who makes truth his cause, Nor bends to win the crowd's applause. He fails not, he who stakes his all Upon the right, and dares to fall; What though the living bless or blame, For him the long success of fame. --Richard Watson Gilder. WHAT DOES IT MATTER? It matters little where I was born, Or if my parents were rich or poor; Whether they shrunk at the cold world's scorn, Or walked in the pride of wealth secure. But whether I live an honest man And hold my integrity firm in my clutch I tell you, brother, as plain as I can, It matters much. It matters little how long I stay In a world of sorrow, sin, and care; Whether in youth I am called away Or live till my bones and pate are bare. But whether I do the best I can To soften the weight of Adversity's touch On the faded cheek of my fellow man, It matters much. It matters little where be my grave-- Or on the land or in the sea, By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave, It matters little or naught to me; But whether the Angel Death comes down, And marks my brow with his loving touch, As one that shall wear the victor's crown, It matters much. --Noah Barker. For I am 'ware it is the seed of act God holds appraising in his hollow palm, Not act grown great thence in the world below; Leafage and branchage vulgar eyes admire. --Robert Browning. OBSCURE MARTYRS "The world knows nothing of its greatest men." They have no place in storied page; No rest in marble shrine; They are past and gone with a perished age, They died and "made no sign." But work that shall find its wages yet, And deeds that their God did not forget, Done for their love divine-- These were their mourners, and these shall be The crowns of their immortality. O, seek them not where sleep the dead, Ye shall not find their trace; No graven stone is at their head, No green grass hides their face; But sad and unseen is their silent grave; It may be the sand or the deep sea wave, Or a lonely desert place; For they needed no prayers and no mourning-bell-- They were tombed in true hearts that knew them well. They healed sick hearts till theirs were broken, And dried sad eyes till theirs lost light; We shall know at last by a certain token How they fought and fell in the fight. Salt tears of sorrow unbeheld, Passionate cries unchronicled, And silent strifes for the right-- Angels shall count them, and earth shall sigh That she left her best children to battle and die. --Edwin Arnold. THY BEST Before God's footstool to confess A poor soul knelt and bowed his head. "I failed," he wailed. The Master said, "Thou did'st thy best--that is success." --Henry Coyle. Aspire, break bounds, I say; Endeavor to be good and better still, And best! Success is naught, endeavor's all. --Robert Browning. FAILURE He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled, At eve he drew it empty to the shore; He took the diver's plunge into the sea, But thence within his hand no pearl he bore. He ran a race, but never reached his goal; He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim; And slept at last beneath a simple stone, With no achievements carved about his name. Men called it failure; but for my own part I dare not use that word, for what if Heaven Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read, Not, "Hast thou won?" but only, "Hast thou striven?" --Kate Tucker Goode. THE BEGGAR'S REVENGE The king's proud favorite at a beggar threw a stone. He picked it up as if it had for alms been thrown. He bore it in his bosom long with bitter ache, And sought his time revenge with that same stone to take. One day he heard a street mob's hoarse, commingled cry: The favorite comes!--but draws no more the admiring eye. He rides an ass, from all his haughty state disgraced; And by the rabble's mocking gibes his way is traced. The stone from out his bosom swift the beggar draws, And flinging it away, exclaims: "A fool I was! 'Tis madness to attack, when in his power, your foe, And meanness then to strike when he has fallen low." --From the Persian. A THOUGHT Hearts that are great beat never loud; They muffle their music, when they come; They hurry away from the thronging crowd With bended brows and lips half dumb. And the world looks on and mutters--"Proud." But when great hearts have passed away, Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud, And in love they kneel around their clay. Hearts that are great are always lone; They never will manifest their best; Their greatest greatness is unknown, Earth knows a little--God the rest. --Abram J. Ryan. HIS MONUMENT He built a house, time laid it in the dust; He wrote a book, its title now forgot; He ruled a city, but his name is not On any tablet graven, or where rust Can gather from disuse, or marble bust. He took a child from out a wretched cot; Who on the State dishonor might have brought; And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust. The boy, to manhood grown, became a light To many souls and preached to human need The wondrous love of the Omnipotent. The work has multiplied like stars at night When darkness deepens; every noble deed Lasts longer than a granite monument. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. It is not the wall of stone without That makes a building small or great, But the soul's light shining round about, And the faith that overcometh doubt, And the love that stronger is than hate. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE NOBLY BORN Who counts himself as nobly born Is noble in despite of place; And honors are but brands to one Who wears them not with nature's grace. The prince may sit with clown or churl Nor feel himself disgraced thereby; But he who has but small esteem Husbands that little carefully. Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer, Count it still more thou art thine own. Stand on a larger heraldry Than that of nation or of zone. Art thou not bid to knightly halls? Those halls have missed a courtly guest: That mansion is not privileged Which is not open to the best. Give honor due when custom asks, Nor wrangle for this lesser claim; It is not to be destitute To have the thing without the name. Then, dost thou come of gentle blood, Disgrace not thy good company; If lowly born, so bear thyself That gentle blood may come of thee. Strive not with pain to scale the height Of some fair garden's petty wall; But climb the open mountain side Whose summit rises over all. And, for success, I ask no more than this: To bear unflinching witness to the truth. All true whole men succeed; for what is worth Success's name unless it be the thought, The inward surety, to have carried out A noble purpose to a noble end, Although it be the gallows or the block? 'Tis only Falsehood that doth ever need These outward shows of gain to bolster her. --James Russell Lowell. Greatly begin! though thou have time But for a line, be that sublime-- Not failure, but low aim is crime. --James Russell Lowell. THE BURIAL OF MOSES By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave. But no man dug that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er; For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth. Noiselessly as the daylight Comes when the night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun-- Noiselessly as the springtime Her crest of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves-- So, without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain crown The great procession swept. Perchance some bald old eagle On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight. Perchance some lion, stalking, Still shuns the hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drums Follow the funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his matchless steed While peals the minute gun. Amid the noblest of the land They lay the sage to rest; And give the bard an honored place, With costly marble drest, In the great minster's transept height, Where lights like glory fall, While the sweet choir sings and the organ rings Along the emblazoned wall. This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor? The hillside for his pall; To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave; And God's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in his grave; In that deep grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again--most wondrous thought!-- Before the judgment day, And stand, with glory wrapt around, On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life Through Christ, the incarnate God. O lonely tomb in Moab's land, O dark Beth-peor's hill, Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace-- Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well. --Cecil Frances Alexander. O, blessed is that man of whom some soul can say, "He was an inspiration along life's toilsome way, A well of sparkling water, a fountain flowing free, Forever like his Master, in tenderest sympathy." Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand. Painful pre-eminence!--yourself to view Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. --Alexander Pope. EMIR HASSAN Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race, Asked with folded hands the Almighty's grace, Then within the banquet-hall he sat, At his meal, upon the embroidered mat. There a slave before him placed the food, Spilling from the charger, as he stood, Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast Drops that foully stained the silken vest. To the floor, in great remorse and dread, Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said: "Master, they who hasten to restrain Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign." Gentle was the answer Hassan gave: "I am not angry." "Yet," pursued the slave, "Yet doth higher recompense belong To the injured who forgives a wrong." "I forgive," said Hassan. "Yet we read," So the prostrate slave went on to plead, "That a higher seat in glory still Waits the man who renders good for ill." "Slave, receive thy freedom; and, behold, In thy hand I lay a purse of gold. Let me never fail to heed, in aught, What the prophet of our God hath taught." TRUE GREATNESS Who is as the Christian great? Bought and washed with sacred blood, Crowns he sees beneath his feet. Soars aloft and walks with God. Lo, his clothing is the sun, The bright sun of righteousness; He hath put salvation on, Jesus is his beauteous dress. Angels are his servants here; Spread for him their golden wings; To his throne of glory bear, Seat him by the King of kings. --Charles Wesley. The glory is not in the task, but in The doing it for Him. --Jean Ingelow. MENCIUS Three centuries before the Christian age China's great teacher, Mencius, was born; Her teeming millions did not know that morn Had broken on her darkness; that a sage, Reared by a noble mother, would her page Of history forevermore adorn. For twenty years, from court to court, forlorn He journeyed, poverty his heritage, And preached of virtue, but none cared to hear. Life seemed a failure, like a barren rill; He wrote his books, and lay beneath the sod: When, lo! his work began; and far and near Adown the ages Mencius preaches still: Do thy whole duty, trusting all to God. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. He stood, the youth they called the Beautiful, At morning, on his untried battle-field, And laughed with joy to see his stainless shield, When, with a tender smile, but doubting sigh, His lord rode by. When evening fell, they brought him, wounded sore, His battered shield with sword-thrusts gashed and rent, And laid him where the king stood by his tent. "Now art thou Beautiful," the master said, And bared his head. --Annie M. L. Hawes. Great men grow greater by the lapse of time; We know those least whom we have seen the latest; And they, 'mongst those whose names have grown sublime, Who worked for human liberty are greatest. --John Boyle O'Reilly. It is enough-- Enough--just to be good; To lift our hearts where they are understood; To let the thirst for worldly power and place Go unappeased; to smile back in God's face With the glad lips our mothers used to kiss. Ah! though we miss All else but this, To be good is enough! --James Whitcomb Riley. He who ascends to mountain tops shall find Their loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head. --George Gordon Byron. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. --William Shakespeare. That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives but nothing gives; Whom none can love, whom none can thank; Creation's blot; creation's blank! But he who marks, from day to day, In generous acts his radiant way Treads the same path his Saviour trod: The path to glory and to God. The eye with seeing is not filled, The ear with hearing not at rest; Desire with having is not stilled, With human praise no heart is blest. Vanity, then, of vanities, All things for which men grasp and grope! The precious things in heavenly eyes Are love, and truth, and trust, and hope. A gem which falls within the mire will still a gem remain; Men's eyes turn downward to the earth and search for it with pain. But _dust_, though whirled aloft to heaven, continues dust alway, More base and noxious in the air than when on earth it lay. --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke. It was not anything she said; It was not anything she did; It was the movement of her head, The lifting of her lid. And as she trod her path aright Power from her very garments stole; For such is the mysterious might God grants a noble soul. True worth is in being, not seeming; In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in dreaming, Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth. --Alice Cary. The wisest man could ask no more of Fate Than to be simple, modest, manly, true, Safe from the Many, honored by the Few; To count as naught in world of church or state But inwardly in secret to be great. --James Russell Lowell. And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees it, for the God of Things as they are. --Rudyard Kipling. In life's small things be resolute and great To keep thy muscle trained; knowest thou when Fate Thy measure takes? or when she'll say to thee, "I find thee worthy; do this deed for me"? --James Russell Lowell. 'Tis a lifelong toil till our lump be leaven. The better! What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven. Work done least rapidly Art most cherishes. --Robert Browning. Let come what will, I mean to bear it out, And either live with glorious victory Or die with fame, renowned in chivalry. He is not worthy of the honey-comb That shuns the hive because the bees have stings. --William Shakespeare. One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each. Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach. --Adelaide Anne Procter. Give me heart-touch with all that live And strength to speak my word; But if that is denied me, give The strength to live unheard. --Edwin Markham. Honor and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honor lies --Alexander Pope. How wretched is the man with honors crowned, Who, having not the one thing needful found, Dies, known to all, but to himself unknown. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He fought a thousand glorious wars, And more than half the world was his, And somewhere, now, in yonder stars, Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is. --William Makepeace Thackeray. Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood. --Alfred Tennyson. I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, Not the applauding thunder at its heels Which men call fame. --Alexander Smith. It is worth while to live! Be of good cheer; Love casts out fear; Rise up, achieve. --Christina G. Rossetti. No endeavor is in vain; Its reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Far better in its place the lowliest bird Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song, Than that a seraph strayed should take the word And sing His glory wrong. --Jean Ingelow. Often ornateness Goes with greatness. Oftener felicity Comes of simplicity. --William Watson. A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust, And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust. --From the Persian. Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush; As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush. --From the Persian. Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own. --James Russell Lowell. The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss, And find a secret gain in others' loss. --John Boyle O'Reilly. Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's heaven for? --Robert Browning. Though thy name be spread abroad, Like winged seed, from shore to shore, What thou art before thy God, That thou art and nothing more. My business is not to remake myself, But make the absolute best of what God made. --Robert Browning. For never land long lease of empire won Whose sons sat silent when base deeds were done. --James Russell Lowell. He that would free from malice pass his days Must live obscure and never merit praise. --John Gay. Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses. --Alfred Tennyson. The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life, Try to be Shakespeare--leave the rest to fate. --Robert Browning. Unblemished let me live, or die unknown; O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none. --Alexander Pope. With fame in just proportion envy grows; The man that makes a character makes foes. --Edward Young. 'Tis not what man does which exalts him, But what man would do. --Robert Browning. Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed. --Robert Browning. The simple, silent, selfless man Is worth a world of tonguesters. --Alfred Tennyson. DUTY LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL ODE TO DUTY Stern daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptation dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts, without reproach or blot, Who do thy work and know it not: Oh! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast. Serene will be our days, and bright And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security; And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried, No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust; And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control, But in the quietness of thought. Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee; I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. --William Wordsworth. THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds That have their root in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will;-- All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern--unseen before-- A path to higher destinies, Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS The deeds which selfish hearts approve And fame's loud trumpet sings Secure no praise where truth and love Are counted noblest things; And work which godless folly deems Worthless, obscure, and lowly, To Heaven's ennobling vision seems Most godlike, grand, and holy. Then murmur not if toils obscure And thorny paths be thine; To God be true--they shall secure The joy of life divine Who in the darkest, sternest sphere For Him their powers employ; The toils contemned and slighted here Shall yield the purest joy. When endless day dispels the strife Which blinds and darkens now, Perchance the brightest crown of life Shall deck some lowly brow. Then learn, despite thy boding fears, From seed with sorrow sown, In love, obscurity and tears The richest sheaves are grown. --Edward Hartley Dewart. "DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE" From an old English parsonage Down by the sea, There came in the twilight A message to me; Its quaint Saxon legend Deeply engraven, Hath as it seems to me Teaching for heaven; And on through the hours The quiet words ring, Like a low inspiration, "Doe the nexte thynge." Many a questioning, Many a fear, Many a doubt, Hath guiding here. Moment by moment Let down from heaven, Time, opportunity, Guidance are given. Fear not to-morrow, Child of the King; Trust it with Jesus, "Doe the nexte thynge." O He would have thee Daily more free, Knowing the might Of thy royal degree; Ever in waiting, Glad for his call, Tranquil in chastening, Trusting through all. Comings and goings No turmoil need bring: His all thy future-- "Doe the nexte thynge." Do it immediately, Do it with prayer, Do it reliantly, Casting all care: Do it with reverence, Tracing His hand Who hath placed it before thee With earnest command. Stayed on Omnipotence, Safe, 'neath his wing, Leave all resultings, "Doe the nexte thynge." Looking to Jesus, Ever serener, Working or suffering, Be thy demeanor! In the shade of his presence, The rest of his calm, The light of his countenance, Live out thy psalm: Strong in his faithfulness. Praise him and sing, Then as he beckons thee, "Doe the nexte thynge." ZEAL IN LABOR Go, labor on; spend and be spent, Thy joy to do the Father's will; It is the way the Master went; Should not the servant tread it still? Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught; Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not; The Master praises--what are men? Go, labor on; your hands are weak; Your knees are faint, your soul cast down; Yet falter not; the prize you seek Is near--a kingdom and a crown! Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray! Be wise the erring soul to win; Go forth into the world's highway; Compel the wanderer to come in. Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice: For toil comes rest, for exile home; Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice, The midnight peal, "Behold, I come!" --Horatius Bonar. THE EVANGELIST Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret, At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour. When they beheld at a mean cabin's door, A fisher's widow in her mourning clad, Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad, The tear that wet them kept her lids within, Her child to cradle and her flax to spin; Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen, The Master and His friend could see, unseen. An old man ready for his earthly bed, A beggar with a jar upon his head, Came by, and to the mourning spinner there Said, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bear Unto a dweller in the hamlet near; But I am weak and bent with many a year; More than a thousand paces yet to go Remain, and, without help, I surely know I cannot end my task and earn its fee." The woman rose, and not a word said she, Without a pause her distaff laid aside, And left the cradle where the orphan cried, Took up the jar, and with the beggar went. "Master, 'tis well to be benevolent," Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed, In leaving thus her child and her abode For the chance-comer that first sought her out; The beggar some one would have found, no doubt, To ease him of his load upon the way." The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay, Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer, Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her. She went at once, and wisely did in that." And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat Down on a bench was in the humble place, And with His blest hands for a moment's space, He touched the distaff, rocked the little one. Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone. When she to whom the Lord had given this proof Of good-will came back to her humble roof, She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done, The baby sleeping and the flax all spun! --Francois Coppee. THE BEST THAT I CAN "I cannot do much," said a little star, "To make the dark world bright; My silver beams cannot struggle far Through the folding gloom of night: But I am a part of God's great plan, And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can." "What is the use," said a fleecy cloud, "Of these dew-drops that I hold? They will hardly bend the lily proud, Though caught in her cup of gold; Yet I am a part of God's great plan, My treasures I'll give as well as I can." A child went merrily forth to play, But a thought, like a silver thread, Kept winding in and out all day Through the happy, busy head, "Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can, For you are a part of God's great plan.'" So she helped a younger child along, When the road was rough to the feet; And she sang from her heart a little song, A song that was passing sweet; And her father, a weary, toil-worn man, Said, "I too will do the best that I can." WORK LOYALLY Just where you stand in the conflict, There is your place! Just where you think you are useless Hide not your face! God placed you there for a purpose, Whate'er it be; Think He has chosen you for it-- Work loyally. Gird on your armor! Be faithful At toil or rest, Whiche'er it be, never doubting God's way is best. Out in the fight, or on picket, Stand firm and true; This is the work which your Master Gives you to do. Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. --Edward Young. LOYALTY When courage fails and faith burns low, And men are timid grown, Hold fast thy loyalty and know That Truth still moveth on. For unseen messengers she hath, To work her will and ways, And even human scorn and wrath God turneth to her praise. She can both meek and lordly be, In heavenly might secure; With her is pledge of victory, And patience to endure. The race is not unto the swift, The battle to the strong, When dawn her judgment-days that sift The claims of right and wrong. And more than thou canst do for Truth Can she on thee confer, If thou, O heart, but give thy youth And manhood unto her. For she can make thee inly bright, Thy self-love purge away, And lead thee in the path whose light Shines to the perfect day. Who follow her, though men deride, In her strength shall be strong; Shall see their shame become their pride, And share her triumph song! --Frederick Lucian Hosmer. LIBERTY I am Liberty--God's daughter! My symbols--a law and a torch; Not a sword to threaten slaughter, Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch; But a light that the world may see, And a truth that shall make men free. I am the sister of Duty, And I am the sister of Faith; To-day adored for my beauty, To-morrow led forth for death. I am she whom ages prayed for; Heroes suffered undismayed for; Whom the martyrs were betrayed for. --John Boyle O'Reilly. THE NEAREST DUTY My soul was stirred; I prayed, "Let me Do some great work, so purely, To right life's wrongs, that I shall know That I have loved Thee surely." My lips sent forth their eager cry, The while my heart beat faster, "For some great deed to prove my love Send me; send me, my Master!" From out the silence came a voice, Saying: "If God thou fearest, Rise up and do, thy whole life through, The duty that lies nearest. The friendly word, the kindly deed, Though small the act in seeming, Shall in the end unto thy soul Prove mightier than thy dreaming. The cup of water to the faint, Or rest unto the weary, The light thou giv'st another's life, Shall make thine own less dreary. And boundless realms of faith and love Will wait for thy possessing; Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst win Unto thy soul a blessing." And so I wait with peaceful heart, Content to do His pleasure; Not caring if the world shall mock At smallness of the measure Of thoughts or deeds or daily life. He knows the true endeavor-- To do His will, to seek His face-- And He will fail me never. --Sarah A. Gibbs. THE ONE TALENT Hide not thy talent in the earth; However small it be, Its faithful use, its utmost worth, God will require of thee. The humblest service rendered here He will as truly own As Paul's in his exalted sphere, Or Gabriel's near the throne. The cup of water kindly given, The widow's cheerful mites, Are worthier in the eye of heaven Than pride's most costly rites. His own, which He hath lent on trust, He asks of thee again; Little or much, the claim is just, And thine excuses vain. Go, then, and strive to do thy part-- Though humble it may be; The ready hand, the willing heart, Are all heaven asks of thee. --William Cutler. ONE TALENT (Matt. XXV. 18) In a napkin smooth and white, Hidden from all mortal sight, My one talent lies to-night. Mine to hoard, or mine to use; Mine to keep, or mine to lose; May I not do what I choose? Ah! the gift was only lent With the Giver's known intent That it should be wisely spent. And I know he will demand Every farthing at my hand, When I in his presence stand. What will be my grief and shame When I hear my humble name And cannot repay his claim! One poor talent--nothing more! All the years that have gone o'er Have not added to the store. Some will double what they hold, Others add to it tenfold And pay back the shining gold. Would that I had toiled like them! All my sloth I now condemn; Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm. Lord, oh teach me what to do. Make me faithful, make me true, And the sacred trust renew. Help me, ere too late it be, Something yet to do for Thee, Thou who hast done all for me. Art thou little? Do thy little well; And for thy comfort know Great men can do their greatest work No better than just so. --Johann W. von Goethe. RESPONSIBILITY FOR TALENTS Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how-- By what path or on what errand--list and learn thine errand now. From the palace to the city on the business of thy King Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening. Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand: Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand. Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned? Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound? Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays. Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities; Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise. And know this--at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning. Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day Reap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay. --Richard Chenevix Trench. Not once or twice in our fair island-story The path of duty was the way to glory. He, that ever following her commands, On with toil of heart and knees and hands, Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won His path upward, and prevailed, Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God himself is moon and sun. --Alfred Tennyson. GO RIGHT ON WORKING Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true, But what's the use of sighing? They're soonest with their duties through Who bravely keep on trying. There's no advantage to be found In sorrowing or shirking; They with success are soonest crowned Who just go right on working. Strive patiently and with a will That shall not be defeated; Keep singing at your task until You see it stand completed. Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near, Your sky's glad sunshine murking; Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer, And just go right on working. --Nixon Waterman. JUSTICE ONLY Be not too proud of good deeds wrought! When thou art come from prayer, speak truly! Even if he wrongeth thee in aught, Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly. But let none wist! Live, day by day, With little and with little swelling Thy tale of duty done--the way The wise ant-people build their dwelling; Not harming any living thing; That thou may'st have--at time of dying-- A Hand to hold thee, and to bring Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying, Pass to the farther world. For none Save Justice leads there! Father, mother, Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son, Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other Save only Justice! All alone Each entereth here, and each one leaveth This life alone; and every one The fruit of all his deeds receiveth Alone--alone; bad deeds and good! That day when kinsmen, sadly turning, Forsake thee, like the clay or wood, A thing committed to the burning. But Justice shall not quit thee then, If thou hast served her, therefore never Cease serving; that shall hold thee when The darkness falls which falls forever, Which hath no star, nor way and guide. But Justice knows the road; and midnight Is noon to her. Man at her side Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light. And he who loved her more than all, Who purged by sorrow his offenses, Shall shine, in realms celestial, With glory, quit of sins and senses. --Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit. GOD'S VENGEANCE Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;" "I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine, Lit by the flash of his word. How shall his vengeance be done? How, when his purpose is clear? Must he come down from the throne? Hath he no instruments here? Sleep not in imbecile trust, Waiting for God to begin; While, growing strong in the dust, Rests the bruised serpent of sin. Right and Wrong--both cannot live Death-grappled. Which shall we see? Strike! Only Justice can give Safety to all that shall be. Shame! to stand faltering thus, Tricked by the balancing odds; Strike! God is waiting for us! Strike! for the vengeance is God's! --John Hay. Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. A SINGLE STITCH One stitch dropped as the weaver drove His nimble shuttle to and fro, In and out, beneath, above, Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow As if the fairies had helping been; One small stitch which could scarce be seen, But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out, And a weak place grew in the fabric stout; And the perfect pattern was marred for aye By the one small stitch that was dropped that day. One small life in God's great plan, How futile it seems as the ages roll, Do what it may or strive how it can To alter the sweep of the infinite whole! A single stitch in an endless web, A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb! But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost, Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed; And each life that fails of its true intent Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant. --Susan Coolidge. THE BLESSINGS An angel came from the courts of gold, With gifts and tidings manifold; With blessings many to crown the one Whose work of life was the noblest done. He came to a rich man's gilded door; Where a beautiful lady stood before His vision, fair as the saints are fair, With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear. He needed not to be told her life-- The pure young mother, the tender wife; He needed not to be told that she, In home of sorrow and poverty, Was giving wealth with a lavish hand; He thought her worthy in heaven to stand. "No! no!" a voice to the angel heart Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart." He found a door that was worn and old; The night was damp and the wind was cold. A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent; The midnight lamp to her features lent A paler look as she toiled the while, But yet the mouth had a restful smile. Doing her duty with honest pride; Breasting temptation on every side. "For her the blessings," the angel said, And touched with pity the girlish head. "No time nor money for alms has she, But duty is higher than charity." --Sarah Knowles Bolton. DUTIES I reach a duty, yet I do it not, And therefore see no higher; but, if done, My view is brightened and another spot Seen on my moral sun. For, be the duty high as angels' flight, Fulfill it, and a higher will arise E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite-- Receding as the skies. And thus it is the purest most deplore Their want of purity. As fold by fold, In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more Of duty they behold. Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes On duties crowding only to appal? No; duty is our ladder to the skies, And, climbing not, we fall. --Robert Leighton (1611-1684). WHAT SHE COULD "And do the hours step fast or slow? And are ye sad or gay? And is your heart with your liege lord, lady, Or is it far away?" The lady raised her calm, proud head, Though her tears fell, one by one: "Life counts not hours by joy or pangs, But just by duties done. "And when I lie in the green kirkyard, With the mould upon my breast, Say not that 'She did well--or ill,' Only, 'She did her best.'" --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. UNWASTED DAYS The longer on this earth we live And weigh the various qualities of men, Seeing how most are fugitive Or fitful gifts at best, of now and then-- Wind-favored corpse-lights, daughters of the fen-- The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty Of plain devotedness to duty, Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise, But finding amplest recompense For life's ungarlanded expense In work done squarely and unwasted days. --James Russell Lowell. TRIFLES THAT MAKE SAINTS A tone of pride or petulance repressed A selfish inclination firmly fought, A shadow of annoyance set at naught, A measure of disquietude suppressed; A peace in importunity possessed, A reconcilement generously sought, A purpose put aside, a banished thought, A word of self-explaining unexpressed: Trifles they seem, these petty soul-restraints, Yet he who proves them so must needs possess A constancy and courage grand and bold; They are the trifles that have made the saints. Give me to practice them in humbleness And nobler power than mine doth no man hold. The world is full of beauty, As other worlds above; And if we did our duty It might be full of love. --Gerald Massey. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted? Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. --William Shakespeare. I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty; I woke, and found that life was Duty. Was thy dream then, a shadowy lie? Toil on, sad heart, courageously, And thou shalt find that dream to be A noonday light and truth to thee. --Ellen Sturgis Hooper. Do thy duty; that is best; Leave unto thy Lord the rest. --James Russell Lowell. While I sought Happiness she fled Before me constantly. Weary, I turned to Duty's path, And Happiness sought me, Saying, "I walk this road to-day, I'll bear thee company." So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, "Thou must," The youth replies, "I can." --Ralph Waldo Emerson. Faithfully faithful to every trust, Honestly honest in every deed, Righteously righteous and justly just; This is the whole of the good man's creed. Find out what God would have you do, And do that little well; For what is great and what is small 'Tis only he can tell. SERVICE USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR WAKING I have done at length with dreaming; Henceforth, O thou soul of mine! Thou must take up sword and buckler, Waging warfare most divine. Life is struggle, combat, victory! Wherefore have I slumbered on With my forces all unmarshaled, With my weapons all undrawn? O how many a glorious record Had the angels of me kept Had I done instead of doubted, Had I warred instead of wept! But begone, regret, bewailing! Ye had weakened at the best; I have tried the trusty weapons Resting erst within my breast. I have wakened to my duty, To a knowledge strong and deep, That I recked not of aforetime, In my long inglorious sleep. For the end of life is service, And I felt it not before, And I dreamed not how stupendous Was the meaning that it bore. In this subtle sense of being, Newly stirred in every vein, I can feel a throb electric-- Pleasure half allied with pain. 'Tis so sweet, and yet so awful, So bewildering, yet brave, To be king in every conflict Where before I crouched a slave! 'Tis so glorious to be conscious Of a growing power within Stronger than the rallying forces Of a charged and marshaled sin! Never in those old romances Felt I half the thrill of life That I feel within me stirring, Standing in this place of strife. O those olden days of dalliance, When I wantoned with my fate; When I trifled with the knowledge That had well-nigh come too late. Yet, my soul, look not behind thee; Thou hast work to do at last; Let the brave toil of the present Overarch the crumbling past. Build thy great acts high and higher; Build them on the conquered sod Where thy weakness first fell bleeding, And thy first prayer rose to God. --Caroline Atherton Mason. SMALL BEGINNINGS A traveler through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe its early vows; And age was pleased, in heat of noon, to bask beneath its boughs; The dormouse loved its dangling twigs the birds sweet music bore; It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new; A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame. The thought was small; its issue great; a watchfire on the hill, It shed its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still! A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unstudied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown--a transitory breath-- It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death. O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last! --Charles Mackay. THE CHOIR INVISIBLE O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing as beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed and agonized, With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child Poor, anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer, self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better--saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love-- That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, Unread forever. This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty-- Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world. --George Eliot. MY TASK To love some one more dearly ev'ry day, To help a wandering child to find his way, To ponder o'er a noble thought, and pray, And smile when evening falls. To follow truth as blind men long for light, To do my best from dawn of day till night, To keep my heart fit for His holy sight, And answer when He calls. --Maude Louise Ray. "IT IS MORE BLESSED" Give! as the morning that flows out of heaven; Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give! as the free air and sunshine are given; Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give! Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing; Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing; Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing: Give as He gave thee who gave thee to live. Pour out thy love like the rush of a river, Wasting its waters, forever and ever, Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver: Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea. Scatter thy life as the summer's shower pouring; What if no bird through the pearl rain is soaring? What if no blossom looks upward adoring? Look to the life that was lavished for thee! So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses: Evil and thankless the desert it blesses; Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses; Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing. What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses? What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes? Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes, Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling. Almost the day of thy giving is over; Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover: What shall thy longing avail in the grave? Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking-- Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking; Soon, heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking, Thou shalt know God and the gift that he gave. --Rose Terry Cooke. ALONG THE WAY There are so many helpful things to do Along life's way (Helps to the helper, if we did but know), From day to day. So many troubled hearts to soothe, So many pathways rough to smooth, So many comforting words to say, To the hearts that falter along the way. Here is a lamp of hope gone out Along the way. Some one stumbled and fell, no doubt-- But, brother, stay! Out of thy store of oil refill; Kindle the courage that smoulders still; Think what Jesus would do to-day For one who had fallen beside the way. How many lifted hands still plead Along life's way! The old, sad story of human need Reads on for aye. But let us follow the Saviour's plan-- Love unstinted to every man; Content if, at most, the world should say: "He helped his brother along the way!" SAVED TO SERVE Is thy cruse of comfort failing? Rise and share it with another, And through all the years of famine It shall serve thee and thy brother. Love divine will fill thy storehouse Or thy handful still renew; Scanty fare for one will often Make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving-- All its wealth is living gain; Seeds which mildew in the garner Scattered fill with gold the plain. Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily? Help to bear thy brother's burden; God will bear both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow? Chafe that frozen form beside thee, And together both shall glow. Art thou stricken in life's battle? Many wounded round thee moan: Lavish on their wounds thy balsam, And that balm shall heal thine own. Is thy heart a well left empty? None but God the void can fill. Nothing but the ceaseless Fountain Can its ceaseless longings still. Is the heart a living power? Self-entwined its strength sinks low. It can only live in loving, And by serving love will grow. BY DOING GOOD WE LIVE A certain wise man, deeply versed In all the learning of the East, Grew tired in spirit, and athirst From life to be released. So to Eliab, holy man Of God he came: "Ah, give me, friend, The herb of death, that now the span Of my vain life may end." Eliab gently answered: "Ere The soul may free itself indeed, This herb of healing thou must bear To seven men in need; "When thou hast lightened each man's grief, And brought him hope and joy again, Return; nor shalt thou seek relief At Allah's hands in vain." The wise man sighed, and humbly said: "As Allah willeth, so is best." And with the healing herb he sped Away upon his quest. And as he journeyed on, intent To serve the sorrowing in the land On deeds of love and mercy bent, The herb bloomed in his hand, And through his pulses shot a fire Of strength and hope and happiness; His heart leaped with a glad desire To live and serve and bless. Lord of all earthly woe and need, Be this, life's flower, mine! To love, to comfort, and to heal-- Therein is life divine! --Josephine Troup. FOR STRENGTH WE ASK For strength we ask For the ten thousand times repeated task, The endless smallnesses of every day. No, not to lay My life down in the cause I cherish most, That were too easy. But, whate'er it cost, To fail no more In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor In love toward the unlovely, and to give, Each day I live, To every hour with outstretched hand, its meed Of not-to-be-regretted thought and deed. --Agnes Ethelwyn Wetherald. MARTHA OR MARY? I cannot choose; I should have liked so much To sit at Jesus' feet--to feel the touch Of his kind gentle hand upon my head While drinking in the gracious words he said. And yet to serve Him!--Oh, divine employ-- To minister and give the Master joy; To bathe in coolest springs his weary feet, And wait upon Him while He sat at meat! Worship or service--which? Ah, that is best To which he calls us, be it toil or rest; To labor for Him in life's busy stir, Or seek His feet, a silent worshiper. --Caroline Atherton Mason. This is the gospel of labor--ring it, ye bells of the kirk-- The Lord of Love came down from above to live with the men who work. This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil; Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil. --Henry van Dyke. MARTHA Yes, Lord, Yet some must serve! Not all with tranquil heart, Even at Thy dear feet, Wrapped in devotion sweet, May sit apart! Yes, Lord! Yet some must bear The burden of the day, Its labor and its heat, While others at Thy feet May muse and pray. Yes, Lord! Yet some must do Life's daily task-work; some Who fain would sing must toil Amid earth's dust and moil, While lips are dumb! Yes, Lord! Yet man must earn And woman bake the bread; And some must watch and wake Early for others' sake, Who pray instead! Yes, Lord! Yet even thou Hast need of earthly care; I bring the bread and wine To Thee a Guest divine-- Be this my prayer! --Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr. If we sit down at set of sun And count the things that we have done, And counting, find One self-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind, That fell like sunshine where it went, Then we may count the day well spent. But if through all the livelong day We've eased no heart by yea or nay; If through it all We've nothing done that we can trace That brought the sunshine to a face, No act most small That helped some soul, and nothing cost, Then count that day as worse than lost. This for the day of life I ask: Some all-absorbing, useful task; And when 'tis wholly, truly done, A tranquil rest at set of sun. SERVICE Ah! grand is the world's work, and noble, forsooth, The doing one's part, be it ever so small! You, reaping with Boaz, I, gleaning with Ruth, Are honored by serving, yet servants of all. No drudge in his corner but speeds the world's wheels; No serf in the field but is sowing God's seed-- More noble, I think, in the dust though he kneels, Than the pauper of wealth, who makes scorn of the deed. Is toil but a treadmill? Think not of the grind, But think of the grist, what is done and to do, The world growing better, more like to God's mind, By long, faithful labor of helpers like you. The broom or the spade or the shuttle, that plies Its own honest task in its own honest way, Serves heaven not less than a star in the skies-- What more could the Pleiades do than obey? --James Buckham. SUMMER AND WINTER If no kindly thought or word We can give, some soul to bless, If our hands, from hour to hour, Do no deeds of gentleness; If to lone and weary ones We no comfort will impart-- Tho' 'tis summer in the sky, Yet 'tis winter in the heart! If we strive to lift the gloom From a dark and burdened life; If we seek to lull the storm Of our fallen brother's strife; If we bid all hate and scorn From the spirit to depart-- Tho' 'tis winter in the sky, Yet 'tis summer in the heart! THE ELEVENTH-HOUR LABORER Idlers all day about the market-place They name us, and our dumb lips answer not, Bearing the bitter while our sloth's disgrace, And our dark tasking whereof none may wot. Oh, the fair slopes where the grape-gatherers go!-- Not they the day's fierce heat and burden bear, But we who on the market-stones drop slow Our barren tears, while all the bright hours wear. Lord of the vineyard, whose dear word declares Our one hour's labor as the day's shall be, What coin divine can make our wage as theirs Who had the morning joy of work for Thee? --L. Gray Noble. "THY LABOR IS NOT IN VAIN" "I have labored in vain," a preacher said, And his brow was marked with care; "I have labored in vain." He bowed down his head, And bitter and sad were the tears he shed In that moment of dark despair. "I am weary and worn, and my hands are weak, And my courage is well-nigh gone; For none give heed to the words I speak, And in vain for a promise of fruit I seek Where the seed of the Word is sown." And again with a sorrowful heart he wept, For his spirit with grief was stirred, Till the night grew dark, and at last he slept, And a silent calm o'er his spirit crept, And a whisper of "peace" was heard. And he thought in his dream that his soul took flight To a blessed and bright abode; He saw a throne of dazzling light, And harps were ringing, and robes were white-- Made white in a Saviour's blood. And he saw such a countless throng around As he never had seen before, Their brows with jewels of light were crowned, And sorrow and sighing no place had found-- The troubles of time were o'er. Then a white-robed maiden came forth and said, "Joy! Joy! for the trials are passed! I am one that thy gentle words have led In the narrow pathway of life to tread-- I welcome thee home at last!" And the preacher gazed on the maiden's face-- He had seen that face on earth, Where, with anxious heart, in his wonted place He had told his charge of a Saviour's grace, And their need of a second birth. Then the preacher smiled, and the angel said, "Go forth to thy work again; It is not in vain that the seed is shed-- If only ONE soul to the cross is led, Thy labor is not in vain." And at last he woke, and his knee he bent In grateful, childlike prayer, And he prayed till an answer of peace was sent, And Faith and Hope as a rainbow bent O'er the clouds of his earthly care. And he rose in joy, and his eye was bright. His sorrow and grief had fled, And his soul was calm and his heart was light, For his hands were strong in his Saviour's might As forth to his work he sped. Whatever dies, or is forgot-- Work done for God, it dieth not. FOLLOWING THE MASTER I asked the Lord that I might worthier be, Might grow in faith and hope and charity; And straight, "Go feed my lambs!" he answered me. "Nay, Lord!" I cried. "Can outward deeds avail To cleanse my spirit? Heart and courage fail And sins prevent, and foes and fears assail." And still, "Go, feed my lambs!" was all I heard. But should I rest upon that simple word? Was that, indeed, my message from my Lord? Behold, I thought that he his hand would lay On my sick soul, and words of healing say, And charm the plague-spot from my heart away. Half wroth, I turned to go; but oh! the look He on me cast--a gaze I could not brook; With deep relentings all my spirit shook. "O dearest Lord," I cried, "I will obey, Say what thou wilt! only lead thou the way; For, following thee, my footsteps shall not stray." He took me at my word. He went before; He led me to the dwellings of the poor, Where wolf-eyed Want keeps watch beside the door. He beckoned me, and I essayed to go Where Sin and Crime, more sad than Want and Woe, Hold carnival, and Vice walks to and fro. And when I faltered at the sight, He said, "Behold, I died for such! These hands have bled, This side for such has pierced been," he said. "Is the disciple greater than his Lord? The servant than his Master?" Oh, that word! It smote me like a sharp, two-edged sword! And since that hour, if any work of mine Has been accepted by my Lord as sign That I was following in his steps divine; If, serving others (though imperfectly), My own poor life has worthier come to be, And I have grown in faith and charity, Dear Lord, be thine the glory! Thou hast wrought, All unaware, the blessing that I sought. O that these lips might praise thee as they ought! BE ALWAYS GIVING The sun gives ever; so the earth-- What it can give so much 'tis worth; The ocean gives in many ways-- Gives baths, gives fishes, rivers, bays; So, too, the air, it gives us breath. When it stops giving, comes in death. Give, give, be always giving; Who gives not is not living; The more you give The more you live. God's love hath in us wealth unheaped Only by giving it is reaped; The body withers, and the mind Is pent up by a selfish rind. Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf, Give love, give tears, and give thyself. Give, give, be always giving, Who gives not is not living; The more we give The more we live. Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs, For the world wants daily little kindly deeds; O, what care and sorrow you may help remove With your song and courage, sympathy and love. NOT LOST The look of sympathy; the gentle word Spoken so low that only angels heard; The secret act of pure self-sacrifice, Unseen by men, but marked by angels' eyes; These are not lost. The silent tears that fall at dead of night Over soiled robes that once were pure and white; The prayers that rise like incense from the soul, Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole; These are not lost. The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth, When dreams had less of self and more of truth; The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet, Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet; These are not lost. The kindly plans devised for others' good, So seldom guessed, so little understood; The quiet, steadfast love that strove to win Some wanderer from the ways of sin; These are not lost. Not lost, O Lord! for in Thy city bright Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light, And things long hidden from our gaze below Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know They were not lost. There's never a rose in all the world But makes some green spray sweeter; There's never a wind in all the sky But makes some bird wing fleeter; There's never a star but brings to heaven Some silver radiance tender; And never a rosy cloud but helps To crown the sunset splendor; No robin but may thrill some heart, His dawn like gladness voicing; God gives us all some small sweet way To set the world rejoicing. A BROADER FIELD O thou who sighest for a broader field Wherein to sow the seeds of truth and right-- Who fain a fuller, nobler power would wield O'er human souls that languish for the light-- Search well the realm that even now is thine! Canst not thou in some far-off corner find A heart sin-bound, like tree with sapping vine, Waiting for help its burdens to unbind? Some human plant, perchance beneath thine eyes, Pierced through with hidden thorns of idle fears; Or drooping low for need of light from skies Obscured by doubt-clouds raining poison tears? Some bruisèd soul the balm of love would heal; Some timid spirit faith would courage give; Or maimèd brother, who, though brave and leal, Still needeth thee, to rightly walk and live? O while one soul thou findest which hath not known The fullest help thy soul hath power to give, Sigh not for fields still broader than thine own, But, steadfast in thine own, more broadly live. --Julia Anna Wolcott. Be it health or be it leisure, Be it skill we have to give, Still in spending it for others Christians only really live. Not in having or receiving, But in giving, there is bliss; He who has no other pleasure Ever may rejoice in this. WHAT CHRIST SAID I said, "Let me walk in the fields." He said, "No, walk in the town." I said, "There are no flowers there." He said, "No flowers, but a crown." I said, "But the skies are black; There is nothing but noise and din." And He wept as he sent me back; "There is more," He said; "there is sin." I said, "But the air is thick, And fogs are veiling the sun." He answered, "Yet souls are sick, And souls in the dark undone." I said, "I shall miss the light, And friends will miss me, they say." He answered, "Choose to-night If _I_ am to miss you, or they." I pleaded for time to be given. He said, "Is it hard to decide? It will not seem hard in heaven To have followed the steps of your Guide." I cast one look at the fields, Then set my face to the town; He said, "My child, do you yield? Will you leave the flowers for the crown?" Then into His hand went mine, And into my heart came He; And I walk in a light divine The path I had feared to see. --George Macdonald. MY SERVICE I asked the Lord to let me do Some mighty work for Him; To fight amid His battle hosts, Then sing the victor's hymn. I longed my ardent love to show, But Jesus would not have it so. He placed me in a quiet home, Whose life was calm and still, And gave me little things to do, My daily round to fill; I could not think it good to be Just put aside so silently. Small duties gathered round my way, They seemed of earth alone; I, who had longed for conquests bright To lay before His throne, Had common things to do and bear, To watch and strive with daily care. So then I thought my prayer unheard, And asked the Lord once more That He would give me work for Him And open wide the door; Forgetting that my Master knew Just what was best for me to do. Then quietly the answer came, "My child, I hear thy cry; Think not that mighty deeds alone Will bring the victory. The battle has been planned by Me, Let daily life thy conquests see." PASS IT ON Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on. It was not given to you alone, Pass it on. Let it travel through the years; Let it wipe another's tears; Till in heaven the deed appears, Pass it on. Have you found the heavenly light? Pass it on. Souls are groping in the night, Daylight gone. Lift your lighted lamp on high, Be a star in some one's sky, He may live who else would die. Pass it on. GIVING AND TAKING Who gives, and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land. Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven. --John Greenleaf Whittier, from Tinnevaluna of India. ONE PATH TO LIGHT What is the world? A wandering maze, Where sin hath tracked a thousand ways Her victims to ensnare. All broad and winding and aslope, All tempting with perfidious hope, All ending in despair. Millions of pilgrims throng those roads, Bearing their baubles or their loads Down to eternal night. One only path that never bends, Narrow and rough and steep, ascends Through darkness into light. Is there no guide to show that path? The Bible. He alone that hath The Bible need not stray. But he who hath and will not give That light of life to all that live, Himself shall lose the way. IF WE COULD ONLY SEE It were not hard, we think, to serve Him If we could only see! If he would stand with that gaze intense Burning into our bodily sense, If we might look on that face most tender, The brows where the scars are turned to splendor, Might catch the light of his smile so sweet, And view the marks on his hands and feet, How loyal we should be! It were not hard, we think, to serve him, If we could only see! It were not hard, he says, to see him, If we would only serve; "He that doeth the will of Heaven, To him shall knowledge and sight be given." While for his presence we sit repining, Never we see his countenance shining; They who toil where his reapers be The glow of his smile may always see, And their faith can never swerve. It were not hard, he says, to see him, If we would only serve. Think not in sleep to fold thy hands, Forgetful of thy Lord's commands, From Duty's claims no life is free, Behold! To-day has need of thee. WHEN YOU DO AN ACT You can never tell when you do an act Just what the result will be; But with every deed you are sowing a seed, Though its harvest you may not see. Each kindly act is an acorn dropped In God's productive soil; Though you may not know, yet the tree shall grow And shelter the brows that toil. YOUR MISSION If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet; You can stand among the sailors Anchored yet within the bay; You can lend a hand to help them As they launch their boat away. If you are too weak to journey Up the mountain steep and high, You can stand within the valley While the multitudes go by; You can chant in happy measure As they slowly pass along; Though they may forget the singer They will not forget the song. If you have not gold and silver Ever ready to command; If you cannot toward the needy, Reach an ever-open hand; You can visit the afflicted, O'er the erring you can weep; You can be a true disciple Sitting at the Saviour's feet. If you cannot in the harvest Garner up the richest sheaves, Many a grain both ripe and golden Will the careless reapers leave; Go and glean among the briers Growing rank against the wall, For it may be that their shadow Hides the heaviest wheat of all. If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true, If where fire and smoke are thickest There's no work for you to do; When the battle-field is silent You can go with careful tread: You can bear away the wounded, You can cover up the dead. If you cannot be the watchman, Standing high on Zion's wall, Pointing out the path to heaven, Offering life and peace to all; With your prayers and with your bounties You can do what Heaven demands, You can be like faithful Aaron, Holding up the prophet's hands. Do not, then, stand idly waiting For some greater work to do; Fortune is a lazy goddess-- She will never come to you. Go and toil in any vineyard, Do not fear to do or dare; If you want a field of labor You can find it anywhere. --G. M. Grannis. THE FAITHFUL MONK Golden gleams of noonday fell On the pavement of the cell, And the monk still lingered there In the ecstasy of prayer; Fuller floods of glory streamed Through the window, and it seemed Like an answering glow of love From the countenance above. On the silence of the cell Break the faint tones of a bell. 'Tis the hour when at the gate Crowds of poor and hungry wait, Wan and wistful, to be fed With the friar of mercy's bread. Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells! On the monk's rapt ear it swells, No! fond, flattering dream, away! Mercy calls; no longer stay! Whom thou yearnest here to find In the musings of thy mind, God and Jesus, lo, they wait Knocking at thy convent gate! From his knees the monk arose; With full heart and hand he goes, At his gate the poor relieves, Gains a blessing and receives; To his cell returned, and there Found the angel of his prayer, Who with radiant features said, "Hadst thou stayed I must have fled." --Charles Timothy Brooks. THE HEAVENLY PRESENCE Somewhere I have read of an aged monk Who, kneeling one day in his cell, Beheld in a glorious vision the form Of the dear Lord Christ; and there fell Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet, And his lips could frame no word, As he gazed on the form and noted the love That beamed from the face of his Lord. There came to his ears the sound of a bell Which called him early and late To carry loaves to the wretched poor Who lingered about the gate. Could he leave his cell now glorified By the presence of the Christ, The Blessed Son, the Holy One, His Saviour, the Sacrificed? He went to his act of mercy, and when He returned to his cell, the dim Gay light was dispelled as the loving Christ Re-entered to welcome him. And the Blessed One remained, more fair, More glorious than before, And the heart of the aged monk was glad, And his cell was dim no more. "Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ, All through this day," is the prayer Which sounds from my heart, and my lips repeat Each morning, and Christ, the Fair, Seems very near as his words I hear, Though his form I do not see; "When you care for the least of these, dear child, You have done it unto me. "With loving service fill all this day, Do good in the name of your Lord, And I will be near, your heart to cheer, According to my word." --William Norris Burr. ONLY It was _only_ a blossom, Just the merest bit of bloom, But it brought a glimpse of summer To the little darkened room. It was _only_ a glad "good morning," As she passed along the way; But it spread the morning's glory Over the livelong day. _Only_ a song; but the music, Though simply pure and sweet, Brought back to better pathways The reckless roving feet. "_Only_," in our blind wisdom, How dare we say at all? Since the ages alone can tell us Which is the great or small. SOMETHING YOU CAN DO Hark! the voice of Jesus calling, "Who will go and work to-day? Fields are white and harvests waiting, Who will bear the sheaves away?" Loud and long the Master calleth, Rich reward he offers free; Who will answer, gladly saying, "Here am I, send me, send me." If you cannot cross the ocean And the heathen lands explore, You can find the heathen nearer, You can help them at your door; If you cannot give your thousands You can give the widow's mite; And the least you give for Jesus Will be precious in his sight. If you cannot speak like angels, If you cannot preach like Paul, You can tell the love of Jesus, You can say he died for all. If you cannot rouse the wicked With the Judgment's dread alarms, You can lead the little children To the Saviour's waiting arms. Let none hear you idly saying "There is nothing I can do," While the sons of men are dying, And the Master calls for you. Take the task he gives you gladly, Let his work your pleasure be; Answer quickly, when he calleth, "Here am I, send me, send me." --Daniel March. SEEDTIME Sow thou thy seed! Glad is the light of Spring--the sun is glowing. Do thou thy deed: Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing? Thy seed may be Bearer of thousands scattered far and near; Eternity May feel the impress of the deed done here. --Arthur L. Salmon. TOIL A BLESSING The toil of brain, or heart, or hand, Is man's appointed lot; He who God's call can understand Will work and murmur not. Toil is no thorny crown of pain, Bound round man's brow for sin; True souls, from it, all strength may gain, High manliness may win. O God! who workest hitherto, Working in all we see, Fain would we be, and bear, and do, As best it pleaseth thee. Where'er thou sendest we will go, Nor any questions ask, And that thou biddest we will do, Whatever be the task. Our skill of hand, and strength of limb, Are not our own, but thine; We link them to the work of Him Who made all life divine. Our brother-friend, thy holy Son, Shared all our lot and strife; And nobly will our work be done If molded by his life. --Thomas W. Freckelton. No service in itself is small; None great, though earth it fill; But that is small that seeks its own, And great that seeks God's will. Then hold my hand, most gracious God, Guide all my goings still; And let it be my life's one aim, To know and do thy will. EASILY GIVEN It was only a sunny smile, And little it cost in the giving; But it scattered the night Like morning light, And made the day worth living. Through life's dull warp a woof it wove, In shining colors of light and love, And the angels smiled as they watched above, Yet little it cost in giving. It was only a kindly word, And a word that was lightly spoken; Yet not in vain, For it stilled the pain Of a heart that was nearly broken. It strengthened a fate beset by fears And groping blindly through mists of tears For light to brighten the coming years, Although it was lightly spoken. It was only a helping hand, And it seemed of little availing; But its clasps were warm, And it saved from harm A brother whose strength was failing. Its touch was tender as angels' wings, But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs, And pointed the way to higher things, Though it seemed of little availing. A smile, a word, a touch, And each is easily given; Yet one may win A soul from sin Or smooth the way to heaven. A smile may lighten a falling heart, A word may soften pain's keenest smart, A touch may lead us from sin apart-- How easily each is given! WORKING WITH CHRIST O matchless honor, all unsought, High privilege, surpassing thought That thou shouldst call us, Lord, to be Linked in work-fellowship with thee! To carry out _thy_ wondrous plan, To bear _thy_ messages to man; "In trust," with Christ's own word of grace To every soul of human race. THE "NEW LOGION" "Jesus saith," and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand, Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand? Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high: "Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire, That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire, Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high, "Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay, Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way, Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high, "Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always see In the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree, Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh, "Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife, In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life, Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high, "Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I." --Mrs. Henry B. Smith. He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done, To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun, That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race. --James Russell Lowell. HER CREED She stood before a chosen few, With modest air and eyes of blue; A gentle creature, in whose face Were mingled tenderness and grace. "You wish to join our fold," they said; "Do you believe in all that's read From ritual and written creed, Essential to our human need?" A troubled look was in her eyes; She answered, as in vague surprise, As though the sense to her were dim. "I only strive to follow Him." They knew her life, how oft she stood, Pure in her guileless maidenhood, By dying bed, in hovel lone, Whose sorrow she had made her own. Oft had her voice in prayer been heard, Sweet as the note of any bird; Her hand been open in distress; Her joy to brighten and to bless. Yet still she answered, when they sought To know her inmost, earnest thought, With look as of the seraphim "I only strive to follow Him." --Sarah Knowles Bolton. WAKING THOUGHTS Another day God gives me, pure and white. How can I make it holy in his sight? Small means have I and but a narrow sphere, Yet work is round me, for he placed me here. How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes; Show me the duty that around me lies. "The house is small, but human hearts are there, And for this day at least beneath thy care. Someone is sad--then speak a word of cheer; Someone is lonely--make him welcome here; Someone has failed--protect him from despair; Someone is poor--there's something you can spare! "Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer, And carry sunshine with thee everywhere. The little duties do with all thine heart And from things sordid keep a mind apart; Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest, In blessing others thou thyself art blest!" LONELY SERVICE Methought that in a solemn church I stood; Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet, Lay spread from door to door, from street to street. Midway the form hung high upon the rood Of Him who gave his life to be our good. Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet Among the candles, shining still and sweet. Men came and went, and worshipped as they could-- And still their dust a woman with her broom, Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door. Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom, Across the church a silent figure come; "Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor." "It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more. --George Macdonald. SHARE YOUR BLESSINGS Dig channels for the streams of love, Where they may broadly run, And love has overflowing streams To fill them every one. But if at any time thou cease Such channels to provide, The very founts of love to thee Will soon be parched and dried. For thou must share if thou wouldst keep That good thing from above; Ceasing to share you cease to have; Such is the law of love. ONLY A LITTLE Only a seed--but it chanced to fall In a little cleft of a city wall, And taking root, grew bravely up Till a tiny blossom crowned its top. Only a thought--but the work it wrought Could never by tongue or pen be taught; For it ran through a life like a thread of gold, And the life bore fruit--a hundred fold. Only a word--but 'twas spoken in love, With a whispered prayer to the Lord above; And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more, For a new-born soul "entered in by the door." PAUL AT MELITA Secure in his prophetic strength, The water peril o'er, The many-gifted man at length Stepped on the promised shore. He trod the shore; but not to rest, Nor wait till angels came; Lo! humblest pains the saint attest, The firebrands and the flame. But when he felt the viper's smart, Then instant aid was given. Christian, hence learn to do thy part, And leave the rest to Heaven. --John Henry Newman. All service ranks the same with God; If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work--God's puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last nor first. Say not "a small event!" Why "small"? Costs it more pain that this, ye call A "great event," should come to pass Than that? Untwine me, from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in, or exceed. --Robert Browning. What will it matter in a little while That for a day We met and gave a word, a touch, a smile, Upon the way? These trifles! Can they make or mar Human life? Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes are By love or strife? Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break, Or make it whole, And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake, May save a soul. Get leave to work In this world--'tis the best you get at all; For God in cursing gives us better gifts Than men in benediction. God says, "Sweat For foreheads;" men say "crowns;" and so we are crowned-- Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Be useful where thou livest, that they may Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still; Kindness, good parts, great places, are the way To compass this. Find out men's wants and will, And meet them there. All worldly joys go less To the one joy of doing kindnesses. --George Herbert. When He who, sad and weary, longing sore For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door, One saw the heavenly, one the human guest; But who shall say which loved the Master best? --John Greenleaf Whittier. Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver, Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Then with a rush the intolerable craving Shivers throughout me like a trumpet call-- Oh to save these! to perish for their saving, Die for their life, be offered for them all! No man is born into the world whose work Is not born with him; there is always work, And tools to work withal, for those who will; And blessed are the horny hands of toil! --James Russell Lowell. The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need; Not what we give, but what we share, For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three: Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. --James Russell Lowell. Look not beyond the stars for heaven, Nor 'neath the sea for hell; Know thou, who leads a useful life In Paradise doth dwell. --Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. Small service is true service while it lasts: Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one; The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. --William Wordsworth. Mechanic soul, thou must not only do With Martha, but with Mary ponder too; Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary; But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary. --Francis Quarles. If thou hast the gift of strength, then know Thy part is to uplift the trodden low; Else, in the giant's grasp, until the end A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend. --George Meredith. The best men doing their best Know, peradventure, least of what they do. Men usefullest i' the world are simply used. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. New words to speak, new thoughts to hear, New love to give and take; Perchance new burdens I may bear To-day for love's sweet sake. He doth good work whose heart can find The spirit 'neath the letter; Who makes his kind of happier mind, Leaves wiser men and better. Work for some good, be it ever so slowly, Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly, Labor--all labor is noble and holy. --Frances Sargent Osgood. In silence mend what ills deform the mind; But all thy good impart to all thy kind. --John Sterling. God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day: A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say. That best portion of a good man's life-- His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. --William Wordsworth. Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground, Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round. --Richard Chenevix Trench. BROTHERHOOD CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the peace of their self-content; There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where highways never ran-- But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by-- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban-- Let me live in a house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope The men who are faint with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-- Both parts of an infinite plan-- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height; And the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by-- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish--so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. --Sam Walter Foss. IS YOUR LAMP BURNING? Say, is your lamp burning, my brother? I pray you look quickly and see; For if it were burning, then surely Some beams would fall brightly on me. Straight, straight is the road, but I falter. And oft I fall out by the way; Then lift your lamp higher, my brother, Lest I should make fatal delay. There are many and many around you Who follow wherever you go; If you thought that they walked in the shadow Your lamp would burn brighter, I know. Upon the dark mountains they stumble, They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie With their white pleading faces turned upward To the clouds and the pitiful sky. There is many a lamp that is lighted, We behold them anear and afar, But not many among them, my brother, Shine steadily on, like a star. I think, were they trimmed night and morning, They would never burn down or go out, Though from the four quarters of heaven The winds were all blowing about. If once all the lamps that are lighted Should steadily blaze in a line, Wide over the land and the ocean, What a girdle of glory would shine! How all the dark places would brighten! How the mists would roll up and away! How the earth would laugh out in her gladness To hail the millennial day! Say, is your lamp burning, my brother? I pray you look quickly and see; For if it were burning, then surely Some beams would fall brightly on me. IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT If I should die to-night, My friends would look upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting-place, And deem that death had left it almost fair, And laying snow-white flowers upon my hair, Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness, And fold my hands with lingering caress-- Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night! If I should die to-night, My friends would call to mind, with loving thought, Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought, Some gentle word the frozen lips had said-- Errands on which the willing feet had sped; The memory of my selfishness and pride, My hasty words, would all be put aside, And so I should be loved and mourned to-night. If I should die to-night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, Recalling other days remorsefully. The eyes that chill me with averted glance Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, And soften in the old familiar way; For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay? So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night. O friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow. The way is lonely; let me feel them now. Think gently of me; I am travel-worn, My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need The tenderness for which I long to-night. --Belle Eugenia Smith. FRUITION We scatter seeds with careless hand And dream we ne'er shall see them more, But for a thousand years Their fruit appears In weeds that mar the land Or helpful store. The deeds we do, the words we say-- Into still air they seem to fleet; We count them ever past; But they shall last-- In the dread judgment they And we shall meet. I charge thee by the years gone by, For the love's sake of brethren dear, Keep thou the one true way, In work and play, Lest in that world their cry Of woe thou hear. --John Keble. Still shines the light of holy lives Like star beams over doubt; Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives Some dark possession out. --John Greenleaf Whittier. HAVE CHARITY Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving _why_ they do it: And just as lamely can ye mark How far, perhaps, they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord--its various tone, Each spring--its various bias; Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. --Robert Burns. THE VOICE OF PITY Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness, O'er the sons of wrong and strife, Were their strong temptations planted In thy path of life? He alone whose hand is bounding Human power and human will, Looking through each soul's surrounding, Knows its good or ill. Earnest words must needs be spoken When the warm heart bleeds or burns With its scorn of wrong, or pity For the wronged, by turns. But, by all thy nature's weakness, Hidden faults and follies known, Be thou, in rebuking evil, Conscious of thine own. Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty To thy lips her trumpet set, But with harsher blasts shall mingle Wailings of regret. So when thoughts of evil-doers Waken scorn or hatred move, Shall a mournful fellow-feeling Temper all with love. --John Greenleaf Whittier. 'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan, That man shall be the joy of man. --From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. JUDGE NOT Judge not; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain In God's pure light may only be A scar--brought from some well-won field Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight May be a token that, below, The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe-- Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace And cast thee shuddering on thy face! The fall thou darest to despise-- May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings. And judge none lost; but wait and see With hopeful pity, not disdain, The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain, And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days. --Adelaide Anne Procter. THINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING Think gently of the erring; Ye know not of the power With which the dark temptation came In some unguarded hour; Ye may not know how earnestly They struggled, or how well, Until the hour of weakness came And sadly thus they fell. Think gently of the erring; Oh, do not thou forget, However darkly stained by sin, He is thy brother yet; Heir of the self-same heritage, Child of the self-same God, He has but stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod. Speak gently to the erring; For is it not enough That innocence and peace have gone, Without thy censure rough? It sure must be a weary lot, That sin-stained heart to bear, And those who share a happier fate Their chidings well may spare. Speak gently to the erring; Thou yet mayst lead them back, With holy words and tones of love, From misery's thorny track; Forget not thou hast often sinned, And sinful yet must be; Deal gently with the erring, then, As God has dealt with thee. --Julia A. Fletcher. HARSH JUDGMENTS O God! whose thoughts are brightest light, Whose love runs always clear, To whose kind wisdom sinning souls Amidst their sins are dear, Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart With charity like thine, Till self shall be the only spot On earth which does not shine. I often see in my own thoughts, When they lie nearest Thee, That the worst men I ever knew Were better men than me. He whom no praise can reach is aye Men's least attempts approving; Whom justice makes all-merciful Omniscience makes all-loving. How thou canst think so well of us Yet be the God thou art, Is darkness to my intellect, But sunshine to my heart. Yet habits linger in the soul; More grace, O Lord! more grace! More sweetness from thy loving heart! More sunshine from thy face! The discord is within, which jars So sadly in life's song; 'Tis we, not they, who are in fault, When others seem so wrong. 'Tis we who weigh upon ourselves; Self is the irksome weight; To those who can see straight themselves, All things look always straight. My God, with what surpassing love Thou lovest all on earth; How good the least good is to thee, How much each soul is worth! All bitterness is from ourselves; All sweetness is from thee; Sweet God! for evermore be thou Fountain and fire in me! --Frederick William Faber. HOW TO JUDGE "Judge the people by their actions"--tis a rule you often get-- "Judge the actions by their people" is a wiser maxim yet. Have I known you, brother, sister? Have I looked into your heart? Mingled with your thoughts my feelings, taken of your life my part? Through the warp of your convictions sent the shuttle of my thought Till the web became the Credo, for us both, of Should and Ought? Seen in thousand ways your nature, in all act and look and speech? By that large induction only I your law of being reach. Now I hear of this wrong action--what is that to you and me? Sin within you may have done it--fruit not nature to the tree. Foreign graft has come to bearing--mistletoe grown on your bough-- If I ever really knew you, then, my friend, I know you now. So I say, "He never did it," or, "He did not so intend"; Or, "Some foreign power o'ercame him"--so I judge the action, friend. Let the mere outside observer note appearance as he can; We, more righteous judgment passing, test each action by its man. --James Freeman Clarke. "TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL" If I knew you and you knew me, If both of us could clearly see, And with an inner sight divine The meaning of your heart and mine, I'm sure that we would differ less, And clasp our hands in friendliness; Our thoughts would pleasantly agree If I knew you and you knew me. --Nixon Waterman. KINDNESS A little word in kindness spoken, A motion, or a tear, Has often healed the heart that's broken And made a friend sincere. A word, a look, has crushed to earth Full many a budding flower, Which, had a smile but owned its birth, Would bless life's darkest hour. Then deem it not an idle thing A pleasant word to speak; The face you wear, the thought you bring, A heart may heal or break. --John Greenleaf Whittier. IF WE KNEW If we knew the cares and sorrows Crowded round our neighbor's way, If we knew the little losses, Sorely grievous, day by day, Would we then so often chide him For the lack of thrift and gain, Leaving on his heart a shadow Leaving on our hearts a stain? If we knew the clouds above us, Held by gentle blessings there, Would we turn away, all trembling, In our blind and weak despair? Would we shrink from little shadows Lying on the dewy grass While 'tis only birds of Eden Just in mercy flying past? Let us reach within our bosoms For the key to other lives, And with love to erring natures Cherish good that still survives; So that when our disrobed spirits Soar to realms of light again, We may say, "Dear Father, judge us As we judged our fellow men." Time to me this truth hath taught, 'Tis a truth that's worth revealing: More offend from want of thought Than from want of feeling. If advice we would convey, There's a time we should convey it; If we've but a word to say, There's a time in which to say it. HONOR ALL MEN Great Master! teach us how to hope in man: We lift our eyes upon his works and ways, And disappointment chills us as we gaze, Our dream of him so far the truth outran, So far his deeds are ever falling short. And then we fold our graceful hands and say, "The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away, O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought, Because the humble souls of Galilee Were tuned not to the music of thine own And chimed not to the pulsing undertone Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea? Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend, When we so daintily do condescend. --Martha Perry Howe. BROTHERHOOD That plenty but reproaches me Which leaves my neighbor bare. Not wholly glad my heart can be While his is bowed with care. If I go free, and sound, and stout, While his poor fetters clank, Unsated still, I'll still cry out, And plead with Whom I thank. Almighty, thou who Father be Of him, of me, of all, Draw us together, him and me, That, whichsoever fall, The other's hand may fail him not-- The other's strength decline No task of succor that his lot May claim from son of thine. I would be fed. I would be clad. I would be housed and dry. But if so be my heart is sad-- What benefit have I? Best he whose shoulders best endure The load that brings relief; And best shall be his joy secure Who shares that joy with grief. --Edward Sandford Martin. THE LIFE I SEEK Not in some cloistered cell Dost thou, Lord, bid me dwell My love to show, But 'mid the busy marts, Where men with burdened hearts Do come and go. Some tempted soul to cheer When breath of ill is near And foes annoy; The sinning to restrain, To ease the throb of pain-- Be such my joy. Lord, make me quick to see Each task awaiting me, And quick to do; Oh, grant me strength, I pray, With lowly love each day, And purpose true, To go as Jesus went, Spending and being spent, Myself forgot; Supplying human needs By loving words and deeds-- Oh, happy lot! --Robert M. Offord. THY BROTHER When thy heart with joy o'erflowing Sings a thankful prayer, In thy joy, O let thy brother With thee share. When the harvest sheaves ingathered Fill thy barns with store, To thy God and to thy brother Give the more. If thy soul with power uplifted Yearns for glorious deed, Give thy strength to serve thy brother In his need. Hast thou borne a secret sorrow In thy lonely breast? Take to thee thy sorrowing brother For a guest. Share with him thy bread of blessing, Sorrow's burden share; When thy heart enfolds a brother, God is there. --Theodore Chickering Williams. ALL'S WELL Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half life's good to me: Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force To show how sweet it is to be! Thy witching dream And pictured scheme To match the fact still want the power: Thy promise brave-- From birth to grave-- Life's boon may beggar in an hour. "Ask and receive," 'tis sweetly said; Yet what to plead for know I not; For wish is wasted, hope o'ersped, And aye to thanks returns my thought. If I would pray, I've naught to say But this, that God may be God still; For him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish, his will. O wealth of life beyond all bound! Eternity each moment given! What plummet may the Present sound Who promises a future heaven? Or glad or grieved, Oppressed, relieved, In blackest night or brightest day, Still pours the flood Of golden good, And more than heartful fills me aye. My wealth is common; I possess No petty province, but the whole. What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul, Talk not of store, Millions or more-- Of values which the purse may hold-- But this divine! I own the mine Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold. I have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; All hearts of men my coffers are, My ores arterial tides convey; The fields and skies And sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold-dust, The oaks and brooks And speaking looks Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust. Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow For him who lives above all years; Who all-immortal makes the Now, And is not ta'en in Time's arrears; His life's a hymn The seraphim Might stop to hear or help to sing, And to his soul The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring. "All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith; "The wealth I am must then become Richer and richer, breath by breath-- Immortal gain, immortal room!" And since all his Mine also is, Life's gift outruns my fancies far, And drowns the dream In larger stream, As morning drinks the morning star. --David Atwood Wasson. HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED? How doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low, When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow? It clothes their every gift and grace With radiance from the holiest place, With light as from an angel's face, Recalling with resistless force And tracing to their hidden source Deeds scarcely noticed in their course-- This little loving fond device, That daily act of sacrifice, Of which too late we learned the price. Opening our weeping eyes to trace Simple unnoticed kindnesses, Forgotten tones of tenderness, Which evermore to us must be Sacred as hymns in infancy Learnt listening at a mother's knee. Thus doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low. Then let love antedate the work of death, And speak thus now. * * * * * How does death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low, When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow? It sweeps their faults with heavy hand As sweeps the sea the trampled sand, Till scarce the faintest print is scanned. It shows how much the vexing deed Was but a generous nature's weed Or some choice virtue run to seed; How that small fretting fretfulness Was but love's overanxiousness, Which had not been had love been less; This failing at which we repined But the dim shade of day declined Which should have made us doubly kind. It takes each failing on our part And brands it in upon the heart With caustic power and cruel art. The small neglect that may have pained A giant stature will have gained When it can never be explained; The little service which had proved How tenderly we watched and loved, And those mute lips to smiles had moved; The little gift from out our store Which might have cheered some cheerless hour When they with earth's poor needs were poor. It shows our faults like fires at night; It sweeps their failings out of sight; It clothes their good in heavenly light. O Christ, our life, foredate the work of death And do this now; Thou, who art love, thus hallow our beloved; Not death, but Thou! --Elizabeth Rundle Charles. God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives That lamp due measure of oil: Lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide, Its comfort for others to share! --Muleykeh. THE NEW ERA It is coming! it is coming! The day is just a-dawning When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother; When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning, Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother. When the men who work for wages shall not toil from morn till even, With no vision of the sunlight, nor flowers, nor birds a-singing; When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven, Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing. The time is coming when the man who cares not for another Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation; Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother, As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation. The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling, And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be; And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity. It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper; They are giving of their millions as they never gave before; They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper, And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. To a darning-needle once exclaimed the kitchen sieve, "You've a hole right through your body, and I wonder how you live." But the needle (who was sharp) replied, "I too have wondered That you notice my _one_ hole, when in you there are a hundred!" --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke. LOOKING FOR PEARLS The Master came one evening to the gate Of a fair city; it was growing late, And sending his disciples to buy food, He wandered forth intent on doing good, As was his wont. And in the market-place He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space, Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground, Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck-- A dead dog with a halter round his neck, And those who stood by mocked the object there, And one said, scoffing, "It pollutes the air!" Another, jeering, asked, "How long to-night Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?" "Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jewish wit, "You could not cut even a shoe from it," And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed," A fourth chimed in, "an unclean wretch indeed!" "He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried. And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side. Then Jesus, standing by them in the street, Looked on the poor, spent creature at his feet, And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men, "_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._" And then The people at each other gazed, asking, "Who is this stranger pitying this vile thing?" Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath, "This surely is the Man of Nazareth; This must be Jesus, for none else but he Something to praise in a dead dog could see!" And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head, And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace. --Alexander Pope. WHAT MIGHT BE DONE What might be done if men were wise-- What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, Would they unite In love and right, And cease their scorn of one another! Oppression's heart might be imbued With kindling drops of loving-kindness, And knowledge pour From shore to shore Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, All vice and crime, might die together; And wine and corn To each man born Be free as warmth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, Might stand erect In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done. And more than this, my suffering brother; More than the tongue E'er said or sung If men were wise and loved each other. --Charles Mackay. If I could see A brother languishing in sore distress, And I should turn and leave him comfortless, When I might be A messenger of hope and happiness-- How could I ask to have that I denied In my own hour of bitterness supplied? If I might share A brother's load along the dusty way, And I should turn and walk alone that day, How could I dare-- When in the evening watch I kneel to pray-- To ask for help to bear my pain and loss, If I had heeded not my brother's cross? SHARED I said it in the meadow path, I say it on the mountain-stairs: The best things any mortal hath Are those which every mortal shares. The air we breathe--the sky--the breeze-- The light without us and within-- Life with its unlocked treasuries-- God's riches, are for all to win. The grass is softer to my tread For rest it yields unnumbered feet; Sweeter to me the wild-rose red Because she makes the whole world sweet. Into your heavenly loneliness Ye welcomed me, O solemn peaks! And me in every guest you bless Who reverently your mystery seeks. And up the radiant peopled way That opens into worlds unknown It will be life's delight to say, "Heaven is not heaven for me alone." Rich through my brethren's poverty! Such wealth were hideous! I am blest Only in what they share with me, In what I share with all the rest. --Lucy Larcom. UNCHARITABLENESS NOT CHRISTIAN I know not if 'twas wise or well To give all heathens up to hell-- Hadrian--Aurelius--Socrates-- And others wise and good as these; I know not if it is forbid, But this I know--Christ never did. May every soul that touches mine-- Be it the slightest contact--get therefrom some good, Some little grace, one kindly thought, One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith To brave the thickening ills of life, One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists, To make this life worth while, And heaven a surer heritage. SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY O for a closer walk with man! Sweet fellowship of soul, Where each is to the other bound, Parts of one living whole. Our Father, God, help us to see That all in thee are one; O warm our hearts with thy pure love, Strong as your glorious sun. Pride, envy, selfishness will melt Beneath that kindling fire; Our brother's faults we scarce shall see, But good in all admire. No bitter cry of misery Shall ever pass unheard; But gentle sympathy spring forth In smile and strengthening word. And when our brother's voice shall call From lands beyond the sea, Our hearts in glad response will say, "Here, Lord, am I, send me." O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man, Grant us thy face to see; In thy light shall we understand What human life may be. Then daily with thy Spirit filled, According to thy word, New power shall flow through us to all, And draw men near our Lord. Thus will the deep desire be met With which our prayer began; A closer walk with Thee will mean A closer walk with man. If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter, If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter, God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing, And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing. If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter, If any little care of mine make other life completer, If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another, God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother. CHARITY NOT JUSTICE Outwearied with the littleness and spite, The falsehood and the treachery of men, I cried, "Give me but justice!" thinking then I meekly craved a common boon which might Most easily be granted; soon the light Of deeper truth grew on my wondering ken, (Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen), And then I saw that in my pride bedight I claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven-- God's own great vested right; and I grew calm, With folded hands, like stone, to patience given, And pitying, of pure love distilling balm; And now I wait in quiet trust to be All known to God--and ask of men sweet charity. --Elizabeth Oakes Smith. GOD SAVE THE PEOPLE When wilt thou save the people, O God of mercy, when? Not kings alone, but nations? Not thrones and crowns, but men? Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they: Let them not pass, like weeds, away-- Their heritage a sunless day. God save the people! Shall crime bring crime forever, Strength aiding still the strong? Is it thy will, O Father, That man shall toil for wrong? "No," say thy mountains, "No," thy skies; Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise, And songs ascend instead of sighs. God save the people! When wilt thou save the people? O God of mercy, when? The people, Lord, the people, Not thrones and crowns, but men? God save the people; thine they are, Thy children, as thine angels fair; From vice, oppression, and despair, God save the people! --Ebenezer Elliott. HYMN OF THE CITY Not in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale the present Deity; Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd Through the great city rolled With everlasting murmurs deep and loud-- Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. The golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies And lights their inner homes; For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound-- Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng-- Like the resounding sea, Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. And when the hour of rest Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, Hushing its billowy breast-- The quiet of that moment too is Thine It breathes of Him who keeps The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. --William Cullen Bryant. No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Believe not each accusing tongue, As most weak people do; But still believe that story wrong Which ought not to be true. --Richard Brinsley Sheridan. CHRIST IN THE CITY Where cross the crowded ways of life Where sound the cries of race and clan, Above the noise of selfish strife, We hear thy voice, O Son of man. In haunts of wretchedness and need, On shadowed thresholds dark with fears, From paths where hide the lures of greed We catch the vision of thy tears. From tender childhood's helplessness, From woman's grief, man's burdened toil, From famished souls, from sorrow's stress, Thy heart has never known recoil. The cup of water given for Thee Still holds the freshness of thy grace; Yet long these multitudes to see The sweet compassion of thy face. O Master, from the mountain side Make haste to heal these hearts of pain, Among these restless throngs abide, O tread the city's streets again, Till sons of men shall learn thy love And follow where thy feet have trod; Till glorious from thy heaven above Shall come the city of our God. --Frank Mason North. Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; While he who walks in love may wander far, But God will bring him where the blessed are. --Henry van Dyke. Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art, Hard study never made the matter clearer; 'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer. --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. SPEAK OUT If you have a friend worth loving, Love him. Yes, and let him know That you love him, ere life's evening Tinge his brow with sunset glow. Why should good words ne'er be said Of a friend--till he is dead? If you hear a song that thrills you, Sung by any child of song, Praise it. Do not let the singer Wait deserved praises long. Why should one who thrills your heart Lack the joy you may impart? If you hear a prayer that moves you By its humble, pleading tone, Join it. Do not let the seeker Bow before his God alone. Why should not thy brother share The strength of "two or three" in prayer? If your work is made more easy By a friendly, helping hand, Say so. Speak out brave and truly, Ere the darkness veil the land. Should a brother workman dear Falter for a word of cheer? Scatter thus your seeds of kindness All enriching as you go-- Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver; He will make each seed to grow. So, until the happy end, Your life shall never lack a friend. INFLUENCE The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean Will leave a track behind forevermore; The lightest wave of influence, once in motion, Extends and widens to the eternal shore. We should be wary, then, who go before A myriad yet to be, and we should take Our bearings carefully where breakers roar And fearful tempests gather: one mistake May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. TELL HIM SO If you have a word of cheer That may light the pathway drear, Of a brother pilgrim here, Let him know. Show him you appreciate What he does, and do not wait Till the heavy hand of fate Lays him low. If your heart contains a thought That will brighter make his lot, Then, in mercy, hide it not; Tell him so. Bide not till the end of all Carries him beyond recall When beside his sable pall, To avow Your affection and acclaim To do honor to his name And to place the wreath of fame On his brow. Rather speak to him to-day; For the things you have to say May assist him on his way: Tell him now. Life is hard enough, at best: But the love that is expressed Makes it seem a pathway blest To our feet; And the troubles that we share Seem the easier to bear, Smile upon your neighbor's care, As you greet. Rough and stony are our ways, Dark and dreary are our days; But another's love and praise Make them sweet. Wait not till your friend is dead Ere your compliments are said; For the spirit that has fled, If it know, Does not need to speed it on Our poor praise; where it has gone Love's eternal, golden dawn Is aglow. But unto our brother here That poor praise is very dear; If you've any word of cheer Tell him so. --J. A. Egerton. So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE MAN WITH A GRUDGE There once was a man who bore a grudge. Stoutly he bore it many a year. "Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge! Well it becomes me, never fear. "Men for this world, and saints for heaven; Too much of meekness shows a fool; My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven; 'Give as you get,' is a good old rule." The longer he bore it, the more it grew, Grew his grudge, as he trudged along; Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew, And he heard within it a wondrous song. The shining porter said, "Walk in." He sought to do so; the gate was strait: Hard he struggled his way to win, The way was narrow, the grudge was great. He turned in haste to lay it down; He strove to tear it away--to cut-- But it had fast to his heart strings grown, "O wait," he cried; but the door was shut. Through windows bright and clear he saw The blessed going with their Lord to sup. But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw; Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up. --Sara Hammond Palfrey. Man judges from a partial view, None ever yet his brother knew; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul, And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inward side. --John Greenleaf Whittier. O brothers! are ye asking how The hills of happiness to find? Then know they lie beyond the vow-- "God helping me, I will be kind." --Nixon Waterman. A BLESSING Not to the man of dollars, Not to the man of deeds, Not unto craft and cunning, Not unto human creeds; Not to the one whose passion Is for the world's renown, Not in the form of fashion Cometh a blessing down. But to the one whose spirit Yearns for the great and good; Unto the one whose storehouse Yieldeth the hungry food; Unto the one who labors Fearless of foe or frown; Unto the kindly-hearted, Cometh a blessing down. --Mary Frances Tucker. WEAPONS Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt, And so are tongue and pen, And so are sheaves of good bank notes, To sway the souls of men. But guns and swords and piles of gold, Though mighty in their sphere, Are sometimes feebler than a smile, And poorer than a tear. --Charles Mackay. Enough to know that, through the winter's frost And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost, And every duty pays at last its cost. --John Greenleaf Whittier. A kindly act is a kernel sown That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time is flown Down the gulf of Eternity. --John Boyle O'Reilly. The kindly word unspoken is a sin-- A sin that wraps itself in purest guise, And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies. --John Boyle O'Reilly. CONSECRATION SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY THE CHARIOTEER O God, take the reins of my life! I have driven it blindly, to left and to right, In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite, Where the brambles were rife, In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night. O God, take the reins of my life! For I am so weary and weak. My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart, And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start, And the worn horses reek With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart, While I am all weary and weak. But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power. Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay, And my life in that hour Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey; For thou wilt be peace and all power. Now, Lord, without tarrying, now! While eyes can look up and while reason remains, And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins, Ere death stamp my brow And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins-- Come, Lord, without tarrying, now! I yield Thee my place, which is thine. Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor; Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more, While the glad axles shine, And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,-- Now thou hast my place, which is thine. --Amos R. Wells. WHOLLY THE LORD'S My whole though broken heart, O Lord, From henceforth shall be thine; And here I do my vow record-- This hand, these words are mine: All that I have, without reserve, I offer here to thee: Thy will and honor all shall serve That thou bestow'st on me. All that exceptions save I lose; All that I lose I save; The treasures of thy love I choose, And Thou art all I crave. My God, thou hast my heart and hand; I all to thee resign; I'll ever to this covenant stand, Though flesh hereat repine. I know that Thou wast willing first, And then drew my consent; Having thus loved me at the worst Thou wilt not now repent. Now I have quit all self-pretense, Take charge of what's thine own: My life, my health, and my defense, Now lie on thee alone. --Richard Baxter. THE LAST WISH To do or not to do; to have Or not to have, I leave to thee; To be or not to be I leave; Thy only will be done in me. All my requests are lost in one: Father, thy only will be done. Suffice that, for the season past, Myself in things divine I sought, For comforts cried with eager haste, And murmured that I found them not. I leave it now to Thee alone: Father, thy only will be done. Thy gifts I clamor for no more, Or selfishly thy grace require An evil heart to varnish o'er; Jesus, the Giver, I desire, After the flesh no longer known: Father, thy only will be done. Welcome alike the crown or cross; Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace, Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss, Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease, Nor life, nor death, but ever groan, Father, thy only will be done. --Charles Wesley. MORNING HYMN O God! I thank thee for each sight Of beauty that thy hand doth give; For sunny skies and air and light; O God, I thank thee that I live! That life I consecrate to Thee; And ever as the day is born, On wings of joy my soul would flee And thank thee for another morn; Another day in which to cast Some silent deed of love abroad, That, greatening as it journeys past, May do some earnest work for God; Another day to do and dare; To tax anew my growing strength; To arm my soul with faith and prayer, And so reach heaven and Thee at length. --Caroline Atherton Mason. "INTO THY HANDS" Into Thy guiding hands; Along a way thy love and care forefend Gladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bend The longest road that leads at life's far end Into thy hands. Into thy chastening hands: If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin, Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win, Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline, Into thy hands. Into Thy healing hands; No hurt of soul or body long enthralls, The bruiséd heart that for thy succor calls When, far from doubting as from fear, it falls Into thy hands. Into thy saving hands: Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake, My life a perfect whole thy power can make, If Thou my shards of broken purpose take Into thy hands. Into Thy keeping hands; As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail-- So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail-- The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale, Into thy hands. Into thy loving hands; Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest; Who made the world to tire made thee my rest; My joyful heart I give, at thy behest, Into thy hands. --Louise Manning Hodgkins. HERE AM I My will would like a life of ease, And power to do, and time to rest, And health and strength my will would please, But, Lord, I know thy will is best. If I have strength to do thy will That should be power enough for me, Whether to work or to sit still The appointment of the day may be. And if by sickness I may grow More patient, holy and resigned, Strong health I need not wish to know, And greater ease I cannot find. And rest--I need not seek it here; For perfect rest remaineth still; When in thy presence we appear Rest shall be given by thy will. Lord I have given my life to thee, And every day and hour is thine; What thou appointest let them be: Thy will is better, Lord, than mine. --Anna B. Warner. THE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine, Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake; I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine-- Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make; But here I bring within my trembling hand, This will of mine--a thing that seemeth small, And Thou alone, O God, canst understand How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all. Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see Struggles of passion--visions of delight-- All that I love, and am, and fain would be, Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite. It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs, Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none-- Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies, The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done." Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail, And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en If, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail, And thou give back my will, it may have been So changed, so purified, so fair have grown, So one with thee, so filled with peace divine, I may not see nor know it as my own, But, gaining back my will, may find it thine. Manlike is it to fall into sin, Fiendlike is it to dwell therein, Christlike is it for sin to grieve, Godlike is it all sin to leave. --Friedrich von Logau. O GOD OF TRUTH O God of Truth, whose living word Upholds whate'er hath breath, Look down on thy creation, Lord, Enslaved by sin and death. Set up thy standard, Lord, that they Who claim a heavenly birth May march with thee to smite the lies That vex thy ransomed earth. Ah! would we join that blest array, And follow in the might Of Him, the Faithful and the True, In raiment clean and white. _We_ fight for truth, _we_ fight for God-- Poor slaves of lies and sin! He who would fight for thee on earth Must first be true within. Thou God of Truth for whom we long-- Thou who wilt hear our prayer-- Do thine own battle in our hearts; And slay the falsehood there. Still smite! still burn! till naught is left But God's own truth and love; Then, Lord, as morning dew come down, Rest on us from above. Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire, From every lie set free, Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us, And we shall live in Thee. --Thomas Hughes. GOD ONLY Lord, in the strength of grace, With a glad heart and free, Myself, my residue of days, I consecrate to Thee. Thy ransomed servant, I Restore to thee thine own; And from this moment live or die To serve my God alone. --Charles Wesley. In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee, Thine utterly and only and evermore to be! O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone, And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own. --Frances Ridley Havergal. GOD IS EVERYWHERE A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air; And in my cage I sit and sing To him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleaseth thee. Naught have I else to do; I sing the whole day long; And He whom most I love to please Doth listen to my song; He caught and bound my wandering wing, But still he bends to hear me sing. My cage confines me round, Abroad I cannot fly; But though my wings are closely bound My heart's at liberty. My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of my soul. Oh, it is grand to soar These bolts and bars above To Him whose purpose I adore, Whose providence I love! And in thy mighty will to find The joy, the freedom of the mind. --Madame Guyon. A CONSECRATED LIFE Take my life and let it be Consecrated, Lord, to thee. Take my moments and my days; Let them flow in ceaseless praise. Take my hands, and let them move At the impulse of thy love. Take my feet and let them be Swift and "beautiful" for Thee. Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King. Take my lips, and let them be Filled with messages from Thee. Take my silver and my gold; Not a mite would I withhold. Take my intellect, and use Every power as Thou shalt choose. Take my will and make it Thine; It shall be no longer mine. Take my heart; it _is_ thine own; It shall be thy royal throne. Take my love; my Lord, I pour At thy feet its treasure-store. Take myself, and I will be Ever, _only_, ALL for Thee. --Frances Ridley Havergal. UNION WITH GOD Strong are the walls around me, That hold me all the day; But they who thus have bound me Cannot keep God away: My very dungeon walls are dear, Because the God I love is here. They know, who thus oppress me, 'Tis hard to be alone; But know not One can bless me Who comes through bars and stone. He makes my dungeon's darkness bright And fills my bosom with delight. Thy love, O God! restores me From sighs and tears to praise; And deep my soul adores thee Nor thinks of time or place: I ask no more, in good or ill, But union with thy holy will. 'Tis that which makes my treasure, 'Tis that which brings my gain; Converting woe to pleasure. And reaping joy from pain. Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall, To know that God is All in All. --Madame Guyon. DEDICATED O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart, And fix my frail, inconstant heart; Henceforth my chief desire shall be To dedicate myself to thee. Whate'er pursuits my time employ, One thought shall fill my soul with joy: That silent, secret thought shall be That all my hopes are fixed on thee. Thy glorious eye pervadeth space; Thy presence, Lord, fills every place; And wheresoe'er my lot may be Still shall my spirit cleave to thee. Renouncing every worldly thing, And safe beneath thy spreading wing, My sweetest thought henceforth shall be That all I want I find in thee. --Jean F. Oberlin. LEAVING ALL Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee; Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, Thou, from hence, my all shalt be: Perish every fond ambition, All I've sought, and hoped, and known; Yet how rich is my condition, God and heaven are still my own! Let the world despise and leave me, They have left my Saviour too; Human hearts and looks deceive me; Thou art not, like man, untrue; And while thou shalt smile upon me, God of wisdom, love, and might, Foes may hate, and friends may shun me; Show thy face, and all is bright. Go, then, earthly fame and treasure! Come, disaster, scorn, and pain! In Thy service, pain is pleasure; With thy favor, loss is gain. I have called thee, "Abba, Father"; I have stayed my heart on thee: Storms may howl, and clouds may gather, All must work for good to me. Man may trouble and distress me, 'Twill but drive me to Thy breast; Life with trials hard may press me, Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. O 'tis not in grief to harm me, While thy love is left to me; O 'twere not in joy to charm me, Were that joy unmixed with thee. Know, my soul, thy full salvation; Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care; Joy to find in every station Something still to do or bear. Think what Spirit dwells within thee; What a Father's smile is thine; What a Saviour died to win thee: Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine? Haste thee on from grace to glory, Armed by faith, and winged by prayer; Heaven's eternal day's before thee, God's own hand shall guide thee there. Soon shall close thy earthly mission, Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days, Hope shall change to glad fruition, Faith to sight, and prayer to praise. --Henry F. Lyte. CHOOSE THOU Thy way, not mine, O Lord! However dark it be; Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be, or rough, It will be still the best; Winding or straight it matters not, It leads me to Thy rest. I dare not choose my lot, I would not if I might; Choose Thou for me, O God! So shall I walk aright. The kingdom that I seek Is Thine; so let the way That leads to it be thine Else I must surely stray. Take Thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill; As best to Thee may seem; Choose Thou my good or ill. Choose Thou for me my friends My sickness or my health; Choose thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth. Not mine, not mine the choice In things or great or small; Be Thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom and my all. --Horatius Bonar. ONLY TO-DAY Only to-day is mine, And that I owe to Thee; Help me to make it thine; As pure as it may be; Let it see something done, Let it see something won, Then at the setting sun I'll give it back to thee. What if I cannot tell The cares the day may bring? I know that I shall dwell Beneath Thy sheltering wing; And there the load is light; And there the dark is bright, And weakness turns to might, And so I trust and sing. What shall I ask to-day? Naught but Thine own sweet will; The windings of the way Lead to thy holy hill; And whether here or there Why should I fear or care? Thy heavens are everywhere, And they are o'er me still. Give me Thyself to-day, I dare not walk alone; Speak to me by the way, And "all things are my own"; The treasures of thy grace, The secret hiding place, The vision of thy face, The shadow of thy throne! --Henry Burton. THE OFFERING No more my own, Lord Jesus, Bought with thy precious blood, I give thee but thine own, Lord, That long thy love withstood. I give the life thou gavest, My present, future, past; My joys, my fears, my sorrows, My first hope and my last. I give thee up my weakness That oft distrust hath bred, That thy indwelling power May thus be perfected. I give the love the sweetest Thy goodness grants to me; Take it, and make it meet, Lord, For offering to thee. Smile, and the very shadows In thy blest light shall shine; Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus, For thou hast made it thine. Thou knowest my soul's ambition, For thou hast changed its aim (The world's reproach I fear not) To share a Saviour's shame. Outside the camp to suffer; Within the veil to meet, And hear Thy softest whisper From out the mercy-seat. Thou bear'st me in thy bosom, Amidst thy jewels worn, Upon thy hands deep graven By arms of love upborne. Rescued from sin's destruction, Ransomed from death and hell; Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus: Thou hast done all things well. Oh, deathless love that bought me! Oh, price beyond my ken! Oh, Life that hides my own life E'en from my fellow-men! Now fashion, form and fill me With light and love divine; So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus, I'm thine--forever thine! I IN THEE AND THOU IN ME I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist; Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I strive So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest, That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive. Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration, Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine, So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation, That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine. Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures; Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee; Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's features Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free. One with all human existence, no one above or below me; Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn; Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn. So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee. Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator! Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be. --Christopher Pearse Cranch. ON THEE MY HEART IS RESTING On Thee my heart is resting: Ah! this is rest indeed! What else, Almighty Saviour, Can a poor sinner need? Thy light is all my wisdom, Thy love is all my stay; Our Father's home in glory Draws nearer every day. Great is my guilt, but greater The mercy Thou dost give; Thyself, a spotless offering, Hast died that I should live. With Thee my soul unfettered Has risen from the dust; Thy blood is all my treasure; Thy word is all my trust. Through me, thou gentle Master, Thy purposes fulfill: I yield myself forever To thy most holy will. What though I be but weakness My strength is not in me; The poorest of thy people Has all things, having Thee. When clouds are darkest round me, Thou, Lord, art then most near, My drooping faith to quicken, My weary soul to cheer. Safe nestling in thy bosom, I gaze upon thy face. In vain my foes would drive me From Thee, my hiding-place. 'Tis Thou hast made me happy; 'Tis thou hast set me free. To whom shall I give glory Forever but to Thee! Of earthly love and blessing Should every stream run dry, Thy grace shall still be with me-- Thy grace to live and die! --Theodore Monod. WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE? I love, and have some cause to love, the earth; She is my Maker's creature, therefore good; She is my mother, for she gave me birth; She is my tender nurse, she gives me food; But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee? Or what's my mother or my nurse to me? The highest honors that the world can boast Are subjects far too low for my desire; The brightest beams of glory are, at most, But dying sparkles of thy living fire; The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee. Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares; Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness: Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being when compared with Thee. In having all things, and not Thee, what have I? Not having Thee, what have my labors got? Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I? And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee. --Francis Quarles. Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever Sealed on the heart, and engraved on the life; Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor, Secret of rest and the strength of our strife. --Frances Ridley Havergal. SINCE FIRST THY WORD AWAKED MY HEART Since first thy word awaked my heart, Like new life dawning o'er me, Where'er I turn my eyes, Thou art All light and love before me. Nought else I feel or hear or see, All bonds of earth I sever, Thee, O God, and only thee, I live for now and ever. Like him whose fetters dropped away When light shone o'er his prison, My spirit, touched by mercy's ray, Hath from her chains arisen. And shall a soul Thou bid'st be free Return to bondage? Never! Thee, O God, and only thee, I live for now and ever. --Thomas Moore. WE GIVE ALL And now we only ask to serve, We do not ask to rest; We would give all without reserve, Our life, our love, our best. We only ask to see His face, It is enough for us; We only ask the lowest place, So he may smile on us. --Mary E. Townsend. THE TWO WORLDS Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine In glory and in grace; The gaudy world grows pale before The beauty of thy face. Till Thou art seen, it seems to be A sort of fairy ground, Where suns unsetting light the sky, And flowers and fruits abound, But when Thy keener, purer beam Is poured upon our sight, It loses all its power to charm, And what was day is night. Its noblest toils are then the scourge Which made Thy blood to flow; Its joys are but the treacherous thorns Which circled round thy brow. And thus, when we renounce for Thee Its restless aims and fears, The tender memories of the past, The hopes of coming years, Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes Are lighted from above; We offer what we cannot keep, What we have ceased to love. --John Henry Newman. SELF-SURRENDER Saviour, who died for me, I give myself to thee; Thy love, so full, so free, Claims all my powers. Be this my purpose high, To serve Thee till I die, Whether my path shall lie 'Mid thorns or flowers. But, Lord, the flesh is weak; Thy gracious aid I seek, For thou the word must speak That makes me strong. Then let me hear thy voice, Thou art my only choice; O bid my heart rejoice; Be thou my song. May it be joy to me To follow only Thee; Thy faithful servant be, Thine to the end. For Thee I'll do and dare, For thee the cross I'll bear, To thee direct my prayer, On thee depend. Saviour, with me abide; Be ever near my side; Support, defend, and guide. I look to thee. I lay my hand in thine, And fleeting joys resign, If I may call thee mine Eternally. --Mary J. Mason. For all the sins that cling to thee Let wide the gates of pardon be; But hope not thou shalt smuggle through The little sin thou clingest to. --F. Langbridge. GOD ALONE LOVED Do I not love thee, Lord most high, In answer to thy love for me! I seek no other liberty But that of being bound to Thee. May memory no thought suggest But shall to thy pure glory tend; May understanding find no rest Except in Thee, its only end. My God, I here protest to Thee No other will I have than thine; Whatever thou hast given me I here again to Thee resign. All mine is thine, say but the word; Whate'er Thou willest--be it done; I know thy love, all-gracious Lord-- I know it seeks my good alone. Apart from Thee all things are naught; Then grant, O my supremest bliss! Grant me to love Thee as I ought; Thou givest all in giving this. --Ignatius Loyola, tr. by Edward Caswall. THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE To me 'tis equal whether love ordain My life or death, appoint me pain or ease My soul perceives no real ill in pain, In ease or health no real good she sees. One good she covets, and that good alone, To choose thy will, from selfish bias free; And to prefer a cottage to a throne, And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee. That we should bear the cross is Thy command, Die to the world and live to self no more; Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand When shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore. --Madame Guyon, tr. by William Cowper. I preached as never sure to preach again, And as a dying man to dying men. --Richard Baxter. PRESSING TOWARD THE MARK Thee will I love, my strength and tower, Thee will I love, my joy and crown, Thee will I love with all my power, In all my works, and Thee alone. Thee will I love, till that pure fire Fills my whole soul with strong desire. Give to mine eyes refreshing tears; Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires; Give to my soul, with filial fears The love that all heaven's host inspires; That all my powers, with all their might, In thy sole glory may unite. Thee will I love, my joy, my crown, Thee will I love, my Lord, my God; Thee will I love beneath thy frown Or smile, thy scepter or thy rod; What though my head and flesh decay? Thee shall I love in endless day. --Johann A. Scheffler, tr. by John Wesley. DWELL DEEP Dwell deep! The little things that chafe and fret, O waste not golden hours to give them heed! The slight, the thoughtless wrong, do thou forget, Be self-forgot in serving others' need. Thou faith in God through love for man shalt keep. Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep. Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bring Neglect of duty; consecrate each thought; Believe thou in the good of everything, And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought. Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep: Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep. --James Buckham. Out from thyself, thyself depart; God then shall fill thine empty heart; Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream-- In flows the Godhead's living stream. --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. PEACE REST, CALM, STILLNESS THE PEACE OF GOD When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest, There is a temple peaceful evermore. And all the babble of life's angry voices Dies hushed in stillness at its sacred door. Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee. O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest, and thou changest never; And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth Fullness of joy, forever and forever. --Harriet Beecher Stowe. Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, I lapse into the glad release Of Nature's own exceeding peace. --John Greenleaf Whittier. BE STILL Let nothing make thee sad or fretful, Or too regretful; Be still. What God hath ordered must be right; Then find in it thy own delight, My will! Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow About to-morrow, My heart? God watcheth all with care most true; Doubt not that he will give thee too Thy part. --Paul Fleming. SIT STILL (Ruth 3. 18.) Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask, No glorious deed, no mighty task; But just to sit and patiently abide. Wait in my presence, in my word confide, "But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield, Forward to go, and in the battle field To fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow, And in thy strength to vanquish every foe. "The harvest-fields spread out before me lie, The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry-- 'The field is white, the laborers are few; Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'" My child, it is a sweet and blessed thing To rest beneath the shadow of my wing; To feel thy doings and thy words are naught, To trust to me each restless, longing thought. "Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn, To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearn To love thee better, Lord, and feel that still Waiting is working, if it be thy will." THE QUIET MIND I have a treasure which I prize; The like I cannot find; There's nothing like it in the earth: It is a quiet mind. But 'tis not that I'm stupefied, Or senseless, dull, or blind: 'Tis God's own peace within my soul Which forms my quiet mind. I found this treasure at the Cross. 'Tis there to every kind Of heavy-laden, weary souls Christ gives a quiet mind. My Saviour's death and risen life To give this were designed; And that's the root and that's the branch, Of this my quiet mind. The love of God within my heart My heart to his doth bind; This is the mind of heaven on earth; This is my quiet mind. I've many a cross to take up now, And many left behind; But present trials move me not, Nor shake my quiet mind. And what may be to-morrow's cross I never seek to find; My Saviour says, Leave that to Me, And keep a quiet mind. And well I know the Lord hath said, To make my heart resigned, That mercy still shall follow such As have this quiet mind. I meet with pride of wit and wealth, And scorn and looks unkind, It matters naught: I envy not, For I've a quiet mind. I'm waiting now to see the Lord, Who's been to me so kind: I want to thank him face to face For this my quiet mind. MY HEART IS RESTING My heart is resting, O my God; I will give thanks and sing: My heart is at the secret source Of every precious thing. Now the frail vessel Thou hast made No hand but thine shall fill-- The waters of the earth have failed, And I am thirsty still. I thirst for springs of heavenly life, And here all day they rise; I seek the treasure of Thy love, And close at hand it lies. And a "new song" is in my mouth, To long-loved music set-- Glory to Thee for all the grace I have not tasted yet. I have a heritage of joy That yet I must not see; The hand that bled to make it mine Is keeping it for me. There is a certainty of love That sets my heart at rest; A calm assurance for to-day That to be poor is best! A prayer reposing on His truth, Who hath made all things mine; That draws my captive will to him, And makes it one with thine. --Anna Letitia Waring. KEPT IN PERFECT PEACE Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin? The voice of Jesus whispers Peace within. Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed? To do the will of Jesus, this is rest. Peace, perfect peace, with sorrow surging round? On Jesus' bosom naught but rest is found. Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away? In Jesus' keeping we are safe, and they. Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown? Jesus we know, and he is on the throne. Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours? Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers. It is enough: earth's struggles now do cease, And Jesus calls us to heaven's perfect peace. --Edward Henry Bickersteth. PERFECT PEACE Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace; Over all victorious in its bright increase; Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day, Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way. Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand, Never foe can follow, never traitor stand; Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care, Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there. Every joy or trial falleth from above, Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love, We may trust him fully, all for us to do; They who trust him wholly find him wholly true. --Frances Ridley Havergal. ABIDING In heavenly love abiding, No change my heart shall fear And safe is such confiding, For nothing changes here. The storm may roar without me, My heart may low be laid, But God is round about me, And can I be dismayed? Whenever he may guide me, No want shall turn me back; My Shepherd is beside me, And nothing can I lack. His wisdom ever waketh, His sight is never dim, He knows the way he taketh, And I will walk with him. Green pastures are before me, Which yet I have not seen; Bright skies will soon be o'er me Where darkest clouds have been. My hope I cannot measure, My path to life is free, My Saviour has my treasure, And he will walk with me. --Anna Letitia Waring. CALM I stand upon the Mount of God With sunlight in my soul; I hear the storms in vales beneath, I hear the thunders roll. But I am calm with thee, my God, Beneath these glorious skies; And to the height on which I stand, No storms, nor clouds, can rise. O, THIS is life! O, this is joy! My God, to find thee so; Thy face to see, thy voice to hear, And all thy love to know. --Horatius Bonar. DIVINE PEACE Peace upon peace, like wave upon wave, This the portion that I crave; The peace of God which passeth thought, The peace of Christ which changeth not. Peace like the river's gentle flow, Peace like the morning's silent glow, From day to day, in love supplied, An endless and unebbing tide. Peace flowing on without decrease, From him who is our joy and peace, Who, by his reconciling blood, Hath made the sinner's peace with God. Peace through the night and through the day, Peace through the windings of our way; In pain, and toil, and weariness, A deep and everlasting peace. O King of peace, this peace bestow Upon a stranger here below; O God of peace, thy peace impart, To every sad and troubled heart. Peace from the Father and the Son, Peace from the Spirit, all his own; Peace that shall never more be lost, Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. --Horatius Bonar. A QUIET HEART Quiet, Lord, my froward heart: Make me teachable and mild; Upright, simple, free from art; Make me as a weanèd child, From distrust and envy free, Pleased with all that pleaseth thee. What thou shalt to-day provide Let me as a child receive; What to-morrow may betide Calmly to thy wisdom leave. 'Tis enough that thou wilt care: Why should I the burthen bear? As a little child relies On a care beyond his own; Knows he's neither strong nor wise, Fears to stir a step alone; Let me thus with thee abide, As my Father, Guard and Guide. --John Newton. REST WHERE YOU ARE When, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone, You would seek rest afar, And can not, though repose be rightly won-- Rest where you are. Neglect the needless; sanctify the rest; Move without stress or jar; With quiet of a spirit self-possessed Rest where you are. Not in event, restriction, or release, Not in scenes near or far, But in ourselves are restlessness or peace, Rest where you are. Where lives the soul lives God; his day, his world, No phantom mists need mar; His starry nights are tents of peace unfurled: Rest where you are. BE ALL AT REST Be all at rest, my soul toward God; from him comes my salvation. Psa. 62. 1. "Be all at rest, my soul." Oh! blessed secret Of the true life that glorifies thy Lord: Not always doth the busiest soul best serve him, But he who resteth on his faithful word. "Be all at rest."--"let not your heart be rippled," For tiny wavelets mar the image fair Which the still pool reflects of heaven's glory-- And thus the Image he would have you bear. "Be all at rest,"--for rest is highest service; To the still heart God doth his secrets tell: Thus shall thou learn to wait, and watch, and labor, Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell. For what is service but the life of Jesus Lived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay; Loving and giving; poured forth for others; "A living sacrifice" from day to day? And what shall meet the deep unrest around thee But the calm peace of God that filled his breast? For still a living voice must call the weary To him who said, "Come unto me and rest." Therefore "be all at rest, my soul," toward him, If thou a revelation of the Lord would'st be; For in the quiet confidence that never doubts him, Others his truth and faithfulness shall see. "Be all at rest," for rest alone becometh The soul that casts on him its every care; "Be all at rest"--so shall thy life proclaim him A God who worketh and who heareth prayer. "Be all at rest"--so shalt thou be an answer To those who question, "Who is God, and where?" For God is rest, and where he dwells is stillness, And they who dwell in him that rest shall share. --Freda Hanbury Allen. REST Sweet is the pleasure Itself cannot spoil! Is not true leisure One with true toil? Thou that wouldst taste it, Still do thy best; Use it, not waste it, Else 'tis no rest. Wouldst behold beauty Near thee all round? Only hath duty Such a sight found. Rest is not quitting The busy career; Rest is the fitting Of self to its sphere. 'Tis the brook's motion, Clear without strife, Fleeing to ocean After its life. Deeper devotion Nowhere hath knelt; Fuller emotion Heart never felt. 'Tis loving and serving The Highest and Best! 'Tis onwards, unswerving, And that is true rest. --John Sullivan Dwight. There is peace in power; the men who speak With the loudest tongues do least; And the surest sign of a mind that is weak Is its want of the power to rest. --John Boyle O'Reilly. EQUANIMITY Tost on a sea of troubles, Soul, my Soul, Thyself do thou control; And to the weapons of advancing foes A stubborn breast oppose: Undaunted 'mid the hostile might Of squadrons burning for the fight Thine be no boasting when the victor's crown Wins thee deserved renown; Thine no dejected sorrow, when defeat Would urge a base retreat; Rejoice in joyous things--nor overmuch Let grief thy bosom touch 'Midst evil, and still bear in mind How changeful are the ways of humankind. --Archilochos, tr. by William Hay. GOD'S PEACE Grant us Thy peace, down from thy presence falling, As on the thirsty earth cool night-dews sweet; Grant us thy peace, to thy pure paths recalling, From devious ways, our worn and wandering feet. Grant us Thy peace, through winning and through losing, Through gloom and gladness of our pilgrim way; Grant us thy peace, safe in thy love's enclosing, Thou who all things in heaven and earth dost sway. Give us Thy peace, not as the world has given, In momentary rays that fitful gleamed, But calm, deep, sure, the peace of spirits shriven, Of hearts surrendered and of souls redeemed. Grant us thy peace, that like a deepening river Swells ever outward to the sea of praise. O thou of peace the only Lord and Giver, Grant us thy peace, O Saviour, all our days. --Eliza Scudder. THE INNER CALM Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, While these hot breezes blow; Be like the night-dew's cooling balm Upon earth's fevered brow. Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Soft resting on thy breast; Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm And bid my spirit rest. Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude The sounds my ear that greet; Calm in the closet's solitude, Calm in the bustling street; Calm in the hour of buoyant health, Calm in my hour of pain, Calm in my poverty or wealth, Calm in my loss or gain; Calm when the great world's news with power My listening spirit stir; Let not the tidings of the hour E'er find too fond an ear; Calm as the ray of sun or star Which storms assail in vain; Moving unruffled through earth's war, The eternal calm to gain. --Horatius Bonar. Father, take not away The burden of the day, But help me that I bear it As Christ his burden bore When cross and thorn he wore And none with him could share it; In his name help I pray! I only ask for grace To see that patient face And my impatient one; Ask that mine grow like His-- Sign of an inward peace From trust in thee alone, Unchanged by time or place. And they who do their souls no wrong, But keep at eve the faith of morn, Shall daily hear the angel-song, To-day the Prince of Peace is born. --James Russell Lowell. Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of thy peace. Breathe through the heats of our desire Thy coolness and thy balm; Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, O still, small voice of calm! --John Greenleaf Whittier. As flows the river calm and deep. In silence toward the sea, So floweth ever, and ceaseth never, The love of God to me. What peace He bringeth to my heart, Deep as the soundless sea; How sweetly singeth the soul that clingeth, My loving Lord, to thee. He fails never. If He cannot work by us He will work through us. Let our souls be calm. We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars, Impatient that we're nothing. Get work, get work; be sure 'tis better Than what you work to get. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Calm Soul of all things, make it mine To feel amid the city's jar, That there abides a peace of thine Man did not make and cannot mar. The will to neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others give; Calm, calm me more, nor let me die Before I have begun to live. --Matthew Arnold. What secret trouble stirs thy heart? Why all this fret and flurry? Dost thou not know that what is best In this too restless world is rest From over-work and hurry? --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. We bless thee for thy peace, O God, Deep as the boundless sea, It falls like sunshine on the road, Of those who trust in thee; That peace which suffers and is strong, Trusts where it cannot see: Deems not the trial way too long, But leaves the end with thee. Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes Error a fault, and truth discourtesy. Why should I feel another man's mistakes More than his sicknesses or poverty? In love I should; but anger is not love, Nor wisdom, neither; therefore gently move. --George Herbert. Why fret thee, soul, For things beyond thy small control? But do thy part, and thou shalt see Heaven will have charge of them and thee. Sow then thy seed, and wait in peace The Lord's increase. What is the use of worrying And flurrying and scurrying And breaking up one's rest; When all the world is teaching us And praying and beseeching us That quiet ways are best. I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities A still and quiet conscience. --William Shakespeare. The stormy blast is strong, but mightier still The calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will. --John Sterling. As running water cleanseth bodies dropped therein So heavenly truth doth cleanse the secret heart from sin. --From the Sanskrit, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam, As men go forth who find unquietness at home. --Richard Chenevix Trench. A mind from every evil thought set free I count the noblest gift of Deity. --Æschylus, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. A stone makes not great rivers turbid grow; When saints are vexed their shallowness they show. --Saadi. Yes, Lord, one great eternal yes To all my Lord shall say; To what I know, or yet shall know, In all the untried way. Good striving Brings thriving. Better a dog who works Than a lion who shirks. --From the Persian. HUMILITY MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS A LAST PRAYER Father, I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day And left my work but just begun. So clear I see that things I thought Were right, or harmless, were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought Unconscious, selfish aims to win; So clear I see that I have hurt The souls I might have helped to save; That I have slothful been, inert, Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave. In outskirts of thy kingdom vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task thou hast; Let me, repentant, work for thee. --Helen Hunt Jackson. A LOWLY HEART Thy home is with the humble, Lord! The simplest are the best, Thy lodging is in childlike hearts: Thou makest there thy rest. Dear Comforter! Eternal Love! If thou wilt stay with me, Of lowly thoughts and simple ways I'll build a house for thee. Who made this beating heart of mine But Thou, my heavenly guest? Let no one have it, then, but thee, And let it be thy rest. --Lyra Catholica. Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light, But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight. --Richard Chenevix Trench. KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM I. The Man who Loved the Names of Things Went forth beneath the skies And named all things that he beheld, And people called him wise. An unseen presence walked with him Forever by his side, The wedded mistress of his soul-- For Knowledge was his bride; She named the flowers, the weeds, the trees, And all the growths of all the seas. She told him all the rocks by name, The winds and whence they blew; She told him how the seas were formed, And how the mountains grew. She numbered all the stars for him; And all the rounded skies Were mapped and charted for the gaze Of his devouring eyes. Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd; They praised--and he was very proud. II. The Man who Loved the Soul of Things Went forth serene and glad, And mused upon the mighty world, And people called him mad. An unseen presence walked with him Forever by his side, The wedded mistress of his soul-- For Wisdom was his bride. She showed him all this mighty frame, And bade him feel--but named no name. She stood with him upon the hills Ringed by the azure sky, And shamed his lowly thought with stars And bade it climb as high. And all the birds he could not name, The nameless stars that roll, The unnamed blossoms at his feet Talked with him soul to soul; He heard the Nameless Glory speak In silence--and was very meek. --Sam Walter Foss. THE INQUIRY I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter! I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter! I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought! Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost heart portrayed! I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer! Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer! Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest, And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of shining gold. A SONG OF LOW DEGREE He that is down need fear no fall; He that is low, no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have, Little be it, or much; And, Lord, contentment still I crave, Because thou savest such. Fullness to such a burden is That go on pilgrimage; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age. --John Bunyan. NOT YET PREPARED O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver? O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew? Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver? Go back to thine own maker's forge anew. Submit thyself to God for preparation, Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord; Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation. Satan is pleased when man dictates to God. Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample On each self-flattering fancy that appears; Did not the Lord himself, for our example, Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years? RECESSIONAL God of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle-line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. The tumult and the shouting dies-- The Captains and the Kings depart-- Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. Far-called our navies melt away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire-- Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not thee in awe-- Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget. For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard. For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people, Lord. --Rudyard Kipling. In humbleness, O Lord, I ask That thou bestow on me The will and strength to do some task For growth of love for thee; Some task, not of my chosen will-- For wisdom is not mine-- But let my frailsome life fulfill Some perfect thought of thine. I WILL NOT SEEK I cannot think but God must know About the thing I long for so; I know he is so good, so kind, I cannot think but he will find Some way to help, some way to show Me to the thing I long for so. I stretch my hand; it lies so near, It looks so sweet, it looks so dear, "Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know If it is wrong to want it so!" He only smiles, he does not speak; My heart grows weaker and more weak With looking at the thing so dear, Which lies so far, and yet so near. Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet This thing which looks so near, so sweet; I will not seek, I will not long; I almost fear I have been wrong; I'll go, and work the harder, Lord, And wait, till by some loud, clear word Thou callest me to thy loved feet To take this thing so dear, so sweet. --Saxe Holm. TRIUMPHING IN OTHERS Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong, Finish what I begin, And all I fail of win. What matter, I or they, Mine or another's day, So the right word be said, And life the sweeter made? Ring, bells in unreared steeples, The joy of unborn peoples! Sound, trumpets far-off blown, Your triumph is my own. --John Greenleaf Whittier. Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be; Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky Shoots higher much than he that means a tree. A grain of glory mixed with humbleness Cures both a fever and lethargickness. --George Herbert. FOR DIVINE STRENGTH Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling, Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love; For we are weak and need some deep revealing Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above. Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow, And thou hast made each step an onward one; And we will ever trust each unknown morrow-- Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done. In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy Abides; and when pain seems to have its will, Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly Stronger than agony, and we be still! Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling, Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love; Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing, Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above. --Samuel Johnson. WHEN I AM WEAK THEN AM I STRONG Half feeling our own weakness, We place our hands in Thine-- Knowing but half our darkness We ask for light divine. Then, when Thy strong arm holds us, Our weakness most we feel, And thy love and light around us Our darkness must reveal. Too oft, when faithless doubtings Around our spirits press, We cry, "Can hands so feeble Grasp such almightiness?" While thus we doubt and tremble Our hold still looser grows; While on our darkness gazing Vainly thy radiance glows. Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness, And guide us by thy hand, In thy light teach us light to see, In thy strength strong to stand. Then though our hands be feeble, If they but touch thine arm, Thy light and power shall lead us, And keep us strong and calm. A HUMBLE HEART I would not ask Thee that my days Should flow quite smoothly on and on, Lest I should learn to love the world Too well, ere all my time was done. I would not ask Thee that my work Should never bring me pain nor fear; Lest I should learn to work alone, And never wish thy presence near. I would not ask Thee that my friends Should always kind and constant be; Lest I should learn to lay my faith In them alone, and not in thee. But I would ask a humble heart, A changeless will to work and wake, A firm faith in Thy providence, The rest--'tis thine to give or take. --Alfred Norris. Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass, The mere material with which Wisdom builds, Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much, Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. --William Cowper. Humble we must be if to heaven we go; High is the roof there; but the gate is low. --Robert Herrick. NOT MINE It is not mine to run, with eager feet, Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet. It is not mine to pour the oil and wine Or bring the purple robe and linen fine. It is not mine to break at his dear feet The alabaster box of ointment sweet. It is not mine to bear his heavy cross, Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss. It is not mine to walk through valleys dim, Or climb far mountain heights alone with him. He hath no need of me in grand affairs, Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares. Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flower Bloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour; If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap, May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep; May speak one quiet word when all is still, Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will; Or sing some high, clear song on which may soar Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more. --Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr. Christ wants the best. He in the far-off ages Once claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat; And still he asks his own with gentlest pleading To lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet. He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love; He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have. PRAISE DEPRECATED My sins and follies, Lord, by thee From others hidden are, That such good words are spoke of me As now and then I hear; For sure if others know me such, Such as myself I know, I should have been dispraised as much As I am praisèd now. The praise, therefore, which I have heard, Delights not so my mind, As those things make my heart afeard Which in myself I find; And I had rather to be blamed, So I were blameless made, Than for much virtue to be famed When I no virtues had. Though slanders to an innocent Sometimes do bitter grow, Their bitterness procures content, If clear himself he know. And when a virtuous man hath erred If praised himself he hear, It makes him grieve and more afeard Than if he slandered were. Lord, therefore make my heart upright, Whate'er my deeds do seem; And righteous rather in thy sight, Than in the world's esteem. And if aught good appears to be In any act of mine, Let thankfulness be found in me, And all the praise be thine. --George Wither (1588-1667). One part, one little part, we dimly scan, Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem. Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem, Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. O then renounce that impious self-esteem That aims to trace the secrets of the skies; For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise. --James Beattie. HUMILITY O humble me! I cannot bide the joy That in my Saviour's presence ever flows; May I be lowly, lest it may destroy The peace his childlike spirit ever knows. I would not speak thy word, but by thee stand While thou dost to thine erring children speak; O help me but to keep his own command, And in my strength to feel me ever weak; Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay, Nor lose the life of love he came to give; And find at last the life, the truth, the way To where with him thy blessed servants live; And walk forever in the path of truth-- A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth. --Jones Very. TURN FROM SELF This is the highest learning, The hardest and the best-- From self to keep still turning, And honor all the rest. If one should break the letter, Yea, spirit of command, Think not that thou art better; Thou may'st not always stand! We all are weak--but weaker Hold no one than thou art; Then, as thou growest meeker, Higher will go thy heart. --George Macdonald. In proud humility a pious man went through the field; The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled; He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say, "Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay." --From the Persian. MEEKNESS OF MOSES Moses, the patriot fierce, became The meekest man on earth, To show us how love's quickening flame Can give our souls new birth. Moses, the man of meekest heart, Lost Canaan by self-will, To show, where grace has done its part, How sin defiles us still. Thou who hast taught me in thy fear, Yet seest me frail at best, Oh, grant me loss with Moses here, To gain his future rest. --John Henry Newman. LAUS DEO Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thought Humility, that thy best done is naught. Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all. For God requires no more than thou hast done, And takes thy work to bless it for his own. --Robert Bridges. "A commonplace life," we say, and we sigh; But why should we sigh as we say? The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky Makes up the commonplace day. The moon and the stars are commonplace things, And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings, But dark were the world and sad our lot If the flowers failed and the sun shone not; And God, who studies each separate soul Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole. Humility, that low, sweet root From which all heavenly virtues shoot. --Thomas Moore. THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL Up and away, like the dew of the morning That soars from the earth to its home in the sun, So let me steal away, gently and lovingly, Only remembered by what I have done. My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten, The brief race of time well and patiently run, So let me pass away, peacefully, silently, Only remembered by what I have done. Gladly away from this toil would I hasten, Up to the crown that for me has been won; Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises; Only remembered by what I have done. Up and away, like the odors of sunset, That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on, So be my life--a thing felt but not noticed,-- And I but remembered by what I have done. Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone. So would I be to this world's weary dwellers Only remembered by what I have done. I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing (As its summer and autumn move silently on) The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season; I shall still be remembered by what I have done. Needs there the praise of the love-written record, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone? The things we have lived for--let them be our story-- We ourselves but remembered by what we have done. I need not be missed if another succeed me, To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown; He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper, He is only remembered by what he has done. Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, Shall pass on to ages--all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be, so be my dying; So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered; Yes, but remembered for what I have done. --Horatius Bonar. SELF O I could go through all life's troubles singing, Turning earth's night to day, If self were not so fast around me clinging, To all I do or say. O Lord! that I could waste my life for others, With no ends of my own, That I could pour myself into my brothers And live for them alone! Such was the life thou livedst; self-abjuring, Thine own pains never easing, Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring; A life without self-pleasing. --Frederick William Faber. BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US The time for toil is past, and night has come-- The last and saddest of the harvest eves; Worn out with labor, long and wearisome, Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home, Each laden with his sheaves. Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain, Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves That I am burdened not so much with grain As with a heaviness of heart and brain; Master, behold my sheaves. Few, light, and worthless--yet their trifling weight Through all my frame a weary aching leaves; For long I struggled with my hapless fate, And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late-- Yet these are all my sheaves. Full well I know I have more tares than wheat, Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves; Wherefore I blush and weep as at thy feet I kneel down reverently and repeat, "Master, behold my sheaves!" I know these blossoms clustering heavily, With evening dew upon their folded leaves, Can claim no value or utility-- Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be The glory of my sheaves. So do I gather strength and hope anew; For well I know thy patient love perceives Not what I did, but what I strove to do, And though the full ripe ears be sadly few Thou wilt accept my sheaves. --Elizabeth Akers. I pray not that Men tremble at My power of place, And lordly sway; I only pray for simple grace To look my neighbor in the face Full honestly from day to day. --James Whitcomb Riley. If thou art blest, Then let the sunshine of thy gladness rest On the dark edges of each cloud that lies Black in thy brother's skies. If thou art sad, Still be in thy brother's gladness glad. --Hamilton. Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower--but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. --Alfred Tennyson. Praise not thy work, but let thy work praise thee; For deeds, not words, make each man's memory stable. If what thou dost is good, its good all men will see; Musk by its smell is known, not by its label. When thou art fain to trace a map of thine own heart, An undiscovered land set down the largest part. --Richard Chenevix Trench. Patient, resigned and humble wills Impregnably resist all ills. --Thomas Ken. He is one to whom Long patience hath such mild composure given, That patience now doth seem a thing of which He hath no need. --William Wordsworth. Be not too ready to condemn The wrong thy brothers may have done: Ere ye too harshly censure them For human faults, ask, "Have I none?" --Eliza Cook. Search thine own heart. What paineth thee In others in thyself may be; All dust is frail, all flesh is weak; Be thou the true man thou dost seek. --John Greenleaf Whittier. Through wish, resolve, and act, our will Is moved by undreamed forces still; And no man measures in advance His strength with untried circumstance. --John Greenleaf Whittier. Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone. Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. In the deed that no man knoweth, Where no praiseful trumpet bloweth, Where he may not reap who soweth, There, Lord, let my heart serve thee. O wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us! It wad frae mony a blunder free us, An' foolish notion. --Robert Burns. CONTENTMENT RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION CONTENTMENT Father, I know that all my life Is portioned out for me, And the changes that are sure to come I do not fear to see; I ask Thee for a patient mind, Intent on pleasing thee. I ask Thee for a thoughtful love, Through constant watching wise, To meet the glad with joyful smiles, And wipe the weeping eyes, And a heart, at leisure from itself, To soothe and sympathize. I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro, Seeking for some great thing to do, Or secret thing to know; I would be treated as a child, And _guided_ where I go. Wherever in this world I am, In whatsoe'er estate, I have a fellowship with hearts To keep and cultivate, And a work of lowly love to do For the Lord on whom I wait. So I ask Thee for the daily strength-- To none that ask denied-- And a mind to blend with outward life, While keeping at thy side, Content to fill a _little_ space, If thou be glorified. And if some things I do not ask In my cup of blessing be, I would have my spirit filled the more With grateful love to thee; More careful not to serve thee much, But to please thee perfectly. There are briers besetting every path, Which call for constant care; There is a cross in every lot, And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart, that leans on Thee, Is happy everywhere. In a service which Thy love appoints There are no bonds for me, For my secret heart has learned the truth Which makes thy children free, And a life of self-renouncing love Is a life of liberty. --Anna Letitia Waring. TWO PICTURES An old farm house with meadows wide, And sweet with clover on each side; A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out The door with woodbine wreathed about, And wishes his one thought all day: "O if I could but fly away! From this dull spot the world to see, How happy, happy, happy, How happy I should be!" Amid the city's constant din, A man who round the world has been, Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng, Is thinking, thinking all day long: "O could I only tread once more The field-path to the farm-house door, The old green meadow could I see, How happy, happy, happy, How happy I should be!" --Annie Douglas Robinson. Happy the man, of mortals happiest he, Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free; Whom neither hopes deceive nor fears torment, But lives in peace, within himself content; In thought, or act, accountable to none But to himself, and unto God alone. --Henry P. F. Lansdowne. CONTENT I LIVE My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find As far exceeds all earthly bliss That God or nature hath assigned: Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live; this is my stay-- I seek no more than may suffice. I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with what my mind doth bring. I laugh not at another's loss, I grudge not at another's gain; No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that as another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend. I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defense; I never seek by bribes to please Nor by desert to give offense. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so, as well as I. --Edward Dyer. Alt. by William Byrd (1540-1625). JUST AS GOD LEADS Just as God leads me I would go; I would not ask to choose my way; Content with what he will bestow, Assured he will not let me stray. So, as he leads, my path I make, And step by step I gladly take-- A child, in him confiding. Just as God leads I am content; I rest me calmly in his hands; That which he has decreed and sent-- That which his will for me commands-- I would that he should all fulfill, That I should do his gracious will In living or in dying. Just as God leads, I all resign; I trust me to my Father's will; When reason's rays deceptive shine, His counsel would I yet fulfill; That which his love ordained as right Before he brought me to the right My all to him resigning. Just as God leads me, I abide In faith, in hope, in suffering true; His strength is ever by my side-- Can aught my hold on him undo? I hold me firm in patience, knowing That God my life is still bestowing-- The best in kindness sending. Just as God leads I onward go, Out amid thorns and briers keen; God does not yet his guidance show-- But in the end it shall be seen. How, by a loving Father's will, Faithful and true, he leads me still. And so my heart is resting. --From the German. SWEET CONTENT O Thou, by long experience tried, Near whom no grief can long abide; My Lord, how full of sweet content I pass my years of banishment! All scenes alike engaging prove To souls impressed with sacred love! Where'er they dwell they dwell in Thee In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. To me remains nor place nor time, My country is in every clime; I can be calm and free from care On any shore, since God is there. While place we seek, or place we shun, The soul finds happiness in none; But with a God to guide our way 'Tis equal joy to go or stay. Could I be cast where Thou art not, That were indeed a dreadful lot; But regions none remote I call, Secure of finding God in all. --Madame Guyon. CONTENT AND RICH My conscience is my crown, Contented thoughts my rest; My heart is happy in itself, My bliss is in my breast. Enough I reckon wealth; A mean, the surest lot; That lies too high for base contempt, Too low for envy's shot. My wishes are but few, All easy to fulfill; I make the limits of my power The bounds unto my will. I feel no care of coin; Well doing is my wealth; My mind to me an empire is, While grace affordeth health. I clip high-climbing thoughts, The wings of swelling pride; Their fall is worst that from the height Of greatest honor slide. Since sails of largest size The storm doth soonest tear, I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear. I wrestle not with rage While fury's flame doth burn; It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth turn. But when the flame is out, And ebbing wrath doth end, I turn a late enragèd foe Into a quiet friend. And, taught with often proof, A tempered calm I find To be most solace to itself, Best cure for angry mind. No change of fortune's calms Can cast my comforts down; When Fortune smiles I smile to think How quickly she will frown. And when in froward mood She proves an angry foe, Small gain I found to let her come, Less loss to let her go. --Robert Southwell, 1561-95. (One of the Jesuit Fathers who were cruelly executed by Queen Elizabeth.) Don't lose Courage! Spirit brave Carry with you to the grave. Don't lose Time in vain distress! Work, not worry, brings success. Don't lose Hope! who lets her stray Goes forlornly all the way. Don't lose Patience, come what will! Patience ofttimes outruns skill. Don't lose Gladness! every hour Blooms for you some happy flower. Though be foiled your dearest plan, Don't lose Faith in God and man! A CONTRAST Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun, And both were poor; Both sat with children, when the day was done, About their door. One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud And shining moon; The other, with his head in sadness bowed, Made night of noon. One loved each tree and flower and singing bird, On mount or plain; No music in the soul of one was stirred By leaf or rain. One saw the good in every fellow-man And hoped the best; The other marvelled at his Master's plan, And doubt confessed. One, having heaven above and heaven below, Was satisfied; The other, discontented, lived in woe, And hopeless died. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. WHO BIDES HIS TIME Who bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay However poor his fortunes be-- He will not fail in any qualm Of poverty; the paltry dime-- It will grow golden in his palm Who bides his time. Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltest tear; And though he fares with slowest feet Joy runs to meet him drawing near; The birds are heralds of his cause, And like a never-ending rhyme The roadsides bloom in his applause Who bides his time. Who bides his time, and fevers not In a hot race that none achieves, Shall wear cool wreathen laurel, wrought With crimson berries in the leaves; And he shall reign a goodly king And sway his hand o'er every clime, With peace writ on his signet ring, Who bides his time. --James Whitcomb Riley. CARELESS CONTENT I am content; I do not care; Wag as it will the world for me; When Fuss and Fret was all my fare It got no ground, as I could see. So when away my caring went I counted cost and was content. With more of thanks and less of thought I strive to make my matters meet; To seek, what ancient sages sought, Physic and food in sour and sweet. To take what passes in good part, And keep the hiccups from the heart. With good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat, whene'er I come, Whate'er the subject be that starts; But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue, to tell the truth, And keep my breath to cool my broth. For chance or change of peace or pain; For fortune's favor or her frown; For luck or glut, for loss or gain, I never dodge, nor up nor down: But swing what way the ship shall swim, Or tack about with equal trim. I suit not where I shall not speed, Nor trace the turn of every tide; If simple sense will not succeed, I make no bustling, but abide; For shining wealth, or scoring woe, I force no friend, I fear no foe. I love my neighbor as myself; Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf Came I to crouch, as I conceive; Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind. Now taste and try this temper, sirs; Mood it and brood it in your breast; Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs, That man does right to mar his rest, Let me be left, and debonair; I am content; I do not care. --John Byrom (1692-1763). Some of your hurts you have cured, And the sharpest you still have survived, But what torments of grief you endured From the evils which never arrived. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. HAPPY ANY WAY Lord, it belongs not to my care Whether I die or live; To love and serve thee is my share, And this thy grace must give. If life be long, I will be glad That I may long obey; If short, yet why should I be sad To soar to endless day? Christ leads me through no darker rooms Than he went through before; He that into God's kingdom comes Must enter by his door. Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet Thy blessèd face to see; For, if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be? Then I shall end my sad complaints, And weary, sinful days, And join with the triumphant saints Who sing Jehovah's praise. My knowledge of that life is small; The eye of faith is dim; But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him. --Richard Baxter. THE THINGS I MISS An easy thing, O Power Divine, To thank thee for these gifts of thine! For summer's sunshine, winter's snow, For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow; But when shall I attain to this: To thank thee for the things I miss? For all young fancy's early gleams, The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams. Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known Through others' fortunes, not my own, And blessings seen that are not given, And ne'er will be, this side of heaven. Had I, too, shared the joys I see, Would there have been a heaven for me? Could I have felt thy presence near Had I possessed what I held dear? My deepest fortune, highest bliss, Have grown, perchance, from things I miss. Sometimes there comes an hour of calm; Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm; A Power that works above my will Still leads me onward, upward still; And then my heart attains to this: To thank thee for the things I miss. --Thomas Wentworth Higginson. THE HERITAGE The rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick and stone and gold, And he inherits soft, white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy-chair; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart; A hardy frame, a hardier spirit, King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? A patience learned of being poor, Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. O rich man's son! there is a toil That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten soft, white hands; This is the best crop from thy lands, A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee. O poor man's son! scorn not thy state; There is worse weariness than thine In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee. Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last; Both, children of the same dear God, Prove title to your heirship vast By record of a well-filled past; A heritage, it seems to me, Well worth a life to hold in fee. --James Russell Lowell. I AM CONTENT I am content. In trumpet tones My song let people know; And many a mighty man with thrones And scepter is not so. And if he is I joyful cry, Why, then he's just the same as I. My motto is--Content with this; Gold--place--I prize not such. That which I have my measure is: Wise men desire not much. Men wish and wish, and have their will, And wish again as hungry still. And gold and honor are besides A very brittle glass; And time, in his unresting tides Makes all things change and pass: Turns riches to a beggar's dole; Sets glory's race an infant's goal. Be noble--that is more than wealth; Do right--that's more than place; Then in the spirit there is health And gladness in the face: Then thou art with thyself at one And, no man hating, fearest none. --George Macdonald. MADAME LOFTY Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage, So do I; She has dappled grays to draw it, None have I. She's no prouder of her coachman Than am I With my blue-eyed laughing baby Trundling by. I hide his face, lest she should see The cherub boy and envy me. Her fine husband has white fingers, Mine has not; He can give his bride a palace, Mine a cot. Hers comes home beneath the starlight, Ne'er cares she; Mine comes in the purple twilight, Kisses me, And prays that He who turns life's sands Will hold his loved ones in his hands. Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, So have I; She wears hers upon her bosom, Inside I. She will leave hers at Death's portals, By and by; I shall bear the treasures with me When I die-- For I have love, and she has gold; She counts her wealth, mine can't be told. She has those who love her station, None have I, But I've one true heart beside me; Glad am I; I'd not change it for a kingdom, No, not I; God will weigh it in a balance, By and by; And then the difference he'll define 'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine. So long as life's hope-sparkle glows, 'tis good; When death delivers from life's woes, 'tis good. Oh praise the Lord who makes all good, and will; Whether he life or death bestows, 'tis good. THE WIND THAT BLOWS, THAT WIND IS BEST Whichever way the wind doth blow, Some heart is glad to have it so; Then blow it east or blow it west, The wind that blows, that wind is best. My little craft sails not alone; A thousand fleet from every zone Are out upon a thousand seas; And what for me were favoring breeze Might dash another with the shock Of doom upon some hidden rock. And so I do not dare to pray For winds to waft me on my way; But leave it to a Higher Will To stay or speed me, trusting still That ill is well, and sure that He Who launched my bark will sail with me Through storm and calm, and will not fail, Whatever breezes may prevail, To land me, every peril past, Within his sheltering heaven at last. Then, whatsoever wind doth blow, My heart is glad to have it so; And, blow it east or blow it west, The wind that blows, that wind is best. --Caroline Atherton Mason. THE DIFFERENCE Some murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. And some with thankful love are filled If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy, gild The darkness of their night. In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task And all things good denied. Yet hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made. --Richard Chenevix Trench. Give what Thou canst; without thee we are poor; And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. --William Cowper. RICHES AND POWER Cleon has a million acres, Ne'er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace, In a cottage I. Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, Not a penny I; Yet the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. Cleon, true, possesseth acres, But the landscape I; Half the charms to me it yieldeth, Money cannot buy. Cleon harbors sloth and dullness, Freshening vigor I; He in velvet, I in fustian, Richer man am I. Cleon is a slave to grandeur, Free as thought am I; Cleon fees a score of doctors, Need of none have I. Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die. Death may come, he'll find me ready. Happier man am I. Cleon sees no charm in nature, In a daisy I; Cleon hears no anthem ringing In the sea and sky; Nature sings to me forever, Earnest listener I! State for state, with all attendants, Who would change? Not I. --Charles Mackay. ENOUGH I am so weak, dear Lord, I cannot stand One moment without thee; But oh, the tenderness of thine enfolding, And oh, the faithfulness of thine upholding, And oh, the strength of thy right hand! _That strength_ is enough for me. I am so needy, Lord, and yet I know All fullness dwells in thee; And hour by hour that never-failing treasure Supplies and fills in overflowing measure, My last, my greatest need. And so _Thy grace_ is enough for me. It is so sweet to trust THY WORD alone! I do not ask to see The unveiling of thy purpose, or the shining Of future light or mysteries untwining; The promise-roll is all my own, _Thy word_ is enough for me. The human heart asks love. But now I know That my heart hath from Thee All real, and full, and marvelous affection So near, so human! yet Divine perfection Thrills gloriously the mighty glow! _Thy love_ is enough for me. There were strange soul depths, restless, vast and broad Unfathomed as the sea. An infinite craving for some infinite stilling; But now Thy perfect love is perfect filling! Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my God, Thou, thou art enough for me! --Frances Ridley Havergal. FULLY CONTENT I know not, and I would not know, Content, I leave it all with Thee; 'Tis ever best it should be so; As thou wilt have it let it be. But this I know: that every day And every step for me is planned; I surely cannot lose the Way While He is holding fast my hand. And surely, whatsoe'er betide, I never shall be left alone: Thou standest ever by my side; To thee my future all is known. And wheresoe'er my lot may fall The way before is marked by Thee; The windings of my life are all Unfoldings of thy Love to me. What matter will it be, O mortal man, when thou art dying, Whether upon a throne or on the bare earth thou art lying? --From the Persian. CONTENT WITH ALL Content that God's decree Should order all for thee. Content with sickness or with health-- Content with poverty or wealth-- Content to walk in humble guise, And as He wills it sink or rise. Content to live alone And call no place thine own. No sweet reunions day by day. Thy kindred spirits far away. And, since God wills to have it so, Thou wouldst not change for weal or woe. Content that others rise Before thy very eyes. How bright their lot and portion here! Wealth fills their coffers--friends are near. Behold their mansions tall and fair! The timbrel and the dance are there. Content to toil or rest-- God's peace within thy breast-- To feel thy times are in His hand Who holds all worlds in his command-- Thy time to laugh--thy time to sigh-- Thy time to live--thy time to die. And is it so indeed Thou art with God agreed? Content 'mid all the ills of life? Farewell, then, sorrow, pain and strife! Such high content is heaven begun. The battle's fought, the victory won! --Mary Ann W. Cook. A BLESSED LESSON Have I learned, in whatsoever State to be content? Have I learned this blessed lesson By my Master sent-- And with joyous acquiescence Do I greet His will Even when my own is thwarted And my hands lie still? Surely it is best and sweetest Thus to have Him choose, Even though some work I've taken By this choice I lose. Folded hands need not be idle-- Fold them but in prayer; Other souls may toil far better For God's answer there. They that "reap" receive their "wages," Those who "work" their "crown," Those who pray throughout the ages Bring blest answers down; In "whatever state" abiding Till the Master call, They at eventide will find Him Glorified in all. What though I can do so little For my Lord and King, At His feet I sit and listen, At His feet I sing. And, whatever my condition, All in love is meant; Sing, my soul, thy recognition, Sing, and be content! IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN Led by kindlier hand than ours, We journey through this earthly scene, And should not, in our weary hours, Turn to regret what might have been. And yet these hearts, when torn by pain, Or wrung by disappointment keen, Will seek relief from present cares In thoughts of joys that might have been. But let us still these wishes vain; We know not that of which we dream. Our lives might have been sadder yet God only knows what might have been. Forgive us, Lord, our little faith; And help us all, from morn to e'en, Still to believe that lot were best Which is--not that which might have been. And grant we may so pass the days The cradle and the grave between, That death's dark hour not darker be For thoughts of what life might have been. --George Z. Gray. Hushing every muttered murmur, Let your fortitude the firmer Gird your soul with strength. While, no treason near her lurking, Patience in her perfect working, Shall be Queen at length. BE CONTENT Be thou content; be still before His face at whose right hand doth reign Fullness of joy for evermore, Without whom all thy toil is vain; He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy dreary days. Be thou content. In him is comfort, light, and grace, And changeless love beyond our thought; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace, If he is there, shall harm thee not. He can lift off thy cross and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears; nay, death is in His hands. Be thou content. Or art thou friendless and alone-- Hast none in whom thou canst confide? God careth for thee, lonely one-- Comfort and help he will provide. He sees thy sorrows, and thy hidden grief, He knoweth when to send thee quick relief; Be thou content. Thy heart's unspoken pain he knows, Thy secret sighs he hears full well; What to none else thou darest disclose To him thou mayest with boldness tell. He is not far away, but ever nigh, And answereth willingly the poor man's cry: Be thou content. MANNA 'Twas in the night the manna fell That fed the hosts of Israel. Enough for each day's fullest store And largest need; enough, no more. For willful waste, for prideful show, God sent not angels' food below. Still in our nights of deep distress The manna falls our heart to bless. And, famished, as we cry for bread, With heavenly food our lives are fed, And each day's need finds each day's store Enough. Dear Lord, what want we more! --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster. BLESSINGS NEAR AT HAND We look too far for blessings; We seek too far for joys; We ought to be like children Who find their chiefest toys Ofttimes in nearest attic, Or in some dingy lane-- Their aprons full of weeds or flowers Gathered in sun or rain. Within the plainest cottage Unselfish love may grow; The sweetest, the divinest gift, Which mortals ever know. We ought to count our joys, not woes; Meet care with winsome grace; For discontent plows furrows Upon the loveliest face. Hope, freedom, sunlight, knowledge, Come not to wealth alone; He who looks far for blessings Will overlook his own. --Sarah Knowles Bolton. I WOULDN'T A sprig of mint by the wayward brook, A nibble of birch in the wood, A summer day, and love, and a book, And I wouldn't be a king if I could. --John Vance Cheney. The way to make thy son rich is to fill His mind with rest before his trunk with riches: For wealth without contentment climbs a hill To feel those tempests which fly over ditches. --George Herbert. THE JEWEL There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, No chemic art can counterfeit; It makes men rich in greatest poverty, Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The homely whistle to sweet music's strain; Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, That much in little, all in naught--Content. FINDING CONTENT I could not find the little maid Content, So out I rushed, and sought her far and wide; But not where Pleasure each new fancy tried, Heading the maze of rioting merriment, Nor where, with restless eyes and bow half bent, Love in the brake of sweetbriar smiled and sighed, Nor yet where Fame towered, crowned and glorified, Found I her face, nor wheresoe'er I went. So homeward back I crawled, like wounded bird, When lo! Content sate spinning at my door; And when I asked her where she was before-- "Here all the time," she said; "I never stirred; Too eager in thy search, you passed me o'er, And, though I called you, neither saw nor heard." --Alfred Austin. DAILY STRENGTH Day by day the manna fell; O to learn this lesson well; Still by constant mercy fed, Give me, Lord, my daily bread. "Day by day," the promise reads; Daily strength for daily needs; Cast foreboding fears away; Take the manna of to-day. Lord, my times are in thy hand. All my sanguine hopes have planned To thy wisdom I resign, And would make thy purpose thine. Thou my daily task shalt give; Day by day to Thee I live; So shall added years fulfill Not my own--my Father's will. Fond ambition, whisper not; Happy is my humble lot; Anxious, busy cares away; I'm provided for to-day. O to live exempt from care By the energy of prayer; Strong in faith, with mind subdued, Yet elate with gratitude. --Josiah Conder. GOD IS ENOUGH God is enough! thou, who in hope and fear Toilest through desert sands of life, sore tried, Climb, trustful, over death's black ridge, for near The bright wells shine; thou wilt be satisfied. God doth suffice! O thou, the patient one, Who puttest faith in him, and none beside, Bear yet thy load; under the setting sun The glad tents gleam; thou wilt be satisfied By God's gold Afternoon! peace ye shall have; Man is in loss except he live aright, And help his fellow to be firm and brave, Faithful and patient; then the restful night. --Edwin Arnold, from the Arabian. THE TRULY RICH They're richer who diminish their desires, Though their possessions be not amplified, Than monarchs, who in owning large empires, Have minds that never will be satisfied. For he is poor who wants what he would have, And rich who, having naught, doth nothing crave. --T. Urchard. THY ALLOTMENT Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident, It is the very place God meant for thee; And shouldst thou there small scope for action see Do not for this give room to discontent, Nor let the time thou owest God be spent In idle dreaming how thou mightest be, In what concerns thy spiritual life, more free From outward hindrance or impediment. For presently this hindrance thou shalt find That without which all goodness were a task So slight that virtue never could grow strong; And wouldst thou do one duty to His mind-- The Imposer's--over-burdened thou shalt ask, And own thy need of, grace to help ere long. --Richard Chenevix Trench. THE HAPPIEST HEART Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Aye, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest. --John Vance Cheney. WELCOME THE SHADOWS Welcome the shadows; where they blackest are Burns through the bright supernal hour; From blindness of wide dark looks out the star, From all death's night the April flower. For beauty and for gladness of the days Bring but the meed of trust; The April grass looks up from barren ways, The daisy from the dust. When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill, The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee then: The heavens repeat themselves in waters still And in the faces of contented men. --John Vance Cheney. THE DAILY COURSE New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought. New mercies each returning day Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice. Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be As more of heaven in each we see; Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care. We need not bid, for cloistered cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky. The trivial round, the common task, Will furnish all we ought to ask: Room to deny ourselves a road To bring us daily nearer God. Seek we no more; content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, As Heaven shall bid them, come and go; The secret, this, of rest below. Only, O Lord, in thy dear love Fit us for perfect rest above; And help us this and every day, To live more nearly as we pray. --John Keble. GOD ENOUGH Let nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee; All things are passing; God never changeth; Patient endurance Attaineth to all things; Who God possesseth In nothing is wanting; Alone God sufficeth. --St. Teresa, tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE GOLDEN MEAN He that holds fast the golden mean And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Embittering all his state. WITHOUT AND WITHIN If every man's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now? The fatal secret, when revealed, Of every aching breast, Would prove that only while concealed Their lot appeared the best. --Pietro Metastasio. Let us be content in work To do the thing we can, and not presume To fret because it's little. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. If none were sick and none were sad, What service could we render? I think if _we_ were always glad, We scarcely could be tender. If sorrow never claimed our heart, And every wish were granted, Patience would die and hope depart-- Life would be disenchanted. A pilgrim, bound to Mecca, quite away his sandals wore, And on the desert's blistering sand his feet grew very sore. "To let me suffer thus, great Allah, is not kind nor just, While in thine service I confront the painful heat and dust." He murmured in complaining tone; and in this temper came To where, around the Kaaba, pilgrims knelt of every name; And there he saw, while pity and remorse his bosom beat, A pilgrim who not only wanted shoes, but _feet_. --From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Strength for to-day is all that we need, As there never will be a to-morrow; For to-morrow will prove but another to-day With its measure of joy or of sorrow. Don't think your lot the worst because Some griefs your joy assail; There aren't so very many saws That never strike a nail. --Nixon Waterman. When it drizzles and drizzles, If we cheerfully smile, We can make the weather, By working together, As fair as we choose in a little while. For who will notice that clouds are drear If pleasant faces are always near, And who will remember that skies are gray If he carries a happy heart all day? ASPIRATION DESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH GRADATIM Heaven is not reached by a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round. I count this thing to be grandly true: That the noble deed is a step toward God, Lifting the soul from the common clod To a purer air and a broader view. We rise by the things that are under feet; By what we have mastered of good and gain, By the pride deposed and the passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calls us to life and light; But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night Our lives are treading the sordid dust. We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings, Beyond the recall of sensual things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. Wings for the angels, but feet for men! We may borrow the wings to find the way; We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise, or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire walls, But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached at a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round. --Josiah Gilbert Holland. MORE AND MORE Purer yet and purer I would be in mind, Dearer yet and dearer Every duty find; Hoping still and trusting God without a fear, Patiently believing He will make it clear. Calmer yet and calmer Trials bear and pain, Surer yet and surer Peace at last to gain; Suffering still and doing, To his will resigned, And to God subduing Heart and will and mind. Higher yet and higher Out of clouds and night, Nearer yet and nearer Rising to the light-- Light serene and holy-- Where my soul may rest, Purified and lowly, Sanctified and blest. --Johann W. von Goethe. THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main,-- The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed-- Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the last year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in its last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn; While on my ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul! As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! --Oliver Wendell Holmes. WALKING WITH JESUS My Saviour, on the Word of Truth In earnest hope I live, I ask for all the precious things Thy boundless love can give. I look for many a lesser light About my path to shine; But chiefly long to walk with thee, And only trust in thine. Thou knowest that I am not blest As Thou would'st have me be Till all the peace and joy of faith Possess my soul in thee; And still I seek 'mid many fears, With yearnings unexpressed, The comfort of thy strengthening love, Thy soothing, settling rest. It is not as Thou wilt with me Till, humbled in the dust, I know no place in all my heart Wherein to put my trust: Until I find, O Lord! in thee-- The lowly and the meek-- That fullness which thy own redeemed Go nowhere else to seek. Then, O my Saviour! on my soul, Cast down but not dismayed, Still be thy chastening healing hand In tender mercy laid: And while I wait for all thy joys My yearning heart to fill, Teach me to walk and work with thee, And at thy feet sit still. --Anna Letitia Waring. A PRAYER TO THE GOD OF NATURE God of the roadside weed, Grant I may humbly serve the humblest need. God of the scarlet rose, Give me the beauty that Thy love bestows. God of the hairy bee, Help me to suck deep joys from all I see. God of the spider's lace, Let me, from mine own heart, unwind such grace. God of the lily's cup, Fill me! I hold this empty chalice up. God of the sea-gull's wing, Bear me above each dark and turbulent thing. God of the watchful owl, Help me to see at midnight, like this fowl. God of the antelope, Teach me to scale the highest crags of Hope. God of the eagle's nest, Oh, let me make my eyrie near thy breast! God of the burrowing mole, Let cold earth have no terrors for my soul. God of the chrysalis, Grant that my grave may be a cell of bliss. God of the butterfly, Help me to vanquish Death, although I die. --Frederic Lawrence Knowles. O JESUS CHRIST, GROW THOU IN ME O Jesus Christ, grow thou in me, And all things else recede! My heart be daily nearer thee, From sin be daily freed. Each day let Thy supporting might My weakness still embrace; My darkness vanish in thy light, Thy life my death efface. In thy bright beams which on me fall Fade every evil thought; That I am nothing, Thou art all, I would be daily taught. More of thy glory let me see, Thou holy, wise and true, I would thy living image be, In joy and sorrow too. Fill me with gladness from above, Hold me by strength divine; Lord, let the glow of thy great love Through my whole being shine. Make this poor self grow less and less; Be Thou my life and aim; Oh, make me daily through thy grace More meet to bear thy name! Let faith in Thee and in thy might My every motive move; Be thou alone my soul's delight, My passion and my love. --Henry B. Smith. DAY BY DAY Looking upward every day, Sunshine on our faces, Pressing onward every day Toward the heavenly places; Growing every day in awe, For thy name is holy; Learning every day to love With a love more lowly. Walking every day more close To our Elder Brother; Growing every day more true Unto one another; Every day more gratefully Kindnesses receiving, Every day more readily Injuries forgiving. Leaving every day behind Something which might hinder; Running swifter every day, Growing purer, kinder-- Lord, so pray we every day; Hear us in thy pity, That we enter in at last To the holy city. --Mary Butler. Better to have the poet's heart than brain, Feeling than song; but, better far than both, To be a song, a music of God's making. Or but a table on which God's finger of flame, In words harmonious of triumphant verse, That mingles joy and sorrow, sets down clear That out of darkness he hath called the light. It may be voice to such is after given To tell the mighty tale to other worlds. --George Macdonald. FREE FROM SIN The bird let loose in eastern skies, When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. So grant me, God, from every care And stain of passion free, Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, To hold my course to thee! No sin to cloud, no lure to stay My soul, as home she springs; Thy sunshine on her joyful way, Thy freedom in her wings! --Thomas Moore. A PRAYER O that mine eyes might closèd be To what concerns me not to see; That deafness might possess mine ear To what concerns me not to hear; That truth my tongue might always tie From ever speaking foolishly; That no vain thought might ever rest Or be conceived within my breast; That by each deed and word and thought Glory may to my God be brought. But what are wishes! Lord, mine eye On Thee is fixed; to Thee I cry! Wash, Lord, and purify my heart, And make it clean in every part; And when 'tis clean, Lord, keep it, too, For that is more than I can do. --Thomas Elwood, A. D. 1639. THE ALTERED MOTTO O the bitter shame and sorrow, That a time could ever be When I let the Saviour's pity Plead in vain, and proudly answered, "All of self, and none of Thee!" Yet He found me; I beheld him Bleeding on the accursèd tree, Heard him pray, "Forgive them, Father!" And my wistful heart said faintly, "Some of self and some of Thee." Day by day his tender mercy, Healing, helping, full and free, Sweet and strong, and, ah! so patient, Brought me lower, while I whispered, "Less of self, and more of Thee." Higher than the highest heaven, Deeper than the deepest sea, Lord, thy love at last hath conquered; Grant me now my supplication-- "None of self, and all of Thee." --Theodore Monod. INDWELLING O dwell in me, my Lord, That I in thee may dwell; Fulfill thy tender word, That thy evangels tell; In me Thou, I in thee, By thy sweet courtesy. But wilt thou my guest be, In this poor heart of mine? Thy guest? Is this for me In that pure heart of thine? In me thou, I in thee, By thy sweet courtesy. My chamber, Lord, prepare Whither thou deignest come; I may not seek to share The making of thy home; In me thou, I in thee, By thy sweet courtesy. Thy gracious gifts bestow, Humility and love; O cause my heart to glow By fire sent from above. In me thou, I in thee, By thy sweet courtesy. --Alexander B. Grosart. Thy name to me, thy nature grant; This, only this be given; Nothing besides my God I want, Nothing in earth or heaven. Come, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost And seal me thine abode; Let all I am in thee be lost, Let all I am be God. --Charles Wesley. PERFECTION O how the thought of God attracts, And draws the heart from earth, And sickens it of passing shows And dissipating mirth! 'Tis not enough to save our souls, To shun the eternal fires; The thought of God will rouse the heart To more sublime desires. God only is the creature's home, Though rough and strait the road; Yet nothing less can satisfy The love that longs for God. Oh, utter but the name of God Down in your heart of hearts, And see how from the world at once All tempting light departs. A trusting heart, a yearning eye Can win their way above; If mountains can be moved by faith Is there less power in love? How little of that road, my soul, How little hast thou gone! Take heart, and let the thought of God Allure thee further on. Dole not thy duties out to God, But let thy hand be free; Look long at Jesus; his sweet blood-- How was it dealt to thee? The perfect way is hard to flesh; It is not hard to love; If thou wert sick for want of God How swiftly wouldst thou move. Be docile to thine unseen Guide; Love him as he loves thee; Time and obedience are enough, And thou a saint shalt be. --Frederick William Faber. Thou broadenest out with every year Each breadth of life to meet; I scarce can think thou art the same, Thou art so much more sweet. With gentle swiftness lead me on, Dear God, to see thy face; And meanwhile in my narrow heart O make thyself more space! --Frederick William Faber. LONGING Of all the myriad moods of mind That through the soul come thronging, Which one was e'er so dear, so kind, So beautiful, as Longing? The thing we long for, _that_ we are For one transcendent moment, Before the Present poor and bare Can make its sneering comment. Still, through our paltry stir and strife, Glows down the wished ideal, And longing molds in clay what life Carves on the marble real; To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal; Perhaps the longing to be so Helps make the soul immortal. Longing is God's fresh heavenward will With our poor earthward striving; We quench it that we may be still Content with merely living; But, would we learn that heart's full scope Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives must climb from hope to hope, And realize our longing. Ah! let us hope that to our praise Good God not only reckons The moments when we tread his ways, But when the spirit beckons; That some slight good is also wrought, Beyond self-satisfaction, When we are simply good in thought Howe'er we fail in action. --James Russell Lowell. MORE HOLINESS More holiness give me; More strivings within. More patience in suffering, More sorrow for sin. More faith in my Saviour, More sense of his care, More joy in his service, More purpose in prayer. More gratitude give me, More trust in the Lord, More pride in his glory, More hope in his word. More tears for his sorrows, More pain at his grief, More meekness in trial, More praise for relief. More purity give me, More strength to o'ercome, More freedom from earth-stains, More longings for home; More fit for the kingdom, More used I would be, More blessed and holy-- More, Saviour, like thee. --Philip Paul Bliss. "MY SOUL DOTH MAGNIFY THE LORD" My soul shall be a telescope, Searching the distant bounds of time and space, That somehow I may image, as I grope, Jehovah's power and grace. My soul a microscope shall be, In all minutest providences keen Jehovah's patient thoughtfulness to see, And read his love between. My soul shall be a burning-glass That diligence to worship may succeed, That I may catch God's glories as they pass, And focus to a deed. So, even so, A mote in his creation, even I Seeking alone to do, to feel, to know, The Lord must magnify. --Amos R. Wells. Lord, let me not be too content With life in trifling service spent-- Make me aspire! When days with petty cares are filled Let me with fleeting thoughts be thrilled Of something higher! Help me to long for mental grace To struggle with the commonplace I daily find. May little deeds not bring to fruit A crop of little thought to suit A shriveled mind. I know this earth is not my sphere, For I cannot so narrow me but that I still exceed it. --Robert Browning. A SHRINKING PRAYER Give me, O Lord, a heart of grace, A voice of joy, a smiling face, That I may show, where'er I turn, Thy love within my soul doth burn! Then life be sweet, and joy be dear, Be in my mind a quiet fear; A patient love of pain and care, An enmity to dark despair. A tenderness for all that stray, With strength to help them on their way; A cheerfulness, a heavenly mirth, Brightening my steps along the earth. I ask and shrink, yet shrink and ask; I know thou wilt not set a task Too hard for hands that thou hast made, Too hard for hands that thou canst aid. So let me dwell all peacefully, Content to live, content to die; Rejoicing now, rejoicing then, Rejoicing evermore. Amen. --Rosa Mulholland. THAT I MAY SOAR Great God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf Than that I may not disappoint myself; That in my action I may soar as high As I can now discern with this clear eye. And next in value which thy kindness lends, That I may greatly disappoint my friends, Howe'er they think or hope that it may be, They may not dream how thou'st distinguished me. That my weak hand may equal my firm faith, And my life practise more than my tongue saith; That my low conduct may not show, Nor my relenting lines, That I thy purpose did not know, Or overrated thy designs. --Henry David Thoreau. A CRY OF THE SOUL O God of truth, for whom alone I sigh, Knit thou my heart by strong, sweet cords to thee. I tire of hearing; books my patience try; Untired to thee I cry; Thyself my all shalt be. Lord, be thou near and cheer my lonely way; With thy sweet peace my aching bosom fill; Scatter my cares and fears; my griefs allay; And be it mine each day To love and please thee still. My God! Thou hearest me; but clouds obscure Even yet thy perfect radiance, truth divine! O for the stainless skies, the splendors pure, The joys that aye endure When thine own glories shine! --Pierre Corneille. A PURPOSE TRUE Lord, make me quick to see Each task awaiting me, And quick to do; Oh, grant me strength, I pray, With lowly love each day And purpose true. To go as Jesus went, Spending and being spent, Myself forgot; Supplying human needs By loving words and deeds, Oh, happy lot! --Robert M. Offord. There are deep things of God. Push out from shore; Hast thou found much? Give thanks, and look for more. Dost fear the generous Giver to offend? Then know his store of bounty hath no end. He doth not need to be implored or teased; The more we take the better he is pleased. --Charles Gordon Ames. BREATHE ON ME Breathe on me, Breath of God, Fill me with life anew, That I may love what thou dost love, And do what thou wouldst do. Breathe on me, Breath of God, Until my heart is pure, Until with thee I will one will, To do or to endure. Breathe on me, Breath of God, Till I am wholly thine; Till all this earthly part of me Glows with thy fire divine. Breathe on me, Breath of God, So shall I never die, But live with thee the perfect life Of thine eternity. --Edwin Hatch. THE COMPARATIVE DEGREE What weight of woe we owe to thee, Accurst comparative degree! Thy paltry step can never give Access to the superlative; For he who would the wisest be, Strives to make others wise as he, And never yet was man judged best Who would be better than the rest; So does comparison unkind Dwarf and debase the haughty mind. Make not a man your measuring-rod If you would span the way to God; Heed not our petty "worse" or "less," But fix your eyes on perfectness. Make for the loftiest point in view, And draw your friends along with you. --Amos R. Wells. Thy nature be my law, Thy spotless sanctity, And sweetly every moment draw My happy soul to thee. Soul of my soul remain; Who didst for me fulfill, In me, O Lord, fulfill again Thy heavenly Father's will. --Charles Wesley. LEAD ON, O LORD Jesus still lead on Till our rest be won; And although the way be cheerless, We will follow, calm and fearless; Guide us by thy hand To our Fatherland. If the way be drear, If the foe be near, Let not faithless fears o'ertake us, Let not faith and hope forsake us; For, through many a foe To our home we go. When we seek relief From a long-felt grief: When oppressed by new temptations, Lord, increase and perfect patience; Show us that bright shore Where we weep no more. Jesus, still lead on Till our rest be won; Heavenly Leader, still direct us, Still support, control, protect us, Till we safely stand In our Fatherland. --Nicolaus Ludwig Zinzendorf. Give me this day A little work to occupy my mind; A little suffering to sanctify My spirit; and, dear Lord, if thou canst find Some little good that I may do for thee, I shall be glad, for that will comfort me. Mind, spirit, hand--I lift them all to thee. O make me patient, Lord, Patient in daily cares; Keep me from thoughtless words, That slip out unawares. And help me, Lord, I pray, Still nearer thee to live, And as I journey on, More of thy presence give. O square thyself for use. A stone that may Fit in the wall is not left in the way. --From the Persian. Think, and be careful what thou art within, For there is sin in the desire of sin: Think and be thankful in a different case; For there is grace in the desire of grace. --George Gordon Byron. A man's higher being is knowing and seeing; Not having or toiling for more; In the senses and soul is the joy of control, Not in pride and luxurious store. --John Boyle O'Reilly. Be with me, Lord, where'er my path may lead; Fulfill thy word, supply my every need; Help me to live each day more close to thee. And O, dear Lord, I pray abide with me. In all I think or speak or do, Whatever way my steps are bent, God shape and keep me strong and true, Courageous, cheerful, and content. --W. D. Russell. Make my mortal dreams come true With the work I fain would do: Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant. --John Greenleaf Whittier. This be my prayer, from dawn to eve, Working between the suns; Lord, make my arm as firm as a knight's My soul as white as a nun's. Every hour that fleets so slowly has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown and holy, if we set each gem with care. O for a man to rise in me, That the man that I am May cease to be. --Alfred Tennyson. PRAYER WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER Father of all! in every age, In ev'ry clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind: Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will. What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heaven pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives-- T' enjoy is to obey. Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man When thousand worlds are round; Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe. If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way. Save me alike from foolish pride Or impious discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied Or aught thy wisdom lent. Teach me to feel another's woe; To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, not wholly so Since quicken'd by thy breath; O lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death. This day be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun Thou know'st if best bestowed or not; And let thy will be done. To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all Being raise, All Nature's incense rise! --Alexander Pope. THE HOUR OF PRAYER My God, is any hour so sweet, From blush of morn to evening star, As that which calls me to thy feet: The hour of prayer? Blest is that tranquil hour of morn, And blest that solemn hour of eve, When, on the wings of prayer upborne, The world I leave. Then is my strength by thee renewed; Then are my sins by thee forgiven; Then dost thou cheer my solitude With hopes of heaven. No words can tell what sweet relief Here for my every want I find; What strength for warfare, balm for grief, What peace of mind. Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear; My spirit seems in heaven to stay; And e'en the penitential tear Is wiped away. Lord, till I reach that blissful shore, No privilege so dear shall be As thus my inmost soul to pour In prayer to thee. --Charlotte Elliott. PETITION Be not afraid to pray--to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak or sick with long delay; Pray in the darkness if there be no light. Far is the time, remote from human sight, When war and discord on the earth shall cease; Yet every prayer for universal peace Avails the blessed time to expedite. Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of heaven, Though it be what thou canst not hope to see. Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit so on earth to be; But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away. --Hartley Coleridge. SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE Unanswered yet the prayer your lips have pleaded In agony of heart these many years? Does faith begin to fail? Is hope departing? And think you all in vain those falling tears? Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer; You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet?--though when you first presented This one petition at the Father's throne It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, So urgent was your heart to make it known! Though years have passed since then, do not despair; The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet? Nay, do not say ungranted; Perhaps your work is not yet wholly done. The work began when first your prayer was uttered, And God will finish what he has begun. If you will keep the incense burning there His glory you shall see sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet? Faith cannot be unanswered, Her feet were firmly planted on the Rock; Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer, And cries, "It shall be done"--sometime, somewhere. --Miss Ophelia G. Browning. SECRET PRAYER Lord, I have shut my door-- Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise, Here in this silence they intrude no more. Speak thou, and heavenly joys Shall fill my heart with music sweet and calm-- A holy psalm. Yes, I have shut my door, Even on all the beauty of thine earth-- To its blue ceiling, from its emerald floor, Filled with spring's bloom and mirth; From these, thy works, I turn; thyself I seek; To thee I speak. And I have shut my door On earthly passion--all its yearning love, Its tender friendships, all the priceless store Of human ties. Above All these my heart aspires, O Heart divine! Stoop thou to mine. Lord, I have shut my door! Come thou and visit me: I am alone! Come as when doors were shut thou cam'st of yore And visited thine own. My Lord, I kneel with reverence, love, and fear, For thou art here. --Mary Ellen Atkinson. WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU? The homely words--how often read! How seldom fully known: "Which father of you, asked for bread, Would give his son a stone?" How oft has bitter tear been shed, And heaved how many a groan, Because thou wouldst not give for bread The thing that was a stone! How oft the child thou wouldst have fed Thy gift away has thrown; He prayed, thou heardst, and gavest bread-- He cried, "It is a stone!" Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread, Lest I be left to moan, Am I not he, who, asked for bread, Would give his son a stone? --George Macdonald. DENIAL I want so many, many things, My wishes on my prayers take wings, And heavenward fly to sue for grace Before the loving Father's face. But He, well knowing all my need, Kindly rebukes my foolish greed, And, granting not the gift I ask, Sets me instead to do some task-- Some lowly task--for love of him, So lowly, and in light so dim, My sorrowing soul must cease to sing, And only sigh, "'Tis for the King." And scarcely can my faith repeat Her sad petition at his feet: "These daily tasks Thou giv'st to me, Help, Lord, to do as unto thee!" Yet while his bidding thus I do-- I know not how, or why, 'tis true-- My thoughts to sweet contentment glide, And I forget the wish denied. And so my prayers he hears and heeds, Mindful of all my daily needs; Gracious, most gracious, too, in this-- Denying, when I ask amiss. --Luella Clark. A BLESSING IN PRAYER If when I kneel to pray, With eager lips I say: "Lord, give me all the things that I desire-- Health, wealth, fame, friends, brave heart, religious fire, The power to sway my fellow men at will, And strength for mighty works to banish ill"-- In such a prayer as this The blessing I must miss. Or if I only dare To raise this fainting prayer: "Thou seest, Lord, that I am poor and weak, And cannot tell what things I ought to seek; I therefore do not ask at all, but still I trust thy bounty all my wants to fill"-- My lips shall thus grow dumb, The blessing shall not come. But if I lowly fall, And thus in faith I call: "Through Christ, O Lord, I pray thee give to me Not what I would, but what seems best to thee Of life, of health, of service, and of strength, Until to thy full joy I come at length"-- My prayer shall then avail; The blessing shall not fail. --Charles F. Richardson. Teach me, dear Lord, what thou wouldst have me know; Guide me, dear Lord, where thou wouldst have me go; Help me, dear Lord, the precious seed to sow; Bless thou the seed that it may surely grow. THE TIME FOR PRAYER When is the time for prayer? With the first beams that light the morning sky, Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare, Lift up thy thoughts on high; Commend thy loved ones to his watchful care: Morn is the time for prayer! And in the noontide hour, If worn by toil or by sad care oppressed, Then unto God thy spirit's sorrows pour, And he will give thee rest: Thy voice shall reach him through the fields of air: Noon is the time for prayer! When the bright sun hath set, Whilst yet eve's glowing colors deck the skies, When with the loved, at home, again thou'st met, Then let thy prayers arise For those who in thy joys and sorrows share: Eve is the time for prayer! And when the stars come forth-- When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth To pure bright dreams of heaven-- Kneel to thy God; ask strength life's ills to bear: Night is the time for prayer. When is the time for prayer? In every hour, while life is spared to thee-- In crowds or solitude--in joy or care-- Thy thoughts should heavenward flee. At home--at morn and eve--with loved ones there, Bend thou the knee in prayer! NOT A SOUND INVADES THE STILLNESS Not a sound invades the stillness, Not a form invades the scene, Save the voice of my Belovèd, And the person of my King. And within those heavenly places, Calmly hushed in sweet repose, There I drink, with joy absorbing, All the love thou wouldst disclose. Wrapt in deep adoring silence, Jesus, Lord, I dare not move, Lest I lose the smallest saying Meant to catch the ear of love. Rest, then, O my soul, contented: Thou hast reached thy happy place In the bosom of thy Saviour, Gazing up in his dear face. FORMAL PRAYER I often say my prayers, But do I ever pray; And do the wishes of my heart Go with the words I say? I may as well kneel down And worship gods of stone, As offer to the living God A prayer of words alone. For words without the heart The Lord will never hear: Nor will he to those lips attend Whose prayers are not sincere. --John Burton. BLESSINGS OF PRAYER What various hindrances we meet In coming to a mercy-seat! Yet who that knows the worth of prayer But wishes to be often there! Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw; Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw; Gives exercise to faith and love; Brings every blessing from above. Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees. Were half the breath that's vainly spent To heaven in supplication sent, Our cheerful song would oftener be "Hear what the Lord has done for me." --William Cowper. WHAT IS PRAYER? Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways; While angels in their songs rejoice And cry, "Behold, he prays!" Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air, His watchword at the gates of death; He enters heaven with prayer. O Thou, by whom we come to God, The Life, the Truth, the Way; The path of prayer thyself hast trod: Lord, teach us how to pray! --James Montgomery. SPIRITUAL DEVOTION The woman singeth at her spinning wheel A pleasant chant, ballad, or baracolle; She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel, With quick adjustment, provident control, The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal To the dear Christian Church, that we may do Our Father's business in these temples mirk Thus, swift and steadfast; thus, intent and strong; While, thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue Some high, calm, spheric tune and prove our work The better for the sweetness of our song. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. PRAYER OF DEEDS The deed ye do is the prayer ye pray; "Lead us into temptation, Lord; Withhold the bread from our babes this day; To evil we turn us, give evil's reward!" Over to-day the to-morrow bends With an answer for each acted prayer; And woe to him who makes not friends With the pale hereafter hovering there. --George S. Burleigh. SUNDAY Not a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould, Where I must creep and in the dark and cold Offer some awful incense at a shrine That hath no more divine Than that 'tis far from life, and stern, and old; But a bright hilltop, in the breezy air Full of the morning freshness, high and clear, Where I may climb and drink the pure new day And see where winds away The path that God would send me, shining fair. --Edward Rowland Sill. PRAYER When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say, Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray: Crooked and warped I am, and I would fain Straighten myself by thy right line again. Oh, come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits; Pierce, genial showers, down to my parchèd roots. My well is bitter, cast therein the tree, That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be. Say, what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed? The mighty utterance of a mighty need. The man is praying who doth press with might Out of his darkness into God's own light. White heat the iron in the furnace won, Withdrawn from thence 'twas cold and hard anon. Flowers, from their stalk divided, presently Droop, fall, and wither in the gazer's eye. The greenest leaf, divided from its stem, To speedy withering doth itself condemn. The largest river, from its fountain-head Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed. All things that live from God their sustenance wait, And sun and moon are beggars at his gate. All skirts extended of thy mantle hold When angel hands from heaven are scattering gold. --Richard Chenevix Trench. MEANING OF PRAYER One thing, alone, dear Lord, I dread-- To have a secret spot That separates my soul from thee, And yet to know it not. Prayer was not meant for luxury, Or selfish pastime sweet; It is the prostrate creature's place At his Creator's feet. But if this waiting long hath come A present from on high, Teach me to find the hidden wealth That in its depths may lie. So in the darkness I can learn To tremble and adore; To sound my own vile nothingness, And thus to love thee more. --Frederick William Faber. TALKING WITH GOD To stretch my hand and touch Him Though he be far away; To raise my eyes and see him Through darkness as through day; To lift my voice and call him-- This is to pray! To feel a hand extended By One who standeth near; To view the love that shineth In eyes serene and clear; To know that he is calling-- This is to hear! --Samuel W. Duffield. MY PRAYER Being perplexed, I say, "Lord, make it right! Night is as day to thee, Darkness is light. I am afraid to touch Things that involve so much; My trembling hand may shake-- My skillful hand may break; Thine can make no mistake." Being in doubt, I say, "Lord, make it plain! Which is the true, safe way? Which would be vain? I am not wise to know, Nor sure of foot to go; My blind eyes cannot see What is so clear to thee. Lord, make it clear to me." THE SOURCE OF POWER There is an eye that never sleeps Beneath the wing of night; There is an ear that never shuts When sink the beams of light. There is an arm that never tires When human strength gives way; There is a love that never fails When earthly loves decay. That eye is fixed on seraph throngs; That arm upholds the sky; That ear is filled with angel songs, That love is throned on high. But there's a power which man can wield When mortal aid is vain, That eye, that arm, that love to reach, That listening ear to gain. That power is prayer, which soars on high, Through Jesus, to the throne, And moves the hand which moves the world, To bring salvation down. --James Cowden Wallace. DIFFERENT PRAYERS Three doors there are in the temple Where men go up to pray, And they that wait at the outer gate May enter by either way. There are some that pray by asking; They lie on the Master's breast, And, shunning the strife of the lower life, They utter their cry for rest. There are some that pray by seeking; They doubt where their reason fails; But their mind's despair is the ancient prayer To touch the print of the nails. There are some that pray by knocking; They put their strength to the wheel For they have not time for thoughts sublime; They can only act what they feel. Father, give each his answer, Each in his kindred way; Adapt thy light to his form of night And grant him his needed day. --William Watson. TRUE PRAYER I. It is not prayer, This clamor of our eager wants That fills the air With wearying, selfish plaints. It is not faith To boldly count all gifts as ours-- The pride that saith, "For me his wealth he ever showers." It is not praise To call to mind our happier lot, And boast bright days, God-favored, with all else forgot. II. It is true prayer To seek the giver more than gift God's life to share And love--for this our cry to lift. It is true faith To simply trust his loving will, Whiche'er he saith-- "Thy lot be glad" or "ill." It is true praise To bless alike the bright and dark; To sing, all days Alike, with nightingale and lark. --James W. White. THE POWER OF PRAYER Lord, what a change within us one short hour Spent in thy presence will prevail to make; What heavy burdens from our bosoms take; What parchèd grounds refresh as with a shower! We kneel--and all about us seems to lower; We rise--and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear. We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power! Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others, that we are not always strong; That we are ever overborne with care, Anxious and troubled, when with us is prayer, And joy and strength and courage are with thee? --Richard Chenevix Trench. Asked and unasked, thy heavenly gifts unfold, And evil, though we ask it, Lord, withhold. --Homer, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. MARY OF BETHANY Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits. And he that brought him back is there. Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face And rests upon the Life indeed. All subtle thought, all curious fears. Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears. Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, Whose loves in higher love endure; What souls possess themselves so pure, Or is there blessedness like theirs? --Alfred Tennyson. PRAYER ITS OWN ANSWER "Allah, Allah!" cried the sick man, racked with pain the long night through; Till with prayer his heart was tender, till his lips like honey grew. But at morning came the Tempter; said, "Call louder, child of pain! See if Allah ever hear, or answer 'Here am I' again." Like a stab the cruel cavil through his brain and pulses went; To his heart an icy coldness, to his brain a darkness, sent. Then before him stands Elias; says "My child! why thus dismayed? Dost repent thy former fervor? Is thy soul of prayer afraid?" "Ah!" he cried, "I've called so often; never heard the 'Here am I'; And I thought, God will not pity, will not turn on me his eye." Then the grave Elias answered, "God said, 'Rise, Elias, go, Speak to him, the sorely tempted; lift him from his gulf of woe. "'Tell him that his very longing is itself an answering cry; That his prayer, "Come, gracious Allah," is my answer, "Here am I"'. "Every inmost aspiration is God's angel undefiled; And in every 'O my Father!' slumbers deep a 'Here, my child!'" --Jelal-ed-Deen, tr. by James Freeman Clarke. THE CONTENTS OF PIETY "Allah!" was all night long the cry of one oppressed with care, Till softened was his heart, and sweet became his lips with prayer. Then near the subtle tempter stole, and spake: "Fond babbler, cease! For not one 'Here am I' has God e'er sent to give thee peace." With sorrow sank the suppliant's soul and all his senses fled. But lo! at midnight, the good angel, Chiser, came, and said: "What ails thee now, my child, and why art thou afraid to pray? And why thy former love dost thou repent? declare and say." "Ah!" cries he, "never once spake God to me, 'Here am I, son.' Cast off methinks I am, and warned far from his gracious throne." To whom the angel answered, "Hear the word from God I bear: 'Go tell,' he said, 'yon mourner, sunk in sorrow and despair, Each "Lord, appear!" thy lips pronounce contains my "Here am I"; A special messenger I send beneath thine every sigh; Thy love is but a guerdon of the love I bear to thee. And sleeping in thy "Come, O Lord!" there lies "Here, son!" from me.'" --Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger. He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all. --Samuel Taylor Coleridge. ADORATION I love my God, but with no love of mine, For I have none to give; I love thee, Lord, but all the love is thine For by thy love I live. I am as nothing, and rejoice to be Emptied and lost and swallowed up in thee. Thou, Lord, alone art all thy children need, And there is none beside; From thee the streams of blessedness proceed, In thee the blest abide-- Fountain of life and all-abounding grace, Our source, our center, and our dwelling place. --Madame Guyon. WALKING WITH GOD O Master, let me walk with thee In lowly paths of service free; Tell me thy secret; help me bear The strain of toil, the fret of care. Help me the slow of heart to move By some clear, winning word of love; Teach me the wayward feet to stay, And guide them in the homeward way. Teach me thy patience! still with Thee In closer, dearer company: In work that keeps faith sweet and strong, In trust that triumphs over wrong. In hope that sends a shining ray Far down the future's broadening way; In peace that only thou canst give, With thee, O Master, let me live. --Washington Gladden. There was a man who prayed For wisdom that he might Sway men from sinful ways And lead them into light. Each night he knelt and asked the Lord To let him guide the sinful horde. And every day he rose again, To idly drift along, One of the many common men Who form the common throng. GRANTED OR DENIED To long with all our longing powers, And have the wish denied; To urge and strain our force in vain Against the unresting tide Of fate and circumstance, which still Baffles and beats and thwarts our will; To reach the goal toward which we strove All the long way and hard; To win the prize which, to our eyes, Seemed life's one best reward-- Love's rose, Fame's laurel, olived Peace, The gold-fruit of Hesperides-- And then to find the prize all vain, The joys all empty made-- To taste the sting in each sweet thing, To watch Love's roses fade, The fruit to ashes turn, the gold To worthless dross within our hold! Now which has most of grief and pain, Which is the worse to bear: The joy we crave and never have, Or the curse of the granted prayer? The baffled wish or the bitter rue-- Could our hearts choose between the two? O will of God, thou blessèd will! Which, like a balmèd air, The breath of souls about us rolls, Touching us everywhere, Imparting, like a soft caress, Healing, and help, and tenderness, O will of God, be thou our will! Then, come or joy or pain, Made one with thee it cannot be That we shall wish in vain, And, whether granted or denied, Our hearts shall be all satisfied. --Susan Coolidge. OUT OF TOUCH Only a smile, yes, only a smile That a woman o'erburdened with grief Expected from you; 'twould have given relief, For her heart ached sore the while; But weary and cheerless she went away, Because, as it happened, that very day You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a word, yes, only a word, That the Spirit's small voice whispered "Speak"; But the worker passed onward unblessed and weak Whom you were meant to have stirred To courage, devotion, and love anew, Because when the message came to you You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a note, yes, only a note To a friend in a distant land. The Spirit said "Write," but then you had planned Some different work, and you thought It mattered little. You did not know 'Twould have saved a soul from sin and woe; You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a song, yes, only a song That the Spirit said "Sing to-night; Thy voice is thy Master's by purchased right"; But you thought, "'Mid this motley throng I care not to sing of the city of gold"-- And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold; You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a day, yes, only a day! But oh, can you guess, my friend, Where the influence reaches, and where it will end Of the hours that you frittered away? The Master's command is "Abide in me" And fruitless and vain will your service be If "out of touch" with your Lord. --Jean H. Watson. Prayer is Innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant 'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. We may question with wand of science, Explain, decide, and discuss; But only in meditation The Mystery speaks to us. --John Boyle O'Reilly. THE VALLEY OF SILENCE I walk down the Valley of Silence, Down the dim, voiceless valley alone! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me--save God's and my own! And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels have flown. Long ago was I weary of voices Whose music my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human and sin. And still did I pine for the perfect, And still found the false with the true; I sought 'mid the human for heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of the blue; And I wept when the clouds of the world veiled Even _that_ glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the human, And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men, Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar, And heard a Voice call me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? 'Tis my trysting place with the Divine. When I fell at the feet of the Holy, And about me a voice said, "Be mine," There arose from the depths of my spirit An echo: "My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep, and I dream, and I pray; But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops That fall on the roses in May; And my prayer, like a perfume from censer, Ascendeth to God night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence, I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim valley Till each finds a word for a wing, That to men, like the doves of the deluge The message of peace they may bring. But far out on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech; And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen thoughts in the valley-- Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces-- Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the valley like virgins Too pure for the touch of a word. Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? It lieth afar, between mountains, And God and his angels are there; And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow, The other, the bright Mount of Prayer. --Abram Joseph Ryan. HELP THOU MY UNBELIEF Because I seek thee not O seek thou me! Because my lips are dumb O hear the cry I do not utter as thou passest by, And from my lifelong bondage set me free! Because, content, I perish far from thee, O seize me, snatch me from my fate and try My soul in thy consuming fire! Draw nigh And let me, blinded, thy salvation see. If I were pouring at thy feet my tears, If I were clamoring to see thy face, I should not need thee, Lord, as now I need, Whose dumb, dead soul knows neither hopes nor fears, Nor dreads the outer darkness of this place. _Because_ I seek not, pray not, give thou heed. PHARISEE AND PUBLICAN Two went to pray? O, rather say One went to brag, the other to pray; One stands up close and treads on high, Where the other dares not lend his eye; One nearer to God's altar trod, The other to the altar's God. --Richard Crashaw. A MOMENT IN THE MORNING A moment in the morning, ere the cares of the day begin, Ere the heart's wide door is open for the world to enter in, Ah, then, alone with Jesus, in the silence of the morn, In heavenly sweet communion, let your duty-day be born. In the quietude that blesses with a prelude of repose Let your soul be smoothed and softened, as the dew revives the rose. A moment in the morning take your Bible in your hand, And catch a glimpse of glory from the peaceful promised land: It will linger still before you when you seek the busy mart, And like flowers of hope will blossom into beauty in your heart. The precious words, like jewels, will glisten all the day With a rare effulgent glory that will brighten all the way; When comes a sore temptation, and your feet are near a snare, You may count them like a rosary and make each one a prayer. A moment in the morning--a moment, if no more-- Is better than an hour when the trying day is o'er. 'Tis the gentle dew from heaven, the manna for the day; If you fail to gather early--alas! it melts away. So, in the blush of morning, take the offered hand of love, And walk in heaven's pathway and the peacefulness thereof. --Arthur Lewis Tubbs. AN INVITATION TO PRAYER Come to the morning prayer, Come, let us kneel and pray; Prayer is the Christian pilgrim's staff To walk with God all day. At noon, beneath the Rock Of Ages rest and pray; Sweet is the shadow from the heat When the sun smites by day. At eve, shut to the door, Round the home altar pray; And finding there "the house of God" At "heaven's gate" close the day. When midnight seals our eyes, Let each in spirit say, "I sleep, but my heart waketh, Lord, With thee to watch and pray." --James Montgomery. SELFISH PRAYER How we, poor players on life's little stage, Thrust blindly at each other in our rage, Quarrel and fret, yet rashly dare to pray To God to keep us on our selfish way. We think to move him with our prayer and praise To serve our needs, as in the old Greek days Their gods came down and mingled in the fight With mightier arms the flying foe to smite. The laughter of those gods pealed down to man; For heaven was but earth's upper story then, Where goddesses about an apple strove And the high gods fell humanly in love. _We_ own a God whose presence fills the sky; Whose sleepless eyes behold the worlds roll by; Whose faithful memory numbers, one by one, The sons of man, and calls them each his son. --Louise Chandler Moulton. To make rough places plain, and crooked straight; To help the weak; to envy not the strong; To make the earth a sweeter dwelling place, In little ways, or if we may, in great, And in the world to help the heavenly song, We pray, Lord Jesus, grant to us thy grace! THE TWO RELIGIONS A woman sat by a hearthside place Reading a book, with a pleasant face, Till a child came up, with a childish frown, And pushed the book, saying, "Put it down." Then the mother, slapping his curly head, Said, "Troublesome child, go off to bed; A great deal of Christ's life I must know To train you up as a child should go." And the child went off to bed to cry, And denounce religion--by and by. Another woman bent over a book With a smile of joy and an intent look, Till a child came up and jogged her knee, And said of the book, "Put it down--take me." Then the mother sighed as she stroked his head, Saying softly, "I never shall get it read: But I'll try by loving to learn His will, And his love into my child instill." That child went to bed without a sigh, And will love religion--by and by. A LIFE HID WITH CHRIST I have a life with Christ to live; But ere I live it must I wait Till learning can clear answer give Of this or that book's date? I have a life in Christ to live, I have a death in Christ to die; And must I wait till science give All doubts a full reply? Nay, rather, while the sea of doubt Is raging wildly round about, Questioning of life and death and sin, Let me but creep within Thy fold, O Christ, and at thy feet Take but the lowest seat, And hear thine awful voice repeat In gentlest accents, heavenly sweet, "Come unto me and rest; Believe me, and be blest." --John Campbell Shairp. Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice. --Dr. Samuel Johnson. PRAY ALWAYS Go when the morning shineth, Go when the noon is bright, Go when the eve declineth, Go in the hush of night; Go with pure mind and feeling, Fling earthly thoughts away, And, in thy chamber kneeling, Do thou in secret pray. Remember all who love thee, All who are loved by thee; Pray, too, for those who hate thee, If any such there be. Then for thyself in meekness A blessing humbly claim, And link with thy petition The great Redeemer's name. Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee In solitude to pray, Should holy thoughts come o'er thee When friends are round thy way, E'en then the silent breathing Of thy spirit, raised above, May reach His throne of glory Who is mercy, truth and love. Oh! not a joy or blessing With this can we compare: The power that he hath given us To pour our hearts in prayer. Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness Before His footstool fall, And remember in thy gladness His grace who gave thee all. --Jane C. Simpson. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats, That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer, Both for themselves and those who call them friend. For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. --Alfred Tennyson. ENOCH He walked with God, by faith, in solitude, At early dawn or tranquil eventide; In some lone leafy place he would abide Till his whole being was with God imbued. He walked with God amid the multitude; No threats or smiles could his firm soul divide From that beloved presence at his side Whose still small voice silenced earth's noises rude. Boldly abroad to men he testified How "the Lord cometh" and the judgment brings; Gently at home he trained his "sons and daughters"; Till, praying, a bright chariot he espied Sent to translate him, as on angels' wings, To walk with God beside heaven's "living waters." --R. Wilton. A WORKER'S PRAYER Lord, speak to me, that I may speak In living echoes of thy tone; As thou hast sought, so let me seek Thy erring children, lost and lone. Oh, teach me, Lord, that I may teach The precious things thou dost impart; And wing my words that they may reach The hidden depths of many a heart. Oh, give thine own sweet rest to me, That I may speak with soothing power A word in season, as from thee, To weary ones in needful hour. Oh, use me, Lord, use even me, Just as thou wilt, and when and where; Until thy blessed face I see, Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share. God answers prayer-- Answers always, everywhere, I may cast my anxious care, Burdens I could never bear, On the God who heareth prayer. SUBMISSION AND REST The camel, at the close of day Kneels down upon the sandy plain To have his burden lifted off And rest again. My soul, thou too should to thy knees When daylight draweth to a close, And let thy Master lift the load And grant repose. Else how couldst thou to-morrow meet, With all to-morrow's work to do, If thou thy burden all the night Dost carry through? The camel kneels at break of day To have his guide replace his load; Then rises up anew to take The desert road. So thou shouldst kneel at morning's dawn That God may give thee daily care; Assured that he no load too great Will make thee bear. TAKE TIME TO BE HOLY Take time to be holy; Speak oft with thy Lord; Abide in him always, And feed on his word; Make friends of God's children, Help those who are weak, Forgetting in nothing His blessing to seek. Take time to be holy; The world rushes on; Spend much time in secret With Jesus alone; By looking at Jesus Like him thou shalt be; Thy friends in thy conduct His likeness shall see. Take time to be holy; Let him be thy Guide, And run not before him Whatever betide; In joy or in sorrow Still follow thy Lord, And, looking to Jesus, Still trust in his word. Take time to be holy; Be calm in thy soul; Each thought and each motive Beneath his control; Thus led by his Spirit To fountains of love, Thou soon shalt be fitted For service above. --W. D. Longstaff. PRAYER FOR STRENGTH Father, before thy footstool kneeling, Once more my heart goes up to thee, For aid, for strength, to thee appealing, Thou who alone canst succor me. Hear me! for heart and flesh are failing, My spirit yielding in the strife; And anguish wild as unavailing Sweeps in a flood across my life. Help me to stem the tide of sorrow; Help me to bear thy chastening rod; Give me endurance; let me borrow Strength from thy promise, O my God! Not mine the grief which words may lighten; Not mine the tears of common woes; The pang with which my heart-strings tighten Only the All-seeing One may know. And I am weak, my feeble spirit Shrinks from life's task in wild dismay; Yet not that thou that task wouldst spare it, My Father, do I dare to pray. Into my soul thy might infusing, Strengthening my spirit by thine own; Help me, all other aid refusing, To cling to thee, and thee alone. And O in my exceeding weakness Make thy strength perfect; thou art strong: Aid me to do thy will with meekness, Thou to whom all my powers belong. O let me feel that thou art near me; Close to thy side, I shall not fear; Hear me, O Strength of Israel, hear me, Sustain and aid! in mercy hear. LIGHT Lord, send thy light, Not only in the darkest night, But in the shadowy, dim twilight, Wherein my strained and aching sight Can scarce distinguish wrong from right, Then send thy light. Teach me to pray. Not only in the morning gray, Or when the moonbeam's silver ray Falls on me, but at high noonday, When pleasure beckons me away, Teach me to pray. --Constance Milman. OUR BURDEN BEARER The little sharp vexations And the briars that cut the feet, Why not take all to the Helper Who has never failed us yet? Tell him about the heartache, And tell him the longings too, Tell him the baffled purpose When we scarce know what to do. Then, leaving all our weakness With the One divinely strong, Forget that we bore the burden And carry away the song. --Phillips Brooks. My proud foe at my hands to take no boon will choose. Thy prayers are that one gift which he cannot refuse. --Richard Chenevix Trench. ANSWER TO PRAYER Man's plea to man is, that he nevermore Will beg, and that he never begged before; Man's plea to God is, that he did obtain A former suit, and therefore sues again. How good a God we serve, that, when we sue, Makes his old gifts examples of his new. --Francis Quarles. TALHAIRN'S PRAYER Grant me, O God, thy merciful protection; And, in protection, give me strength, I pray; And, in my strength, O grant me wise discretion; And, in discretion, make me ever just; And, with my justice, may I mingle love, And, with my love, O God, the love of thee; And, with the love of thee, the love of all. --From the Welsh. O sad estate Of human wretchedness! so weak is man, So ignorant and blind, that did not God Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask, We should be ruined at our own request. --Hannah More. Why win we not at once what we in prayer require? That we may learn great things as greatly to desire. --Richard Chenevix Trench. JOY PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY Just to let thy Father do What he will; Just to know that he is true And be still. Just to follow hour by hour As He leadeth; Just to draw the moment's power As it needeth. Just to trust Him, this is all! Then the day will surely be Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall, Bright and blessèd, calm and free. Just to let Him speak to thee Through his word, Watching that his voice may be Clearly heard. Just to tell Him every thing As it rises, And at once to him to bring All surprises. Just to listen, and to stay Where you cannot miss His voice, This is all! and thus to-day, Communing, you shall rejoice. Just to ask Him what to do All the day, And to make you quick and true To obey. Just to know the needed grace He bestoweth, Every bar of time and place Overfloweth. Just to take thy orders straight From the Master's own command. Blessèd day! when thus we wait Always at our Sovereign's hand. Just to recollect his love, Always true; Always shining from above, Always new. Just to recognize its light, All-enfolding; Just to claim its present might, All-upholding. Just to know it as thine own, That no power can take away; Is not this enough alone For the gladness of the day? Just to trust, and yet to ask Guidance still; Take the training or the task As He will. Just to take the joy or pain As He lends it; Just to take the loss or gain As he sends it He who formed thee for his praise Will not miss the gracious aim; So to-day, and all thy days, Shall be molded for the same. Just to leave in His dear hand _Little_ things; All we cannot understand, All that stings. Just to let Him take the care Sorely pressing, Finding all we let him bear Changed to blessing. This is all! and yet the way Marked by Him who loves thee best; Secret of a happy day, Secret of his promised rest. --Frances Ridley Havergal. GOD MEANS US TO BE HAPPY God means us to be happy; He fills the short-lived years With loving, tender mercies-- With smiles as well as tears. Flowers blossom by the pathway, Or, withering, they shed Their sweetest fragrance over The bosoms of our dead. God filled the earth with beauty; He touched the hills with light; He crowned the waving forest With living verdure bright; He taught the bird its carol, He gave the wind its voice, And to the smallest insect Its moment to rejoice. What life hath not its blessing? Who hath not songs to sing, Or grateful words to utter, Or wealth of love to bring? Tried in affliction's furnace The gold becomes more pure-- So strong doth sorrow make us, So patient to endure. No way is dark and dreary If God be with us there; No danger can befall us When sheltered by his care. Why should our eyes be blinded To all earth's glorious bloom? Why sit we in the shadow That falls upon the tomb? Look up and catch the sunbeams! See how the day doth dawn! Gather the scented roses That grow beside the thorn! God's pitying love doth seek us; He leads us to his rest; And from a thousand pathways He chooses what is best. THE PICTURE OF A HAPPY MAN How blest is he, though ever crossed, That can all crosses blessings make; That finds himself ere he be lost, And lose that found for virtue's sake. Yea, blest is he, in life and death, That fears not death nor loves this life; That sets his will his wit beneath; And hath continual peace in strife. That naught observes but what preserves His mind and body from offense; That neither courts nor seasons serves, And learns without experience. That loves his body for his soul, Soul for his mind, his mind for God, God for himself, and doth control Content, if it with him be odd. That rests in action, acting naught But what is good in deed and show; That seeks but God within his thought, And thinks but God to love and know. That lives too low for envy's looks, And yet too high for loathed contempt; That makes his friends good men and books And naught without them doth attempt. That ever lives a light to all, Though oft obscurèd like the sun; And, though his fortunes be but small, Yet Fortune doth not seek nor shun. That never looks but grace to find, Nor seeks for knowledge to be known; That makes a kingdom of his mind, Wherein, with God, he reigns alone. This man is great with little state, Lord of the world epitomized, Who with staid front outfaceth Fate And, being empty, is sufficed-- Or is sufficed with little, since (at least) He makes his conscience a continual feast. --John Davies, of Hereford. THANKS FOR PAIN My God, I thank thee who hast made The earth so bright; So full of splendor and of joy, Beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, Noble and right. I thank thee, too, that thou hast made Joy to abound; So many gentle thoughts and deeds Circling us round; That in the darkest spot of earth Some love is found. I thank thee more that all our joy Is touched with pain; That shadows fall on brightest hours; That thorns remain; So that earth's bliss may be our guide And not our chain. I thank thee, Lord, that thou hast kept The best in store; We have enough, yet not too much, To long for more; A yearning for a deeper peace Not known before. I thank thee, Lord, that here our souls Though amply blest, Can never find, although they seek, A perfect rest; Nor ever shall until they lean On Jesus' breast. --Adelaide Anne Procter. THE RIDICULOUS OPTIMIST There was once a man who smiled Because the day was bright, Because he slept at night, Because God gave him sight To gaze upon his child; Because his little one, Could leap and laugh and run; Because the distant sun Smiled on the earth he smiled. He smiled because the sky Was high above his head, Because the rose was red, Because the past was dead! He never wondered why The Lord had blundered so That all things have to go The wrong way, here below The overarching sky. He toiled, and still was glad Because the air was free, Because he loved, and she That claimed his love and he Shared all the joys they had! Because the grasses grew, Because the sweet winds blew, Because that he could hew And hammer, he was glad. Because he lived he smiled, And did not look ahead With bitterness or dread, But nightly sought his bed As calmly as a child. And people called him mad For being always glad With such things as he had, And shook their heads and smiled. --Samuel Ellsworth Kiser. The soul contains a window where It may receive the sun and air, But some with self the window cloy, And shut out all the light and joy. --Nixon Waterman. PRAISE O Thou, whose bounty fills my cup With every blessing meet! I give thee thanks for every drop-- The bitter and the sweet. I praise Thee for the desert road, And for the riverside; For all thy goodness hath bestowed, And all thy grace denied. I thank Thee for both smile and frown, And for the gain and loss; I praise thee for the future crown And for the present cross. I thank Thee for the wing of love Which stirred my worldly nest; And for the stormy clouds which drove Me, trembling, to thy breast. I bless Thee for the glad increase, And for the waning joy; And for this strange, this settled peace, Which nothing can destroy. --Jane Crewdson. THANKSGIVING Lord, for the erring thought Not into evil wrought, Lord, for the wicked will, Betrayed and baffled still, For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept. For the ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer; For pain, death, sorrow, sent Unto our chastisement; For all loss of seeming good, Quicken our gratitude. --William Dean Howells. RING, HAPPY BELLS Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly-dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. --Alfred Tennyson. THE CLEAR VISION Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own The wiser love severely kind; Since, richer for its chastening grown, I see, whereas I once was blind. The world, O Father, hath not wronged With loss the life by thee prolonged; But still, with every added year, More beautiful thy works appear. As thou hast made thy world without, Make thou more fair my world within; Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; Fill, brief or long, my granted span Of life with love to thee and man; Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest. But let my last days be my best. --John Greenleaf Whittier. Then let us smile when skies are gray, And laugh at stormy weather! And sing life's lonesome times away; So--worry and the dreariest day Will find an end together! Paul and Silas in their prison Sang of Christ the Lord arisen; And an earthquake's arm of might Broke their dungeon gates at night. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. SCATTER SUNSHINE In a world where sorrow ever will be known, Where are found the needy, and the sad and lone; How much joy and comfort we can all bestow If we scatter sunshine everywhere we go. Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs, For the world wants daily little kindly deeds; Oh, what care and sorrow we may help remove, With our songs and courage, sympathy and love. When the days are gloomy, sing some happy song, Meet the world's repining with a courage strong; Go, with faith undaunted, through the ills of life, Scatter smiles and sunshine o'er its toil and strife. --Lanta Wilson Smith. SOWING JOY I met a child, and kissed it; who shall say I stole a joy in which I had no part? The happy creature from that very day Hath felt the more his little human heart. Now when I pass he runs away and smiles, And tries to seem afraid with pretty wiles. I am a happier and a richer man, Since I have sown this new joy in the earth; 'Tis no small thing for us to reap stray mirth In every sunny wayside where we can. It is a joy to me to be a joy Which may in the most lowly heart take root; And it is gladness to that little boy To look out for me at the mountain foot. --Frederick William Faber. Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it; Sow thou joy and thou shalt keep it. --Richard Watson Gilder. A LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY (Written in May, 1863, when cotton came to Lancashire, enabling the mills to open after being long closed. The suffering, grateful women sang the Doxology.) "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." Praise Him who sendeth joy and woe. The Lord who takes--the Lord who gives-- O praise him, all that dies, and lives. He opens and he shuts his hand, But why, we cannot understand. Pours and dries up his mercies' flood, And yet is still All-perfect Good. We fathom not the mighty plan, The mystery of God and man; We women, when afflictions come, We only suffer and are dumb. And when, the tempest passing by, He gleams out, sun-like, through our sky, We look up and, through black clouds riven, We recognize the smile of Heaven. Ours is no wisdom of the wise. We have no deep philosophies; Childlike we take both kiss and rod, For he who loveth knoweth God. --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS Through night to light! And though to mortal eyes Creation's face a pall of horror wear, Good cheer! good cheer! the gloom of midnight flies; Then shall a sunrise follow, mild and fair. Through storm to calm! And though his thunder car The rumbling tempest drive through earth and sky, Good cheer! good cheer! The elemental war Tells that the blessèd healing hour is nigh. Through frost to spring! And though the biting blast Of Eurus stiffen nature's juicy veins, Good cheer! good cheer! When winter's wrath is past, Soft-murmuring spring breathes sweetly o'er the plains. Through strife to peace! And though with bristling front A thousand frightful deaths encompass thee, Good cheer! good cheer! brave thou the battle's brunt, For the peace-march and song of victory. Through toil to sleep! And though the sultry noon With heavy drooping wing oppress thee now, Good cheer! good cheer! the cool of evening soon Shall lull to sweet repose thy weary brow. Through cross to crown! And though thy spirit's life Trials untold assail with giant strength, Good cheer! good cheer! soon ends the bitter strife, And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length. Through woe to joy! And though at morn thou weep, And though the midnight find thee weeping still, Good cheer! good cheer! the Shepherd loves his sheep; Resign thee to the watchful Father's will. --Rosegarten, tr. by Charles Timothy Brooks. Talk Happiness. The world is sad enough Without your woes. No path is wholly rough; Look for the places that are smooth and clear, And speak of those to rest the weary ear Of earth, so hurt by one continuous strain Of human discontent and grief and pain. SERVE GOD AND BE CHEERFUL Serve God and be cheerful. Make brighter The brightness that falls to thy lot; The rare, or the daily sent, blessing Profane not with gloom or with doubt. Serve God and be cheerful. Each sorrow Is--with thy will in God's--for the best. O'er the cloud hangs the rainbow. To-morrow Will see the blue sky in the west. Serve God and be cheerful. Look upward! God's countenance scatters the gloom; And the soft summer light of his heaven Shines over the cross and the tomb. Serve God and be cheerful. The wrinkles Of age we may take with a smile; But the wrinkles of faithless foreboding Are the crow's-feet of Beelzebub's guile. Serve God and be cheerful. The winter Rolls round to the beautiful spring. And o'er the green grave of the snowdrift The nest-building robins will sing. Serve God and be cheerful. Live nobly, Do right, and do good. Make the best Of the gifts and the work put before you, And to God without fear leave the rest. --William Newell. BRING EVERY BURDEN Be trustful, be steadfast, whatever betide thee, Only one thing do thou ask of the Lord-- Grace to go forward wherever he guide thee, Simply believing the truth of his word. Earthliness, coldness, unthankful behavior-- Ah! thou mayst sorrow, but do not despair. Even this grief thou mayst bring to thy Saviour, Cast upon him this burden of care! Bring all thy hardness--His power can subdue it, How full is the promise! The blessing how free: "Whatsoever ye ask in my name, I will do it; Abide in my love and be joyful in me." THY LOVING KINDNESS Not always the path is easy; There are thickets hung with gloom, There are rough and stony places Where never the roses bloom. But oft, when the way is hardest, I am conscious of One at my side Whose hands and whose feet are wounded, And I'm happy and safe with my Guide. Better than friends and kindred, Better than love and rest, Dearer than hope and triumph, Is the name I wear on my breast. I feel my way through the shadows With a confident heart and brave; I shall live in the light beyond them; I shall conquer death and the grave. Often when tried and tempted, Often, ashamed of sin-- That, strong as an armed invader, Has made wreck of the peace within-- That wonderful loving-kindness, Patient and full and free, Has stooped for my consolation; Has brought a blessing to me. Therefore my lips shall praise thee, Therefore, let come what may, To the height of a solemn gladness My song shall arise to-day. Not on the drooping willow Shall I hang my harp in the land, When the Lord himself has cheered me By the touch of his pierced hand. --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster. To try each day his will to know; To tread the way his will may show; To live for him who gave me life; To strive for him who suffered strife And sacrifice through death for me-- Let this my joy, my portion be. THANKS I thank thee, Lord, for mine unanswered prayers, Unanswered save thy quiet, kindly "Nay"; Yet it seemed hard among my heavy cares-- That bitter day. I wanted joy; but Thou didst know for me That sorrow was the gift I needed most, And in its mystic depths I learned to see The Holy Ghost. I wanted health; but thou didst bid me sound The secret treasuries of pain, And in the moans and groans my heart oft found Thy Christ again. I wanted wealth; 'twas not the better part; There is a wealth with poverty oft given. And thou didst teach me of the gold of heart-- Best gift of heaven. I thank thee, Lord, for these unanswered prayers, And for thy word, the quiet, kindly "Nay." 'Twas thy withholding lightened all my cares That blessed day. --Oliver Huckel. THE GLORIOUS MORN Open the shutters free and wide. And "glorify the room"; That no dark shadows here may bide-- That there be naught of gloom. What joy to breathe the morning air, And see the sun again; With living things God's love to share, In recompense for pain. --Henry Coyle. For all the evils under the sun There is some remedy or none; If there is one be sure to find it; If there is none, why, never mind it. EVENING PRAISE Again, O God, the night shuts down, Again I kneel to praise! Thy wisdom, love, and truth and power Have long made glad my days. And, now, with added gratitude, An evening hymn I raise. I take the attitude of prayer, But not for gifts to plead; Thy bounty, far beyond desert, Has more than met my need; So, well content, I worship Thee In thought and word and deed. Thou bidst me ask, if I'd receive, And seek, if I would find; But surely Thou wilt not condemn A heart to trust inclined. Give what is best; Thou knowest all. How blest the quiet mind! I praise thee that in all the hours And moments, as they glide, Thy providence enfoldeth close; Thy blessings rich abide; And Thou dost keep in perfect peace Those who in thee confide. I praise thee for what seemeth good, And for what seemeth ill. Appearances are vain deceits; Above them stands thy will; By faith, not sight, thy children walk, In hottest fire hold still. Accept the off'ring that I lay In gladness at thy feet; My heart o'erflows with keenest joy, With ecstacy complete. Because, in all vicissitudes, Thy constancy I greet. Thou wilt not cease to love me well, Nor fail to hold me fast; Though pain may come, it cannot harm; My care on thee is cast, For future good he'll surely send Who sent so sweet a past. Praise waits in Zion, Lord, for thee, Praise runs the world around; And so this little heart of mine Shall ne'er in gloom be found, Rejoicing that all days and nights May with thy praise resound. --James Mudge. GO TELL JESUS Bury thy sorrow, The world has its share; Bury it deeply, Hide it with care. Think of it calmly When curtained by night; Tell it to Jesus, And all will be right. Tell it to Jesus, He knoweth thy grief; Tell it to Jesus, He'll send thee relief. Gather the sunlight Aglow on thy way; Gather the moonbeams, Each soft silver ray. Hearts grown aweary With heavier woe, Droop 'mid the darkness-- Go comfort them, go! Bury thy sorrow, Let others be blest; Give them the sunshine, Tell Jesus the rest. WE WILL PRAISE THEE Great Jehovah! we will praise thee, Earth and heaven thy will obey; Suns and systems move obedient To thy universal sway. Deep and awful are thy counsels; High and glorious is thy throne; Reigning o'er thy vast dominion, Thou art God and thou alone. In thy wondrous condescension Thou hast stooped to raise our race; Thou hast given to us a Saviour, Full of goodness and of grace. By his blood we are forgiven, By his intercession free, By his love we rise to glory There to reign eternally. God of Power--we bow before thee; God of Wisdom--thee we praise; God of Love--so kind and tender, We would praise thee all our days. Praise to thee--our loving Father; Praise to thee--redeeming Son; Praise to thee--Almighty Spirit; Praise to thee--Thou Holy One. --John White. AFTER ALL We take our share of fretting, Of grieving and forgetting; The paths are often rough and steep, and heedless feet may fall; But yet the days are cheery, And night brings rest when weary And somehow this old planet is a good world after all. Though sharp may be our trouble, The joys are more than double, The brave surpass the cowards and the leal are like a wall To guard their dearest ever, To fail the feeblest never; And somehow this old earth remains a bright world after all. There's always love that's caring, And shielding and forbearing, Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep our hearts in thrall. There's home to share together In calm or stormy weather, And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good world after all. The lisp of children's voices, The chance of happy choices, The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through fogs and mists that call; The heaven that stretches o'er us, The better days before us, They all combine to make this earth a good world after all. --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster. Sound an anthem in your sorrows, Build a fortress of your fears; Throw a halo round your trials, Weave a rainbow of your tears. Never mind if shadows darken, Never fear though foes be strong; Lift your heads and shout hosannah! Praise the Lord, it won't be long. BE OF GOOD CHEER God is near thee, Christian; cheer thee, Rest in him, sad soul; He will keep thee when around thee Billows roll. Calm thy sadness, look in gladness To thy Friend on high; Faint and weary pilgrim, cheer thee; Help is nigh. Mark the sea-bird wildly wheeling Through the stormy skies; God defends him, God attends him When he cries. Fare thee onward through the sunshine Or through wintry blast; Fear forsake thee; God will take thee Home at last. PESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST This one sits shivering in Fortune's smile, Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath. This one, gnawed by hunger, all the while Laughs in the teeth of death. --Thomas Bailey Aldrich. PRAISE WAITETH FOR THEE They stand, the regal mountains, with crowns of spotless snow, Forever changeless, grand, sublime, while ages come and go! Each day the morning cometh in through the eastern gate, With trailing robes of pink and gold; yet still they watch and wait For that more glorious morning, till that glad message sounds-- "Lift up your heads, ye gates of God! the King of glory comes!" And so they stand o'erlooking earth's trouble, pain and sin, And wait the call to lift their gates and let the King come in. O calm, majestic mountains! O everlasting hills! Beside your patient watch how small seem all life's joys and ills! Beyond, the restless ocean, mysterious, vast, and dim, Whose changeful waves forever chant their grand triumphal hymn. Now tempest-lashed and raging, with deep and hungry roar, The foam-capped billows dash themselves in anger on the shore, Now wavelets ripple gently along the quiet strand, While summer's sunshine broodeth soft o'er all the sea and land. O mighty waves! as chainless, as free, as birds that skim! There's One who rules the stormy sea--thy song is all of him. And so in the shadowy forest the birds sing loud and sweet From swaying boughs where breezes rock their little broods to sleep. The golden cups of the cowslip spring from the mossy sod, And the sweet blue violet blooms alone--just for itself and God. It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea, The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me-- Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand; Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land. "The groves are God's own temples"; the wild birds sing his praise; And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays; For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small; His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all. We cannot make bargains for blisses, Nor catch them like fishes in nets; And sometimes the thing our life misses Helps more than the thing which it gets. For good lieth not in pursuing, Nor gaining of great nor of small, But just in the doing, and doing As we would be done by is all. --Alice Cary. DON'T TAKE IT TO HEART There's many a trouble Would break like a bubble, And into the waters of Lethe depart, Did we not rehearse it, And tenderly nurse it, And give it a permanent place in the heart. There's many a sorrow Would vanish to-morrow Were we but willing to furnish the wings; So sadly intruding, And quietly brooding, It hatches out all sorts of horrible things. How welcome the seeming Of looks that are beaming Whether one's wealthy or whether one's poor; Eyes bright as a berry, Cheeks red as a cherry, The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure. Resolve to be merry, All worry to ferry Across the famed waters which bid us forget, And no longer fearful, But happy and cheerful, We feel life has much that's worth living for yet. ALTHOUGH--YET Away! my unbelieving fear! Fear shall in me no more have place; My Saviour doth not yet appear, He hides the brightness of his face, But shall I therefore let him go, And basely to the tempter yield? No, in the strength of Jesus, no; I never will give up my shield. Although the vine its fruit deny, Although the olive yield no oil, The withering fig-trees droop and die, The fields elude the tiller's toil. The empty stall no herd afford, And perish all the bleating race, Yet will I triumph in the Lord-- The God of my salvation praise. --Charles Wesley. 'Tis impious in a good man to be sad. --Edward Young. AS A BIRD IN MEADOWS FAIR As a bird in meadows fair Or in lovely forest sings, Till it fills the summer air And the green wood sweetly rings, So my heart to thee would raise, O my God, its song of praise That the gloom of night is o'er And I see the sun once more. If thou, Sun of love, arise, All my heart with joy is stirred, And to greet thee upward flies, Gladsome as yon tiny bird. Shine thou in me, clear and bright, Till I learn to praise thee right; Guide me in the narrow way, Let me ne'er in darkness stray. Bless to-day whate'er I do; Bless whate'er I have and love; From the paths of virtue true Let me never, never rove; By thy spirit strengthen me In the faith that leads to Thee, Then, an heir of life on high, Fearless I may live and die. "HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL!" Pleased in the sunshine, pleased in the blast, Pleased when the heavens are all overcast, Pleased when I can or cannot see God's loving hand is dealing with me. Pleased, for Christ's promises never can fail; Pleased in the calm and also the gale; Knowing Omniscience at midnight can see, Since he was Pilot on dark Galilee. Pleased when in health or when I am ill, Pleased, since I know I'm in the Lord's will, Pleased with whatever my lot may be Knowing Omnipotence careth for me. Beneath the tiger's jaw I heard a victim cry, "Thanks, God, that, though in pain, yet not in guilt I die." --From the Persian. THE ROBIN'S SONG I'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way, Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up! Whenever you're blue find something to do For somebody else who is sadder than you. Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up! He growled at morning, noon, and night, And trouble sought to borrow; Although to-day the sky were bright He knew 'twould storm to-morrow; A thought of joy he could not stand, And struggled to resist it; Though sunshine dappled all the land This sorry pessi_mist_ it. --Nixon Waterman. Oh, be in God's clear world no dark and troubled sprite! To Christ, thy Master mild, do no such foul despite; But show in look, word, mien, that thou belongst to him, Who says, "My yoke is easy, and my burden light." --Friedrich Rückert. Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all around our path; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaff; Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand removing All the briars from our way. O give me the joy of living And some glorious work to do! A spirit of thanksgiving, With loyal heart and true; Some pathway to make brighter, Where tired feet now stray; Some burden to make lighter, While 'tis day. True happiness (if understood) Consists alone in doing good. Talk happiness each chance you get--and talk it good and strong! Look for it in the byways as you grimly pass along; Perhaps it is a stranger now whose visit never comes, But talk it! Soon you'll find that you and happiness are chums. 'Tis Being and Doing and Having that make All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake. To Be what God pleases, to Do a man's best, And to Have a good heart, is the way to be blest. If the weather is cold don't scold, If the weather is wet don't fret, If the weather is warm don't storm, If the weather is dry don't cry; But be cheerful together, whatever the weather. The inner side of every cloud Is bright and shining; Therefore I turn my clouds about, And always wear them inside out, To show the lining. --Ellen Thornycroft Fowler Felkin. Let him that loves his ease, his ease, Keep close and house him fair; He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger And the joy of the open air. --Richard Hovey. There is no human being With so wholly dark a lot, But the heart, by turning the picture, May find some sunny spot. Let us cry, All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more now Than flesh helps soul. --Robert Browning. AFFLICTION CONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE RESIGNATION There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair. The air is full of farewells to the dying And mourning for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted! Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call death. She is not dead--the child of our affection-- But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. * * * * * We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. MADE PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent To break my dream of human power; For now, my shallow cistern spent, I find thy founts, and thirst no more. I take Thy hand, and fears grow still; Behold thy face, and doubts remove; Who would not yield his wavering will To perfect Truth and boundless Love? That Love this restless soul doth teach The strength of thine eternal calm; And tune its sad but broken speech To join on earth the angel's psalm. Oh, be it patient in thy hands, And drawn, through each mysterious hour, To service of thy pure commands, The narrow way of Love and Power. --Samuel Johnson. GO NOT FAR FROM ME Go not far from me, O my strength, Whom all my times obey: Take from me any thing Thou wilt, But go not thou away-- And let the storm that does thy work Deal with me as it may. On thy compassion I repose, In weakness and distress; I will not ask for greater ease, Lest I should love Thee less. Oh 'tis a blessed thing for me To need thy tenderness. While many sympathizing hearts For my deliverance care, Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love, Art teaching me to bear-- By the sweet voice of thankful song, And calm, confiding prayer. Thy love has many a lighted path, No outward eye can trace, And my heart sees thee in the deep, With darkness on its face. And communes with thee, 'mid the storm, As in a secret place. O Comforter of God's redeemed, Whom the world does not see, What hand should pluck me from the flood That casts my soul on thee? Who would not suffer pain like mine To be consoled like me? When I am feeble as a child, And flesh and heart give way, Then on thy everlasting strength With passive trust I stay. And the rough wind becomes a song, The darkness shines like day. O blessed are the eyes that see-- Though silent anguish show-- The love that in their hours of sleep Unthanked may come and go. And blessed are the ears that hear, Though kept awake by woe. Happy are they that learn, in thee-- Though patient suffering teach-- The secret of enduring strength And praise too deep for speech: Peace that no pressure from without, No strife within, can reach. There is no death for me to fear, For Christ, my Lord, hath died; There is no curse in this my pain, For he was crucified. And it is fellowship with him That keeps me near his side. My heart is fixed--O God, my strength-- My heart is strong to bear; I will be joyful in thy love, And peaceful in thy care. Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake, According to his prayer. No suffering while it lasts is joy, How blest soe'er it be, Yet may the chastened child be glad His Father's face to see; And oh, it is not hard to bear What must be borne in thee. It is not hard to bear by faith, In thine own bosom laid, The trial of a soul redeemed, For thy rejoicing made. Well may the heart in patience rest That none can make afraid. Safe in thy sanctifying grace-- Almighty to restore-- Borne onward, sin and death behind, And love and life before, O let my soul abound in hope, And praise thee more and more. Deep unto deep may call, but I With peaceful heart will say-- Thy loving-kindness hath a charge No waves can take away; And let the storm that speeds me home Deal with me as it may. --Anna Letitia Waring. Walking along the shore one morn, A holy man by chance I found Who by a tiger had been torn And had no salve to heal his wound. Long time he suffered grievous pain, But not the less to the Most High He offered thanks. They asked him, Why? For answer he thanked God again; And then to them: "That I am in No greater peril than you see: That what has overtaken me Is but misfortune--and not sin." --Richard Henry Stoddard. THE CELESTIAL SURGEON If I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain; Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake; Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose thou, before that spirit die, A piercing pain, a killing sin, And to my dead heart run them in. --Robert Louis Stevenson. I ASKED THE LORD THAT I MIGHT GROW I asked the Lord that I might grow In faith and love and every grace; Might more of his salvation know, And seek more earnestly his face. 'Twas He who taught me thus to pray, And he, I trust, has answer'd prayer; But it has been in such a way As almost drove me to despair. I hop'd that in some favor'd hour At once he'd answer my request, And by his love's constraining power Subdue my sins and give me rest. Instead of this he made me feel The hidden evils of my heart, And let the angry powers of hell Assault my soul in ev'ry part. Yes, more: with his own hand he seem'd Intent to aggravate my woe, Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed, Blasted my gourds and laid them low. "Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried; "Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?" "'Tis in this way," the Lord replied, "I answer prayer for grace and faith. "These inward trials I employ From self and pride to set thee free, And break thy schemes of earthly joy That thou mayest set thine all in me!" --John Newton. "THOU MAINTAINEST MY LOT" Source of my life's refreshing springs, Whose presence in my heart sustains me, Thy love appoints me pleasant things, Thy mercy orders all that pains me. If loving hearts were never lonely, If all they wished might always be, Accepting what they look for only, They might be glad--but not in thee. Well may thy own beloved, who see In all their lot their Father's pleasure, Bear loss of all they love save thee, Their living, everlasting treasure. Well may thy happy children cease From restless wishes, prone to sin, And, in thine own exceeding peace, Yield to thy daily discipline. We need as much the cross we bear As air we breathe, as light we see! It draws us to thy side in prayer, It binds us to our strength in thee. --Anna Letitia Waring. THE MASTER'S TOUCH In the still air the music lies unheard; In the rough marble beauty hides unseen; To make the music and the beauty needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand; Let not the music that is in us die. Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let Hidden and lost thy form within us lie! Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt! Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred; Complete thy purpose that we may become Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord! --Horatius Bonar. The childish smile is fair, but lovelier far The smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are. --John Sterling. A BLESSING IN TEARS Home they brought her warrior dead; She nor swoon'd nor uttered cry. All her maidens, watching, said, "She must weep or she will die." Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend, and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee; Like summer tempest came her tears: "Sweet my child, I live for thee." --Alfred Tennyson. EVERY DAY O trifling task so often done, Yet ever to be done anew! O cares which come with every sun, Morn after morn, the long years through! We sink beneath their paltry sway-- The irksome calls of every day. The restless sense of wasted power, The tiresome round of little things, Are hard to bear, as hour by hour Its tedious iteration brings; Who shall evade or who delay The small demands of every day? The bowlder, in the torrent's course By tide and tempest lashed in vain, Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's force And yields its substance grain by grain; So crumble strongest lives away Beneath the wear of every day. Who finds the lion in his lair, Who tracks the tiger for his life May wound them ere they are aware, Or conquer them in desperate strife, Yet powerless he to scathe or slay The vexing gnats of every day. The steady strain that never stops Is mightier than the fiercest shock; The constant fall of water drops Will groove the adamantine rock; We feel our noblest powers decay In feeble wars with every day. We rise to meet a heavy blow-- Our souls a sudden bravery fills-- But we endure not always so The drop by drop of little ills; We still deplore, and still obey, The hard behests of every day. The heart which boldly faces death Upon the battle-field, and dares Cannon and bayonet, faints beneath The needle-points of frets and cares; The stoutest spirits they dismay-- The tiny stings of every day. And even saints of holy fame, Whose souls by faith have overcome, Who won amid the cruel flame The molten crown of martyrdom, Bore not without complaint alway The petty pains of every day. Ah, more than martyr's aureole, And more than hero's heart of fire, We need the humble strength of soul Which daily toils and ills require; Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may, An added grace for every day. PEACEABLE FRUIT (Heb. 12. 11.) What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord, For this dark and suffering night? Father, _what_ shall thine "afterward" be? Hast thou a morning of joy for me, And a new and joyous light? What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord, For the moan that I cannot stay? Shall it issue in some new song of praise, Sweeter than sorrowless heart could raise, When the night hath passed away? What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord, For this helplessness of pain? A clearer view of my home above, Of my Father's strength and my Father's love-- Shall _this_ be my lasting gain? What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord? How long must thy child endure? Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not! Thine "afterward" cometh--I cannot tell what, But I know that thy word is sure. What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord, I wonder--and wait to see (While to thy chastening hand I bow) What "peaceable fruit" may be ripening now-- Ripening fast for me! --Frances Ridley Havergal. HOW WE LEARN Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth, Such as men give and take from day to day, Comes in the common walk of easy life, Blown by the careless wind across our way. Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance, Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream; But grasped in the great struggle of the soul Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream. But in the day of conflict, fear and grief, When the strong hand of God, put forth in might, Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light, Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain, Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field. And the soul feels it has not wept in vain. --Horatius Bonar. Though trouble-tossed and torture-torn The kingliest kings are crowned with thorn. --Gerald Massey. HEAVIER THE CROSS Heavier the cross the stronger faith: The loaded palm strikes deeper root; The vine-juice sweetly issueth When men have pressed the clustered fruit; And courage grows where dangers come Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam. Heavier the cross the heartier prayer; The bruisèd herbs most fragrant are; If sky and wind were always fair The sailor would not watch the star; And David's psalms had ne'er been sung If grief his heart had never wrung. Heavier the cross the more aspiring; From vales we climb to mountain's crest; The pilgrim, of the desert tiring, Longs for the Canaan of his rest. The dove has here no rest in sight, And to the ark she wings her flight. Heavier the cross the easier dying; Death is a friendlier face to see; To life's decay one bids defying, From life's distress one then is free; The cross sublimely lifts our faith To him who triumphed over death. Thou Crucified! the cross I carry-- The longer may it dearer be; And, lest I faint while here I tarry, Implant thou such a heart in me That faith, hope, love, may flourish there Till for the cross my crown I wear. --Benjamin Schmolke. LA ROCHELLE A worthy man of Paris town Came to the bishop there: His face, o'erclouded with dismay, Betrayed a fixed despair. "Father," said he, "a sinner vile Am I, against my will: Each hour I humbly pray for faith, But am a doubter still. "Sure were I not despised of God, He would not leave me so To struggle thus in constant strife Against the deadly foe." The bishop to his sorrowing son Thus spoke a kind relief: "The King of France has castles twain; To each he sends a chief. "There's Montelhéry, far inland, That stands in place secure; While La Rochelle, upon the coast, Doth sieges oft endure. "Now for these castles--both preserved-- First in his prince's love Shall Montelhéry's chief be placed, Or La Rochelle's above?" "Oh! doubtless, sire," the sinner said, "That king will love the most The man whose task was hard to keep His castle on the coast!" "Son," said the bishop, "thou art right; Apply this reasoning well: My heart is Montelhéry fort, And thine is La Rochelle!" IF THOU COULD'ST KNOW I think, if thou could'st know, O soul, that will complain, What lies concealed below Our burden and our pain-- How just our anguish brings Nearer those longed-for things We seek for now in vain-- I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain. I think, if thou could'st see, With thy dim mortal sight, How meanings, dark to thee, Are shadows hiding light; Truth's efforts crossed and vexed, Life's purpose all perplexed-- If thou could'st see them right, I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright. And yet thou can'st not know; And yet thou can'st not see; Wisdom and sight are slow In poor humanity. If thou could'st _trust_, poor soul, In him who rules the whole, Thou would'st find peace and rest: Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best. MY CROSS "O Lord, my God!" I oft have said, "Had I some other cross instead Of this I bear from day to day, 'Twere easier to go on my way. "I do not murmur at its weight; That Thou hast made proportionate To my scant strength; but oh! full sore It presses where it pressed before. "Change for a space, however brief, The wonted burden, that relief May o'er my aching shoulders steal, And the deep bruise have room to heal!" While thus I sadly sighed to-day I heard my gracious Father say, "Can'st thou not trust my love, my child, And to thy cross be reconciled? "I fashioned it thy needs to meet; Nor were thy discipline complete Without that very pain and bruise Which thy weak heart would fain refuse." Ashamed, I answered, "As Thou wilt! I own my faithlessness and guilt; Welcome the weary pain shall be, Since only that is best for me." GOD KNOWETH BEST He took them from me, one by one, The things I set my heart upon; They looked so harmless, fair, and blest; Would they have hurt me? God knows best. He loves me so, he would not wrest Them from me if it were not best. He took them from me, one by one, The friends I set my heart upon. O did they come, they and their love, Between me and my Lord above? Were they as idols in my breast? It may be. God in heaven knows best. I will not say I did not weep, As doth a child that wants to keep The pleasant things in hurtful play His wiser parent takes away; But in this comfort I will rest: He who hath taken knoweth best. THE ONLY SOLACE O Thou who driest the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to thee! The friends who in our sunshine live When winter comes are flown; And he who has but tears to give Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal that broken heart Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe. O who could bear life's stormy doom Did not Thy wing of love Come brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above! Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day. --Thomas Moore. CONSOLATION If none were sick and none were sad What service could we render? I think if we were always glad We scarcely could be tender. Did our beloved never need Our patient ministration Earth would grow cold, and miss indeed Its sweetest consolation. If sorrow never claimed our heart, And every wish were granted, Patience would die and hope depart-- Life would be disenchanted. Banish far from me all I love, The smiles of friends, the old fireside, And drive me to that home of homes, The heart of Jesus crucified. Take all the light away from earth, Take all that men can love from me; Let all I lean upon give way, That I may lean on naught but Thee. --Frederick William Faber. PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING God never would send you the darkness If he felt you could bear the light; But you would not cling to his guiding hand If the way were always bright; And you would not care to walk by faith Could you always walk by sight. 'Tis true he has many an anguish For your sorrowful heart to bear, And many a cruel thorn-crown For your tired head to wear: He knows how few would reach heaven at all If pain did not guide them there. So he sends you the blinding darkness, And the furnace of seven-fold heat. 'Tis the only way, believe me, To keep you close to his feet, For 'tis always so easy to wander When our lives are glad and sweet. Then nestle your hand in your Father's And sing, if you can, as you go; Your song may cheer some one behind you Whose courage is sinking low. And--well--if your lips do quiver-- God will love you better so. A LITTLE PARABLE I made the cross myself whose weight Was later laid on me. This thought is torture as I toil Up life's steep Calvary. To think mine own hands drove the nails! I sang a merry song, And chose the heaviest wood I had To build it firm and strong. If I had guessed--if I had dreamed-- Its weight was meant for me, I should have made a lighter cross To bear up Calvary. --Anne Reeve Aldrich. The unpolished pearl can never shine-- 'Tis sorrow makes the soul divine. --From the Japanese, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. THE SOWER I A Sower went forth to sow; His eyes were dark with woe; He crushed the flowers beneath his feet, Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried By iron, and to heaven laid bare; He shook the seed that he carried O'er that brown and bladeless place. He shook it, as God shakes hail Over a doomèd land. When lightnings interlace The sky and the earth, and his wand Of love is a thunder-flail. Thus did that Sower sow; His seed was human blood, And tears of women and men. And I, who near him stood, Said: When the crop comes, then There will be sobbing and sighing, Weeping and wailing and crying, Flame, and ashes, and woe. II It was an autumn day When next I went that way. And what, think you, did I say, What was it that I heard, What music was in the air? The song of a sweet-voiced bird? Nay--but the songs of many Thrilled through with praise and prayer. Of all those voices not any Were sad of memory; But a sea of sunlight flowed, A golden harvest glowed, And I said, Thou only art wise, God of the earth and skies! And I praise thee, again and again, For the Sower whose name is Pain. --Richard Watson Gilder. Not disabled in the combat, No, nor absent from your post; You are doing gallant service Where the Master needs you most. It was noble to give battle While the world stood cheering on; It is nobler to lie patient, Leaving half one's work undone. And the King counts up his heroes Where the desperate charge was led, But he writes, "My Best Belovèd," Over many a sick man's bed. I DO NOT ASK, O LORD I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be A pleasant road; I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me Aught of its load. I do not ask that flowers should always spring Beneath my feet; I know too well the poison and the sting Of things too sweet. For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead: Lead me aright. Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed, Through peace to light. I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed Full radiance here; Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread Without a fear. I do not ask my cross to understand, My way to see; Better in darkness just to feel thy hand, And follow Thee. Joy is like restless day; but peace divine Like quiet night. Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine Through peace to light. --Adelaide Anne Procter. ANGELS OF GRIEF With silence only as their benediction God's angels come, Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb. Yet would we say, what every heart approveth, Our Father's will, Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth, Is mercy still. Not upon us or ours the solemn angel Hath evil wrought; The funeral anthem is a glad evangel-- The good die not! God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What he has given; They live on earth in thought and deed as truly As in his heaven. --John Greenleaf Whittier. FURNACE AND HAMMER Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers, God's breath upon the flame doth blow; And all my heart in anguish shivers And trembles at the fiery glow; And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_" And in his hottest fire stand still. He comes, and lays my heart, all heated, On the hard anvil, minded so Into his own fair shape to beat it With his great hammer, blow on blow; And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_" And at his heaviest blows hold still. He takes my softened heart and beats it; The sparks fly off at every blow; He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it, And lets it cool, and makes it glow; And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_" And in his mighty hand hold still. Why should I murmur? for the sorrow Thus only longer-lived would be; Its end may come, and will to-morrow, When God has done his work in me; So I say trusting--"_As God will!_" And, trusting to the end, hold still. --Julius Sturm. WITH SELF DISSATISFIED Not when with self dissatisfied, O Lord, I lowly lie, So much I need thy grace to guide, And thy reproving eye, As when the sound of human praise Grows pleasant to my ear, And in its light my broken ways Fair and complete appear. By failure and defeat made wise, We come to know, at length, What strength within our weakness lies, What weakness in our strength; What inward peace is born of strife What power of being spent; What wings unto our upward life Is noble discontent. O Lord, we need thy shaming look That burns all low desire; The discipline of thy rebuke Shall be refining fire! --Frederick Lucian Hosmer. TOO MUCH SELF Some evil upon Rabia fell; And one who loved and knew her well Murmured that God with pain undue Should strike a child so fond and true. But she replied, "Believe and trust That all I suffer is most just. I had, in contemplation, striven To realize the joys of heaven; I had extended fancy's flights Through all that region of delights, Had counted, till the numbers failed, The pleasures on the blest entailed. Had sounded the ecstatic rest I should enjoy on Allah's breast-- And for these thoughts I now atone; They were of something of my own, And were not thoughts of him alone." --From the Arabian. THE GAIN OF LOSS O thou so weary of thy self-denials, And so impatient of thy little cross, Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials, And count all earthly things a gainful loss? Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription, "Behold, we count them happy which endure"? What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, Repass the stormy water to secure? And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford? No hand can take away the treasure from us That rests within the keeping of the Lord. A STRANGE BOON Oft when of God we ask For fuller, happier life, He sets us some new task Involving care and strife; Is this the boon for which we sought? Has prayer new trouble on us brought? This is indeed the boon, Though strange to us it seems; We pierce the rock, and soon The blessing on us streams; For when we are the most athirst, Then the clear waters on us burst. We toil as in the field Wherein, to us unknown, A treasure lies concealed Which may be all our own. And shall we of the toil complain That speedily will bring such gain? We dig the wells of life, And God the waters gives; We win our way by strife, Then he within us lives; And only war could make us meet For peace so sacred and so sweet. --Thomas Toke Lynch. STILL HOPE! STILL ACT! Still hope! still act! Be sure that life The source and strength of every good, Wastes down in feeling's empty strife, And dies in dreaming's sickly mood. To toil in tasks however mean For all we know of right and true-- In this alone our worth is seen, 'Tis this we were ordained to do. So shalt thou find, in work and thought: The peace that sorrow cannot give; Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught, By thee let others nobler live. Oh, wait not in the darksome forest, Where thou must needs be left alone, But e'en when memory is sorest, Seek out a path and journey on! Thou wilt have angels near above By whom invisible aid is given; They journey still on tasks of love, And never rest except in heaven. --John Sterling. THEY SHALL NOT OVERFLOW In the floods of tribulation, While the billows o'er me roll, Jesus whispers consolation And supports my fainting soul; Sweet affliction That brings Jesus to my soul. Thus the lion yields me honey, From the eater food is given; Strengthened thus I still press forward, Singing on my way to heaven. Sweet affliction, Helping speed me on to heaven. So in darkest dispensations Doth my faithful Lord appear, With his richest consolations To reanimate and cheer; Sweet affliction, Thus to bring my Saviour near. Floods of tribulation heighten, Billows still around me roar; Those who know not Christ they frighten; But my soul defies their power: Sweet affliction, Thus to bring my Saviour near. In the sacred page recorded, Thus His word securely stands; "Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee, Naught shall pluck thee from my hands." Sweet affliction, Every word my love demands. All I meet, I find, assists me In my path to heavenly joy, Where, though trials now attend me, Trials never more annoy. Sweet affliction, Every promise gives me joy. Wearing there a weight of glory, Still the path I'll ne'