{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_28591/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_28591","id":"gutenberg_28591","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28591","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","English poetry"],"text":"E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Pilar Somoza Fernandez,\nand the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n(http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n   Spelling mistakes have been left in the text to match the original,\n   except for obvious typographical errors, which have been corrected.\n\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL\n\nCompiled and Edited by\n\nJAMES MUDGE\n\nRevised and Enlarged Edition\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Abingdon Press\nNew York        Cincinnati        Chicago\n\nCopyright, 1907, 1909, by\nEaton & Mains\n\nPrinted in the United States of America\n\nFirst Edition Printed November, 1907\nSecond Printing, March, 1909\nThird Printing, October, 1911\nFourth Printing, July, 1915\nFifth Printing, May, 1919\nSixth Printing, January, 1922\nSeventh Printing, April, 1925\nEighth Printing, March, 1928\nNinth Printing, October, 1930\nTenth Printing, September, 1934\n\n\n\n\n                       TO ALL\n              WHO ARE AT THE SAME TIME\n  LOVERS OF GOOD POETRY AND LOVERS OF GOOD CHARACTER,\n  DEVOTED TO GOD AND THEIR FELLOW-MEN, AS WELL AS TO\n     LITERATURE, THE COMPILER, WHO CLAIMS A LITTLE\n            PLACE IN THIS LARGE COMPANY,\n      DEDICATES THE RESULT OF HIS PLEASANT LABORS\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\nPREFACE                                                              vii\n\nSUBJECTS:\n\nHEROISM--CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH                              1\n\nCOURAGE--CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR                       14\n\nINDEPENDENCE--MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION              22\n\nGREATNESS--FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY                           28\n\nDUTY--LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL                         41\n\nSERVICE--USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR                               50\n\nBROTHERHOOD--CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE                    66\n\nCONSECRATION--SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY                            79\n\nPEACE--REST, CALM, STILLNESS                                          88\n\nHUMILITY--MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS                            95\n\nCONTENTMENT--RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION                     103\n\nASPIRATION--DESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH                             115\n\nPRAYER--WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION                                 123\n\nJOY--PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS                                 138\n\nAFFLICTION--CONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE                            149\n\nLOVE--DIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS                                 163\n\nHOPE--PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM                                 170\n\nFAITH--ASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF                                    177\n\nTRUST--GUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS                                    187\n\nGOD'S CARE--PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE              199\n\nGOD'S WILL--OBEDIENCE, DIVINE UNION                                  209\n\nGOD'S PRESENCE--POSSESSION, SATISFACTION, REFLECTION                 221\n\nJESUS--HIS PRECIOUSNESS, AND BEAUTY, AND LOVE                        233\n\nLIFE--TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER                       250\n\nAGE AND DEATH--MATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN                             267\n\nAPPENDIX--MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS                                   278\n\nINDEX TO AUTHORS                                                     288\n\nINDEX TO TITLES                                                      292\n\nINDEX TO FIRST LINES                                                 298\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it\na hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly\npractical end, the production of high personal character; and only those\npoems which have an immediate bearing in this direction have been\nadmitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this\nspecial line. There are fine hymnals, deservedly dear to the Church, but\nthey are necessarily devoted in large measure to institutional and\ntheological subjects, are adapted to the wants of the general\ncongregation and to purposes of song; while many poetical productions\nthat touch the heart the closest are for that very reason unsuited to\nthe hymnal. There are many anthologies and plentiful volumes of\nreligious poetry, but not one coming within our ken has been made up as\nthis has been. We have sought far and wide, through many libraries,\ncarefully conning hundreds of books and glancing through hundreds more,\nto find just those lines which would have the most tonic and stimulating\neffect in the direction of holier, nobler living. We have coveted verses\nwhose influence would be directly on daily life and would help to form\nthe very best habits of thought and conduct, which would have intrinsic\nspiritual value and elevating power; those whose immediate tendency\nwould be to make people better, toughening their moral fibre and helping\nthem heavenward; those which they could hardly read attentively without\nfeeling an impulse toward the things which are pure and true and\nhonorable and lovely and of good report, things virtuous and\npraiseworthy.\n\nIt is surprising to one who has not made the search how very many poets\nthere are whose voluminous and popular works yield nothing, or scarcely\nanything, of this sort. We have looked carefully through many scores of\nvolumes of poetry without finding a line that could be of the slightest\nuse in this collection. They were taken up altogether with other topics.\nThey contained many pretty conceits, pleasant descriptions, lovely or\nlively narrations--these in abundance, but words that would send the\nspirit heavenward, or even earthward with any added love for humanity,\nnot one. On the other hand, in papers and periodicals, even in books,\nare great multitudes of verses, unexceptionable in sentiment and helpful\nin influence, which bear so little of the true poetic afflatus, are so\ncareless in construction or so faulty in diction, so imperfect in rhyme\nor rhythm, so much mingled with colloquialisms or so hopelessly\ncommonplace in thought, as to be unworthy of a permanent place in a book\nlike this. They would not bear reading many times. They would offend a\nproperly educated taste. They would not so capture the ear as to linger\non the memory with compelling persistence, nor strike the intellect as\nan exceptional presentation of important truth. The combination of fine\nform and deep or inspiring thought is by no means common, but, when\nfound, very precious. We will not claim that this has been secured in\nall the poems here presented. Not all will approve our choice in all\nrespects. There is nothing in which tastes more differ than in matters\nof this kind. And we will admit that in some cases we have let\nin--because of the important truth which they so well voiced--stanzas\nnot fully up to the mark in point of poetic merit. Where it has not been\npossible to get the two desirable things together, as it has not always,\nwe have been more solicitous for the sentiment that would benefit than\nfor mere prettiness or perfection of form. Helpfulness has been the test\noftener than a high literary standard. The labored workmanship of the\nvessel has not weighed so much with us as its perfect fitness to convey\nthe water of life wherewith the thirsty soul of man has been or may be\nrefreshed. If poets are properly judged, as has been alleged, by the\nframe of mind they induce, then some who have not gained great literary\nfame may still hold up their heads and claim a worthy crown.\n\nSome poems fully within the scope of the book--like Longfellow's \"Psalm\nof Life\"--have been omitted because of their exceeding commonness and\ntheir accessibility. Many hymns of very high value--like \"Jesus, Lover\nof my soul,\" \"My faith looks up to thee,\" \"Nearer, my God, to thee,\"\n\"When all thy mercies, O my God,\" \"How firm a foundation\"--have also\nbeen omitted because they are found in all the hymnals, and to include\nthem would unduly swell the size of the book. A few others, although\nsimilarly familiar, like \"Jesus, I my cross have taken,\" and \"God moves\nin a mysterious way,\" have been inserted from a feeling that even yet\ntheir depth and richness are not properly appreciated and that they can\nnever be sufficiently pondered. A few poems we have been unable to\nprocure permission to use; but in nearly all cases we have met with most\ngenerous treatment from both authors and publishers owning copyrights,\nand we take this occasion to express our hearty thanks for the kindness\nafforded in the following instances:\n\n     Houghton, Mifflin & Company, for the use of the poems and stanzas\n     here found from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell,\n     John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell\n     Holmes, Edward Rowland Sill, Celia Thaxter, Caroline Atherton\n     Mason, Edna Dean Proctor, Edmund Clarence Stedman, John Burroughs,\n     John Hay, William Dean Howells, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Lucy Larcom,\n     Margaret E. Sangster, Francis Bret Harte, James Freeman Clarke,\n     Samuel Longfellow, Samuel Johnson, Christopher Pearse Cranch,\n     Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and John Vance\n     Cheney.\n\n     Little, Brown & Company, for poems by Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise\n     Chandler Moulton, William Rounseville Alger, \"Susan Coolidge\"\n     [Sarah Chauncey Woolsey], and John White Chadwick.\n\n     Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, for poems by Sam Walter Foss.\n\n     D. Appleton & Company, for poems by William Cullen Bryant.\n\n     T. Y. Crowell & Company, for poems by Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n     Charles Scribner's Sons, for poems by Josiah Gilbert Holland.\n\n     The Century Company, for poems by Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n     The Bobbs-Merrill Company, for poems by James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n     Harper & Brothers, for poems by Edward Sandford Martin.\n\n     Small, Maynard & Co., for poems by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.\n\n     The Rev. D. C. Knowles, for poems by Frederic Lawrence Knowles,\n     especially from \"Love Triumphant,\" published by Dana, Estes &\n     Company.\n\n     The Rev. Frederic Rowland Marvin, for poems from his \"Flowers of\n     Song from Many Lands.\"\n\n     Professor Amos R. Wells, for poems from his \"Just to Help.\"\n\n     Mr. Nixon Waterman, for poems from \"In Merry Mood,\" published by\n     Forbes & Co., of Chicago.\n\nThe selections from the above American authors are used by special\narrangements with the firms mentioned, who are the only authorized\npublishers of their works. Many other poems used have been found in\npapers or other places which gave no indication of the original source.\nIn spite of much effort to trace these things it is quite likely we have\nfailed in some cases to give due credit or obtain the usual permission;\nand we hope that if such omissions, due to ignorance or inadvertence,\nare noticed they will be pardoned. Many unknown writers have left behind\nthem some things of value, but their names have become detached from\nthem or perhaps never were appended. Many volumes consulted have been\nlong out of print.\n\nWe are glad to record our large indebtedness to the custodians of the\nBoston, Cambridge, Malden, Natick, Brookline, Jamaica Plain, Somerville,\nand Newton Public Libraries, the Boston Athenaeum, the Congregational\nLibrary, the General Theological Library, and the Library of Harvard\nCollege, for free access to their treasures.\n\nBy far the greater part of the contents are from British and other\nforeign authors, such as William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson, Robert\nBrowning, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, Mrs.\nS. F. Adams, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Mrs. Charles, Frances Ridley\nHavergal, Anna Letitia Waring, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Anne Procter, Mme.\nGuyon, Theodore Monod, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, William\nShakespeare, John Milton, George Gordon Byron, Robert Burns, William\nCowper, George Herbert, Robert Herrick, Francis Quarles, Frederick W.\nFaber, John Keble, Charles Kingsley, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,\nJohn Gay, Edward Young, Thomas Moore, John Newton, John Bunyan, H. Kirke\nWhite, Horatius Bonar, James Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Richard Baxter,\nNorman Macleod, George Heber, Richard Chenevix Trench, Henry Alford,\nCharles Mackay, Gerald Massey, Alfred Austin, Robert Louis Stevenson,\nArthur Hugh Clough, Henry Burton, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hartley\nColeridge, Joseph Anstice, George Macdonald, Robert Leighton, John Henry\nNewman, John Sterling, Edward H. Bickersteth, Dante Gabriel Rossetti,\nand many others. Of German authors there are not a few, including Johann\nW. von Goethe, Johann C. F. Schiller, George A. Neumarck, Paul Gerhardt,\nBenjamin Schmolke, S. C. Schoener, Scheffler, Karl Rudolf Hagenbach, S.\nRodigast, Novalis, Wolfgang C. Dessler, L. Gedicke, Martin Luther, and\nJohann G. von Herder.\n\nThe number of American poets drawn upon is small compared with this\nlist. It is the case in all such collections. According to an analysis\nof the hymns contained in the most widely used American hymnals down to\n1880 the average number of hymns of purely American origin was not quite\none in seven; the proportion would be a little larger now. And the\nnumber of Methodist poets is almost nil, in spite of the fact that the\ncompiler is a Methodist and the volume is issued from the official\nMethodist Publishing House. But if we thought that this would be any\nbarrier to its wide circulation in Methodist homes we should be deeply\nashamed for our church. We are confident it will not be. For mere\ndenominational tenets do not at all enter into these great matters of\nthe soul's life. A book like this speaks loudly for the real oneness,\nnot only of all branches of the Christian Church, but of all religions,\nin some respects. Not only do we find the various Protestant\ndenominations amply represented here; not only have we most inspiring\nwords from Roman Catholic writers like Francis Xavier, Madame Guyon,\nAlexander Pope, John Henry Newman, Frederick W. Faber, and Adelaide Anne\nProcter; but from Mohammedan sources, from Sufi saints of Persia, and\nthe Moslem devotees of Arabia, and even from Hinduism, there are\nutterances of noblest truth which we cannot read without a kindling\nheart. These are all brought together from the ends of the earth into a\ndelightful \"upper chamber,\" where the warring discords of opinion cease\nand an exceedingly precious peace prevails.\n\nIt should be said, though it is perhaps hardly necessary, that this is\nby no means a book to be read at a sitting. It furnishes very\nconcentrated nourishment. It can be taken with largest profit only a\nlittle at a time, according as the mood demands and circumstances\nappoint. There should be very much meditation mingled with the perusal,\nan attempt to penetrate the deep meaning of the lines and have them\nenter into the soul for practical benefit. Some of these hymns have\ngreat histories: they are the war cries of combatants on hard-fought\nbattle fields; they are living words of deep experience pressed out of\nthe heart by strong feeling; they are the embodiment of visions caught\non some Pisgah's glowing top. Here will be found and furnished hope for\nthe faint-hearted, rest for the weary, courage for the trembling, cheer\nfor the despondent, power for the weak, comfort for the afflicted,\nguidance in times of difficulty, wise counsel for moments of perplexity,\na stimulant to faithfulness, a cure for the blues, exhilaration,\njubilation. Everything of a depressing nature has been scrupulously\nruled out. The keynote, persistently followed through all the pages, is\noptimistic, bright, buoyant. Trumpet calls and bugle notes are furnished\nin abundance, but no dirges or elegies. Large space, it will be seen, is\ngiven to such topics as Heroism, True Greatness, the Care and Presence\nof God, the blessings of Brotherliness, the privilege of Service, the\npath of Peace, the secret of Contentment, the mission of Prayer, the joy\nof Jesus, the meaning of Life, the glory of Love, the promise of Faith,\nthe happy aspect of old Age and Death; for these subjects come very\nclose home to the heart, and are illustrated in daily experience. Anyone\nwho feels a special need in any of these directions is confidently\nrecommended to turn to the proper sections and read the selections.\n\nVery much that is here may easily and suitably be committed to memory,\nthat thus it may the more permanently penetrate into the inmost depth of\nbeing. It may be used with most telling effect in sermons to give point\nand pungency to the thought of the preacher. Alike in popular discourse\nand public testimony or in private meditation these gems of sentiment\nand thought will come into play with great advantage. The benefit which\nmay be derived from them can scarcely be overestimated. President Eliot,\nof Harvard University, has said: \"There are bits of poetry in my mind\nlearned in infancy that have stood by me in keeping me true to my ideas\nof duty and life. Rather than lose these I would have missed all the\nsermons I have ever heard.\" Many another can say substantially the same,\ncan trace his best deeds very largely to the influence of some little\nstanza or couplet early stored away in his memory and coming ever\nfreshly to mind in after years as the embodiment of truest wisdom.\n\nWe cannot guarantee in all cases the absolute correctness of the forms\nof the poems given, though much pains have been taken to ensure\naccuracy; but authors themselves make changes in their productions at\ndifferent times in different editions. Nor have we always been able to\ntrace the poem to its source. Slips and errors of various kinds can\nhardly be avoided in such matters. Even so competent an editor as John\nG. Whittier, in his \"Songs of Three Centuries,\" ascribes \"Love divine,\nall love excelling\" to that bitter Calvinist, Augustus M. Toplady,\ngiving it as the sole specimen of his verse; when it was really written\nby the ardent Arminian, Charles Wesley, with whom Toplady was on\nanything but friendly terms. If Whittier could make a blunder of this\nmagnitude we may be pardoned if possibly a keen-eyed critic spies\nsomething in our book almost as grossly incorrect. In some cases we have\nbeen obliged to change the titles of poems so as to avoid reduplication\nin our index, or to adapt them the better to the small extract taken\nfrom the much longer form in the original. In a few cases we have made\n(indicated) alterations in poems to fit them more fully to the purpose\nof the book.\n\nThe volume will be found not only a readable one, we think, but also an\nuncommonly useful one for presentation by those who would do good and\ngive gratification to their serious-minded friends with a taste for\nreligious poetry and a love for wandering in the \"holy land of song.\" He\nwho would put before another the essential elements of religion would do\nbetter to give him such a book as this than a treatise on theology. He\nwho would himself get a clear idea of what the religious life really is\nwill do better to pore over these pages than to dip into some\nphilosophical discussion. Here the best life is expressed rather than\nanalyzed, exhibited rather than explained. Mrs. Browning has well said,\n\"Plant a poet's word deep enough in any man's breast, looking presently\nfor offshoots, and you have done more for the man than if you dressed\nhim in a broadcloth coat and warmed his Sunday pottage at your fire.\" We\nwho, by preparing or circulating such volumes, aid the poets in finding\na larger circle to whom to give their message, may claim a part of the\nblessing which comes to those who in any way aid humanity. George\nHerbert has said,\n\n    \"A verse may find him who a sermon flies,\n    And turn delight into a sacrifice.\"\n\nHe himself most excellently illustrated the sentiment by bequeathing to\nthe world many beautiful verses that are sermons of the most picturesque\nsort.\n\nOne definition of poetry is \"a record of the best thoughts and best\nmoments of the best and happiest minds.\" This in itself would almost be\nsufficient to establish the connection between poetry and religion. It\nis certain that the two have very close and vital relations. Dr.\nWashington Gladden has admirably remarked, \"Poetry is indebted to\nreligion for its largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is\nindebted to poetry for its subtlest and most luminous interpretations.\"\nNo doubt a man may be truly, deeply religious who has little or no\ndevelopment on the aesthetic side, to whom poetry makes no special\nappeal. But it is certain that he whose soul is deaf to the \"concord of\nsweet sounds\" misses a mighty aid in the spiritual life. For a hymn is a\nwing by which the spirit soars above earthly cares and trials into a\npurer air and a clearer sunshine. Nothing can better scatter the devils\nof melancholy and gloom or doubt and fear. When praise and prayer, trust\nand love, faith and hope, and similar sentiments, have passed into and\nthrough some poet's passionate soul, until he has become so charged with\nthem that he has been able to fix them in a form of expression where\nbeauty is united to strength, where concentration and ornamentation are\nalike secured, then the deepest needs of great numbers are fully met.\nWhat was vague and dim is brought into light. What was only half\nconceived, and so but half felt, is made to grip the soul with power.\nPoetry is of the very highest value for the inspiration and guidance of\nlife, for calling out the emotions and opening up spiritual visions. It\ncarries truths not only into the understanding, but into the heart,\nwhere they are likely to have the most direct effect on conduct.\n\nIn the language of Robert Southey, I commit these pages to the Christian\npublic, with a sincere belief that much benefit will result to all who\nshall read them:\n\n    \"Go forth, little book, from this my solitude;\n      I cast thee on the waters,--go thy ways;\n    And if, as I believe, thy vein be good,\n      The world will find thee after many days.\n    Be it with thee according to thy worth;\n    Go, little book! in faith I send thee forth.\"\n\n                                                  JAMES MUDGE.\n  Malden, Mass.\n\n\n\n\nHEROISM\n\nCHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH\n\n\nTHE INEVITABLE\n\n    I like the man who faces what he must,\n      With step triumphant and a heart of cheer;\n      Who fights the daily battle without fear;\n    Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust\n    That God is God; that somehow, true and just,\n      His plans work out for mortals; not a tear\n      Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,\n    Falls from his grasp: better, with love, a crust\n      Than living in dishonor: envies not,\n    Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,\n      Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot,\n    But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest\n      To every toiler: he alone is great\n      Who by a life heroic conquers fate.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nDEFEATED YET TRIUMPHANT\n\n      They never fail who die\n    In a great cause. The block may soak their gore;\n    Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs\n    Be strung to city gates and castle walls;\n    But still their spirit walks abroad.\n      Though years\n    Elapse and others share as dark a doom,\n    They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts\n    Which overpower all others and conduct\n    The world, at last, to freedom.\n\n    --George Gordon Byron.\n\n\nA HERO GONE\n\n    He has done the work of a true man--\n      Crown him, honor him, love him;\n    Weep over him, tears of woman,\n      Stoop, manliest brows, above him!\n\n    For the warmest of hearts is frozen;\n      The freest of hands is still;\n    And the gap in our picked and chosen\n      The long years may not fill.\n\n    No duty could overtask him,\n      No need his will outrun:\n    Or ever our lips could ask him,\n      His hands the work had done.\n\n    He forgot his own life for others,\n      Himself to his neighbor lending.\n    Found the Lord in his suffering brothers,\n      And not in the clouds descending.\n\n    And he saw, ere his eye was darkened,\n      The sheaves of the harvest-bringing;\n    And knew, while his ear yet hearkened,\n      The voice of the reapers singing.\n\n    Never rode to the wrong's redressing\n      A worthier paladin.\n    He has heard the Master's blessing,\n      \"Good and faithful, enter in!\"\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nTHE CHARGE\n\n    They outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee?\n    Better men fared thus before thee;\n    Fired their ringing shot and pass'd,\n    Hotly charged--and sank at last.\n    Charge once more, then, and be dumb!\n    Let the victors, when they come,\n    When the forts of folly fall,\n    Find thy body by the wall!\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\nTHE REFORMER\n\n    Before the monstrous wrong he sets him down--\n    One man against a stone-walled city of sin.\n    For centuries those walls have been abuilding;\n    Smooth porphyry, they slope and coldly glass\n    The flying storm and wheeling sun. No chink,\n    No crevice, lets the thinnest arrow in.\n    He fights alone, and from the cloudy ramparts\n    A thousand evil faces gibe and jeer him.\n    Let him lie down and die: what is the right,\n    And where is justice, in a world like this?\n    But by and by earth shakes herself, impatient;\n    And down, in one great roar of ruin, crash\n    Watch-tower and citadel and battlements.\n    When the red dust has cleared, the lonely soldier\n    Stands with strange thoughts beneath the friendly stars.\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nLIFE AND DEATH\n\n    So he died for his faith. That is fine--\n      More than most of us do.\n    But, say, can you add to that line\n      That he lived for it, too?\n    In his death he bore witness at last\n      As a martyr to truth.\n    Did his life do the same in the past\n      From the days of his youth?\n    It is easy to die. Men have died\n      For a wish or a whim--\n    From bravado or passion or pride.\n      Was it harder for him?\n    But to live--every day to live out\n      All the truth that he dreamt,\n    While his friends met his conduct with doubt\n      And the world with contempt.\n    Was it thus that he plodded ahead,\n      Never turning aside?\n    Then we'll talk of the life that he lived.\n      Never mind how he died.\n\n    --Ernest Crosby.\n\n\nTHE RED PLANET MARS\n\n    The star of the unconquered will,\n      He rises in my breast,\n    Serene, and resolute, and still,\n      And calm, and self-possessed.\n\n    And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,\n      That readest this brief psalm,\n    As one by one thy hopes depart,\n      Be resolute and calm.\n\n    Oh, fear not in a world like this,\n      And thou shalt know erelong,--\n    Know how sublime a thing it is\n      To suffer and be strong.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nTHE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS PRAISE THEE\n\n    Not they alone who from the bitter strife\n      Came forth victorious, yielding willingly\n    That which they deem most precious, even life,\n      Content to suffer all things, Christ, for Thee;\n    Not they alone whose feet so firmly trod\n      The pathway ending in rack, sword and flame,\n    Foreseeing death, yet faithful to their Lord,\n      Enduring for His sake the pain and shame;\n    Not they alone have won the martyr's palm,\n    Not only from their life proceeds the eternal psalm.\n\n    For earth hath martyrs now, a saintly throng;\n      Each day unnoticed do we pass them by;\n    'Mid busy crowds they calmly move along,\n      Bearing a hidden cross, how patiently!\n    Not theirs the sudden anguish, swift and keen,\n      Their hearts are worn and wasted with small cares,\n    With daily griefs and thrusts from foes unseen;\n      Troubles and trials that take them unawares;\n    Theirs is a lingering, silent martyrdom;\n    They weep through weary years, and long for rest to come.\n\n    They weep, but murmur not; it is God's will,\n      And they have learned to bend their own to his;\n    Simply enduring, knowing that each ill\n      Is but the herald of some future bliss;\n    Striving and suffering, yet so silently\n      They know it least who seem to know them best.\n    Faithful and true through long adversity\n      They work and wait until God gives them rest;\n    These surely share with those of bygone days\n    The palm-branch and the crown, and swell their song of praise.\n\n\nTHE HAPPY WARRIOR\n\n    'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high,\n    Conspicuous object in a nation's eye,\n    Or left unthought of in obscurity,\n    Who, with a toward or untoward lot,\n    Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,--\n    Plays, in the many games of life, that one\n    Where what he most doth value must be won;\n    Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,\n    Nor thought of tender happiness betray;\n    Who, not content that former work stand fast,\n    Looks forward, persevering to the last,\n    From well to better, daily self-surpast;\n    Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth\n    Forever, and to noble deeds give birth,\n    Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,\n    And leave a dead, unprofitable name--\n    Finds comfort in himself and in his cause,\n    And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws\n    His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:\n    This is the happy warrior; this is he\n    That every man in arms should wish to be.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n    Aground the man who seeks a noble end\n    Not angels but divinities attend.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nROBERT BROWNING'S MESSAGE\n\n    Grow old along with me!\n    The best is yet to be,\n    The last of life, for which the first was made;\n    Our times are in His hand\n    Who saith, \"A whole I planned,\n    Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!\"\n\n    Poor vaunt of life indeed,\n    Were man but formed to feed\n    On joy, to solely seek and find and feast;\n    Such feasting ended, then\n    As sure an end to men:\n    Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?\n\n    Then welcome each rebuff\n    That turns earth's smoothness rough,\n    Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go!\n    Be our joys three parts pain!\n    Strive, and hold cheap the strain;\n    Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!\n\n    For thence--a paradox\n    Which comforts while it mocks--\n    Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:\n    What I aspired to be,\n    And was not, comforts me:\n    A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    Not on the vulgar mass\n    Called \"work\" must sentence pass,\n      Things done, that took the eye and had the price;\n    O'er which, from level stand,\n    The low world laid its hand,\n      Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice:\n\n    But all, the world's coarse thumb\n    And finger failed to plumb,\n      So passed in making up the main account;\n    All instincts immature,\n    All purposes unsure,\n      That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:\n\n    Thoughts hardly to be packed\n    Into a narrow act,\n      Fancies that broke through language and escaped;\n    All I could never be,\n    All, men ignored in me,\n      This I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    Fool! All that is, at all,\n    Lasts ever, past recall;\n      Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:\n    What entered into thee\n    _That_ was, is, and shall be:\n      Time's wheel runs back or stops; Potter and clay endure.\n\n    --From \"Rabbi Ben Ezra.\"\n\n\nTRUTH AND FALSEHOOD\n\n    Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,\n    In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;\n    Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,\n    Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,\n    And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.\n\n    Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record\n    One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;\n    Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne--\n    Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,\n    Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch, above his own.\n\n    Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,\n    Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just;\n    Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,\n    Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,\n    And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.\n\n    Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes--they were souls that stood alone\n    While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone;\n    Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline\n    To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,\n    By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design.\n\n    By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track,\n    Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,\n    And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned\n    One new word of that grand _Credo_ which in prophet-hearts hath burned\n    Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven\n      upturned.\n\n    For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands,\n    On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;\n    Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,\n    While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return\n    To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.\n\n    'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves\n    Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves;\n    Worshipers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;--\n    Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their\n      time?\n    Turn those tracks toward Past or Future that make Plymouth Rock\n      sublime?\n\n    They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires,\n    Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires;\n    Shall we make their creed our jailer? shall we in our haste to slay,\n    From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away\n    To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?\n\n    New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;\n    They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;\n    Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,\n    Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter\n      sea,\n    Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nCOLUMBUS\n\n    Behind him lay the gray Azores,\n      Behind the Gates of Hercules;\n    Before him not the ghost of shores,\n      Before him only shoreless seas.\n    The good mate said: \"Now, we must pray,\n      For lo! the very stars are _gone_,\n    Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?\"\n      \"Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'\"\n\n    \"My men grow mutinous day by day;\n      My men grow ghastly wan and weak.\"\n    The stout mate thought of home; a spray\n      Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.\n    \"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,\n      If we sight naught but seas at dawn?\"\n    \"Why, you shall say at break of day,\n      'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'\"\n\n    They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,\n      Until at last the blanched mate said:\n    \"Why, now not even God would know\n      Should I and all my men fall dead.\n    These very winds forget their way,\n      For God from these dread seas is gone.\n    Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say--\"\n      He said, \"Sail on! sail on! and on!\"\n\n    They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate:\n      \"This mad sea shows its teeth to-night.\n    He curls his lip, he lies in wait,\n      With lifted teeth, as if to bite!\n    Brave Admiral, say but one good word.\n      What shall we do when hope is gone?\"\n    The words leapt as a leaping sword,\n      \"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!\"\n\n    Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,\n      And peered through darkness. Ah, that night\n    Of all dark nights! And then a speck--\n      A light! A light! A light!\n    It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!\n      It grew to be Time's burst of dawn:\n    He gained a world; he gave that world\n      Its grandest lesson: \"On, and on!\"\n\n    --Joaquin Miller.\n\n\nTHE CHOSEN FEW\n\n    The Son of God goes forth to war,\n      A kingly crown to gain;\n    His blood-red banner streams afar;\n      Who follows in his train.\n\n    Who best can drink His cup of woe,\n      And triumph over pain,\n    Who patient bears His cross below--\n      He follows in His train.\n\n    A glorious band, the chosen few,\n      On whom the Spirit came;\n    Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,\n      And mocked the cross and flame.\n\n    They climbed the dizzy steep to heaven\n      Through peril, toil and pain;\n    O God! to us may grace be given\n      To follow in their train!\n\n    --Reginald Heber.\n\n\nHOW DID YOU DIE?\n\n    Did you tackle that trouble that came your way\n      With a resolute heart and cheerful,\n    Or hide your face from the light of day\n      With a craven soul and fearful?\n    O, a trouble is a ton, or a trouble is an ounce,\n      Or a trouble is what you make it,\n    And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,\n      But only--how did you take it?\n\n    You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?\n      Come up with a smiling face.\n    It's nothing against you to fall down flat,\n      But to lie there--that's disgrace.\n    The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce;\n      Be proud of your blackened eye!\n    It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;\n      It's how did you fight--and why?\n\n    And though you be done to the death, what then?\n      If you battled the best you could.\n    If you played your part in the world of men,\n      Why, the Critic will call it good.\n    Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce,\n      And whether he's slow or spry,\n    It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,\n      But only--how did you die?\n\n    --Edmund Vance Cooke.\n\n\nLUTHER\n\n    That which he knew he uttered,\n      Conviction made him strong;\n    And with undaunted courage\n      He faced and fought the wrong.\n    No power on earth could silence him\n      Whom love and faith made brave;\n    And though four hundred years have gone\n      Men strew with flowers his grave.\n\n    A frail child born to poverty,\n      A German miner's son;\n    A poor monk searching in his cell,\n      What honors he has won!\n    The nations crown him faithful,\n      A man whom truth made free;\n    God give us for these easier times\n      More men as real as he!\n\n    --Marianne Farningham.\n\n\nTHE MARTYRS\n\n    Flung to the heedless winds,\n      Or on the waters cast,\n    The martyrs' ashes, watched,\n      Shall gathered be at last;\n    And from that scattered dust,\n      Around us and abroad,\n    Shall spring a plenteous seed\n      Of witnesses for God.\n\n    The Father hath received\n      Their latest living breath;\n    And vain is Satan's boast\n      Of victory in their death;\n    Still, still, though dead, they speak,\n      And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim\n    To many a wakening land,\n      The one availing name.\n\n    --Martin Luther, tr. by John A. Messenger.\n\n\n    Stainless soldier on the walls,\n      Knowing this--and knows no more--\n    Whoever fights, whoever falls,\n      Justice conquers evermore,\n      Justice after as before;\n    And he who battles on her side,\n      God, though he were ten times slain,\n    Crowns him victor glorified,\n      Victor over death and pain.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nETERNAL JUSTICE\n\n    The man is thought a knave, or fool,\n      Or bigot, plotting crime,\n    Who, for the advancement of his kind,\n      Is wiser than his time.\n    For him the hemlock shall distil;\n      For him the axe be bared;\n    For him the gibbet shall be built;\n      For him the stake prepared.\n    Him shall the scorn and wrath of men\n      Pursue with deadly aim;\n    And malice, envy, spite, and lies,\n      Shall desecrate his name.\n    But Truth shall conquer at the last,\n      For round and round we run;\n    And ever the Right comes uppermost,\n      And ever is Justice done.\n\n    Pace through thy cell, old Socrates,\n      Cheerily to and fro;\n    Trust to the impulse of thy soul,\n      And let the poison flow.\n    They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay\n      That holds a light divine,\n    But they cannot quench the fire of thought\n      By any such deadly wine.\n    They cannot blot thy spoken words\n      From the memory of man\n    By all the poison ever was brewed\n      Since time its course began.\n    To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored,\n      For round and round we run,\n    And ever the Truth comes uppermost,\n      And ever is Justice done.\n\n    Plod in thy cave, gray anchorite;\n      Be wiser than thy peers;\n    Augment the range of human power,\n      And trust to coming years.\n    They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed,\n      And load thee with dispraise;\n    Thou wert born five hundred years too soon\n      For the comfort of thy days;\n    But not too soon for human kind.\n      Time hath reward in store;\n    And the demons of our sires become\n      The saints that we adore.\n    The blind can see, the slave is lord,\n      So round and round we run;\n    And ever the Wrong is proved to be wrong\n      And ever is Justice done.\n\n    Keep, Galileo, to thy thought,\n      And nerve thy soul to bear;\n    They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring\n      From the pangs of thy despair;\n    They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide\n      The sun's meridian glow;\n    The heel of a priest may tread thee down\n      And a tyrant work thee woe;\n    But never a truth has been destroyed;\n      They may curse it and call it crime;\n    Pervert and betray, or slander and slay\n      Its teachers for a time.\n    But the sunshine aye shall light the sky,\n      As round and round we run;\n    And the Truth shall ever come uppermost,\n      And Justice shall be done.\n\n    And live there now such men as these--\n      With thoughts like the great of old?\n    Many have died in their misery,\n      And left their thought untold;\n    And many live, and are ranked as mad,\n      And are placed in the cold world's ban,\n    For sending their bright, far-seeing souls\n      Three centuries in the van.\n    They toil in penury and grief,\n      Unknown, if not maligned;\n    Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn\n      Of the meanest of mankind!\n    But yet the world goes round and round,\n      And the genial seasons run;\n    And ever the Truth comes uppermost,\n      And ever is Justice done.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\n    We cannot kindle when we will\n      The fire which in the heart resides.\n    The spirit bloweth and is still;\n      In mystery our soul abides:\n    But tasks in hours of insight willed\n    Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.\n\n    With aching hands and bleeding feet\n      We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;\n    We bear the burden and the heat\n      Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.\n    Not till the hours of light return,\n    All we have built do we discern.\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\nWHAT MAKES A HERO?\n\n    What makes a hero?--not success, not fame,\n    Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim\n      Of glutted avarice--caps tossed up in air,\n      Or pen of journalist with flourish fair;\n    Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name--\n      These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare;\n    His rightful tribute, not his end or aim,\n      Or true reward; for never yet did these\n      Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease.\n    What makes a hero?--An heroic mind,\n    Expressed in action, in endurance proved.\n      And if there be preeminence of right,\n      Derived through pain well suffered, to the height\n    Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved\n    Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind,\n    Not the brute fury of barbarians blind,\n      But worse--ingratitude and poisonous darts,\n      Launched by the country he had served and loved.\n    This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure,\n    This, in the strength of silence to endure,\n      A dignity to noble deeds imparts\n      Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown;\n      This is the hero's complement and crown;\n    This missed, one struggle had been wanting still--\n    One glorious triumph of the heroic will,\n      One self-approval in his heart of hearts.\n\n    --Henry Taylor.\n\n\n    As the bird trims her to the gale\n      I trim myself to the storm of time;\n    I man the rudder, reef the sail,\n      Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime;\n    \"Lowly faithful banish fear,\n      Right onward drive unharmed;\n    The port, well worth the cruise, is near,\n      And every wave is charmed.\"\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nDEMAND FOR MEN\n\n    The world wants men--large-hearted, manly men;\n    Men who shall join its chorus and prolong\n    The psalm of labor, and the psalm of love.\n    The times want scholars--scholars who shall shape\n    The doubtful destinies of dubious years,\n    And land the ark that bears our country's good\n    Safe on some peaceful Ararat at last.\n    The age wants heroes--heroes who shall dare\n    To struggle in the solid ranks of truth;\n    To clutch the monster error by the throat;\n    To bear opinion to a loftier seat;\n    To blot the era of oppression out,\n    And lead a universal freedom on.\n    And heaven wants souls--fresh and capacious souls;\n    To taste its raptures, and expand, like flowers,\n    Beneath the glory of its central sun.\n    It wants fresh souls--not lean and shrivelled ones;\n    It wants fresh souls, my brother, give it thine.\n    If thou indeed wilt be what scholars should;\n    If thou wilt be a hero, and wilt strive\n    To help thy fellow and exalt thyself,\n    Thy feet at last shall stand on jasper floors;\n    Thy heart, at last, shall seem a thousand hearts--\n    Each single heart with myriad raptures filled--\n    While thou shalt sit with princes and with kings,\n    Rich in the jewel of a ransomed soul.\n\n\n    Blessed are they who die for God,\n      And earn the martyr's crown of light;\n    Yet he who lives for God may be\n      A greater conqueror in his sight.\n\n\n    Better to stem with heart and hand\n      The roaring tide of life than lie,\n    Unmindful, on its flowery strand,\n      Of God's occasions drifting by!\n\n\nTRUTH\n\n    Truth will prevail, though men abhor\n      The glory of its light;\n    And wage exterminating war\n      And put all foes to flight.\n\n    Though trodden under foot of men,\n      Truth from the dust will spring,\n    And from the press--the lip--the pen--\n      In tones of thunder ring.\n\n    Beware--beware, ye who resist\n      The light that beams around,\n    Lest, ere you look through error's mist,\n      Truth strike you to the ground.\n\n    --D. C. Colesworthy.\n\n\nTO A REFORMER\n\n    Nay, now, if these things that you yearn to teach\n      Bear wisdom, in your judgment, rich and strong,\n    Give voice to them though no man heed your speech,\n      Since right is right though all the world _go_ wrong.\n\n    The proof that you believe what you declare\n      Is that you still stand firm though throngs pass by;\n    Rather cry truth a lifetime to void air\n      Than flatter listening millions with one lie!\n\n    --Edgar Fawcett.\n\n\nTEACH ME THE TRUTH\n\n    Teach me the truth, Lord, though it put to flight\n      My cherished dreams and fondest fancy's play;\n    Give me to know the darkness from the light,\n        The night from day.\n\n    Teach me the truth, Lord, though my heart may break\n      In casting out the falsehood for the true;\n    Help me to take my shattered life and make\n        Its actions new.\n\n    Teach me the truth, Lord, though my feet may fear\n      The rocky path that opens out to me;\n    Rough it may be, but let the way be clear\n        That leads to thee.\n\n    Teach me the truth, Lord. When false creeds decay,\n      When man-made dogmas vanish with the night,\n    Then, Lord, on thee my darkened soul shall stay,\n        Thou living Light.\n\n    --Frances Lockwood Green.\n\n\nHEROISM\n\n    It takes great strength to train\n    To modern service your ancestral brain;\n    To lift the weight of the unnumbered years\n    Of dead men's habits, methods, and ideas;\n    To hold that back with one hand, and support\n    With the other the weak steps of the new thought.\n\n    It takes great strength to bring your life up square\n    With your accepted thought and hold it there;\n    Resisting the inertia that drags back\n    From new attempts to the old habit's track.\n    It is so easy to drift back, to sink;\n    So hard to live abreast of what you think.\n\n    It takes great strength to live where you belong\n    When other people think that you are wrong;\n    People you love, and who love you, and whose\n    Approval is a pleasure you would choose.\n    To bear this pressure and succeed at length\n    In living your belief--well, it takes strength,\n\n    And courage, too. But what does courage mean\n    Save strength to help you face a pain foreseen?\n    Courage to undertake this lifelong strain\n    Of setting yours against your grand-sire's brain;\n    Dangerous risk of walking lone and free\n    Out of the easy paths that used to be,\n    And the fierce pain of hurting those we love\n    When love meets truth, and truth must ride above.\n\n    But the best courage man has ever shown\n    Is daring to cut loose and think alone.\n    Dark are the unlit chambers of clear space\n    Where light shines back from no reflecting face.\n    Our sun's wide glare, our heaven's shining blue,\n    We owe to fog and dust they fumble through;\n    And our rich wisdom that we treasure so\n    Shines from the thousand things that we don't know.\n    But to think new--it takes a courage grim\n    As led Columbus over the world's rim.\n    To think it cost some courage. And to go--\n    Try it. It takes every power you know.\n\n    It takes great love to stir the human heart\n    To live beyond the others and apart.\n    A love that is not shallow, is not small,\n    Is not for one or two, but for them all.\n    Love that can wound love for its higher need;\n    Love that can leave love, though the heart may bleed;\n    Love that can lose love, family and friend,\n    Yet steadfastly live, loving, to the end.\n    A love that asks no answer, that can live\n    Moved by one burning, deathless force--to give.\n    Love, strength, and courage; courage, strength, and love.\n    The heroes of all time are built thereof.\n\n    --Charlotte Perkins Stetson.\n\n\nTO TRUTH\n\n    O star of truth down shining\n      Through clouds of doubt and fear,\n    I ask but 'neath your guidance\n      My pathway may appear.\n    However long the journey\n      How hard soe'er it be,\n    Though I be lone and weary,\n      Lead on, I'll follow thee.\n\n    I know thy blessed radiance\n      Can never lead astray,\n    However ancient custom\n      May trend some other way.\n    E'en if through untried deserts,\n      Or over trackless sea,\n    Though I be lone and weary,\n      Lead on, I'll follow thee.\n\n    The bleeding feet of martyrs\n      Thy toilsome road have trod.\n    But fires of human passion\n      May light the way to God.\n    Then, though my feet should falter,\n      While I thy beams can see,\n    Though I be lone and weary,\n      Lead on, I'll follow thee.\n\n    Though loving friends forsake me,\n      Or plead with me in tears--\n    Though angry foes may threaten\n      To shake my soul with fears--\n    Still to my high allegiance\n      I must not faithless be.\n    Through life or death, forever,\n      Lead on, I'll follow thee.\n\n    --Minot J. Savage.\n\n\nNOBLESSE OBLIGE\n\n    Not ours nobility of this world's giving\n      Granted by monarchs of some earthly throne;\n    Not this life only which is worth the living,\n      Nor honor here worth striving for alone.\n\n    Princes are we, and of a line right royal;\n      Heirs are we of a glorious realm above;\n    Yet bound to service humble, true, and loyal,\n      For thus constraineth us our Monarch's love.\n\n    And looking to the joy that lies before us,\n      The crown held out to our once fallen race;\n    Led by the light that ever shineth o'er us,\n      Man is restored to nature's noblest place.\n\n    _Noblesse oblige_--(our very watchword be it!)\n      To raise the fallen from this low estate,\n    To boldly combat wrong whene'er we see it,\n      To render good for evil, love for hate.\n\n    _Noblesse oblige_--to deeds of valiant daring\n      In alien lands which other lords obey,\n    And into farthest climes our standard bearing,\n      To lead them captive 'neath our Master's sway.\n\n    _Noblesse oblige_--that, grudging not our treasure,\n      Nor seeking any portion to withhold,\n    We freely give it, without stint or measure,\n      Whate'er it be--our talents, time, or gold.\n\n    _Noblesse oblige_--that, looking upward ever,\n      We serve our King with courage, faith, and love,\n    Till, through that grace which can from death deliver,\n      We claim our noble heritage above!\n\n\nOUR HEROES\n\n    The winds that once the Argo bore\n      Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines,\n    And her hull is the drift of the deep sea floor,\n      Though shaped of Pelion's tallest pines.\n    You may seek her crew in every isle,\n      Fair in the foam of Aegean seas,\n    But out of their sleep no charm can wile\n      Jason and Orpheus and Hercules.\n\n    And Priam's voice is heard no more\n      By windy Illium's sea-built walls;\n    From the washing wave and the lonely shore\n      No wail goes up as Hector falls.\n    On Ida's mount is the shining snow,\n      But Jove has gone from its brow away,\n    And red on the plain the poppies grow\n      Where Greek and Trojan fought that day.\n\n    Mother Earth! Are thy heroes dead?\n      Do they thrill the soul of the years no more?\n    Are the gleaming snows and the poppies red\n      All that is left of the brave of yore?\n    Are there none to fight as Theseus fought,\n      Far in the young world's misty dawn?\n    Or teach as the gray-haired Nestor taught?\n      Mother Earth! Are thy heroes gone?\n\n    Gone?--in a nobler form they rise;\n      Dead?--we may clasp their hands in ours,\n    And catch the light of their glorious eyes,\n      And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers.\n    Whenever a noble deed is done,\n      There are the souls of our heroes stirred;\n    Whenever a field for truth is won,\n      There are our heroes' voices heard.\n\n    Their armor rings in a fairer field\n      Than Greek or Trojan ever trod,\n    For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield,\n      And the light above them the smile of God!\n    So, in his Isle of calm delight,\n      Jason may dream the years away,\n    But the heroes live, and the skies are bright,\n      And the world is a braver world to-day.\n\n    --Edna Dean Proctor.\n\n\n    The hero is not fed on sweets,\n    Daily his own heart he eats;\n    Chambers of the great are jails,\n    And head winds right for royal sails.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nTRIUMPH OF THE MARTYRS\n\n    They seemed to die on battle-field,\n      To die with justice, truth, and law;\n    The bloody corpse, the broken shield,\n      Were all that senseless folly saw.\n    But, like Antaeus from the turf,\n      They sprung refreshed, to strive again,\n    Where'er the savage and the serf\n      Rise to the rank of men.\n\n    They seemed to die by sword and fire,\n      Their voices hushed in endless sleep;\n    Well might the noblest cause expire\n      Beneath that mangled, smouldering heap;\n    Yet that wan band, unarmed, defied\n      The legions of their pagan foes;\n    And in the truths they testified,\n      From out the ashes rose.\n\n\nWORTH WHILE\n\n    I pray thee, Lord, that when it comes to me\n    To say if I will follow truth and Thee,\n    Or choose instead to win, as better worth\n    My pains, some cloying recompense of earth--\n\n    Grant me, great Father, from a hard-fought field,\n    Forspent and bruised, upon a battered shield,\n    Home to obscure endurance to be borne\n    Rather than live my own mean gains to scorn.\n\n    --Edward Sandford Martin.\n\n\nWILL\n\n    O, well for him whose will is strong!\n    He suffers, but he will not suffer long;\n    He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong.\n    For him nor moves the loud world's random mock,\n    Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound,\n    Who seems a promontory of rock,\n    That, compassed round with turbulent sound,\n    In middle ocean meets the surging shock,\n    Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nNOBLE DEEDS\n\n    Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,\n    Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,\n        Our hearts in glad surprise,\n        To higher levels rise.\n\n    The tidal wave of deeper souls\n    Into our inmost being rolls,\n        And lifts us unawares\n        Out of all meaner cares.\n\n    Honor to those whose words or deeds\n    Thus help us in our daily needs,\n        And by their overflow\n        Raise us from what is low!\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nGOD'S HEROES\n\n    Not on the gory field of fame\n      Their noble deeds were done;\n    Not in the sound of earth's acclaim\n      Their fadeless crowns were won.\n    Not from the palaces of kings,\n      Nor fortune's sunny clime,\n    Came the great souls, whose life-work flings\n      Luster o'er earth and time.\n\n    For truth with tireless zeal they sought;\n      In joyless paths they trod--\n    Heedless of praise or blame they wrought,\n      And left the rest to God.\n    The lowliest sphere was not disdained;\n      Where love could soothe or save,\n    They went, by fearless faith sustained,\n      Nor knew their deeds were brave.\n\n    The foes with which they waged their strife\n      Were passion, self, and sin;\n    The victories that laureled life\n      Were fought and won within.\n    Not names in gold emblazoned here,\n      And great and good confessed,\n    In Heaven's immortal scroll appear\n      As noblest and as best.\n\n    No sculptured stone in stately temple\n      Proclaims their rugged lot;\n    Like Him who was their great example,\n      This vain world knew them not.\n    But though their names no poet wove\n      In deathless song or story,\n    Their record is inscribed above;\n      Their wreaths are crowns of glory.\n\n    --Edward Hartley Dewart.\n\n\nWORLDLY PLACE\n\n    \"Even in a palace, life may be led well!\"\n    So spoke the imperial sage, purest of men,\n    Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den\n    Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,\n    Our freedom for a little bread we sell,\n    And drudge under some foolish master's ken,\n    Who rates us if we peer outside our pen--\n    Matched with a palace, is not this a hell?\n    \"Even in a palace!\" On his truth sincere,\n    Who spoke these words no shadow ever came;\n    And when my ill-schooled spirit is aflame\n    Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win,\n    I'll stop and say: \"There were no succor here!\n    The aids to noble life are all within.\"\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\nTHE VICTORY\n\n    To do the tasks of life, and be not lost;\n      To mingle, yet dwell apart;\n    To be by roughest seas how rudely tossed,\n      Yet bate no jot of heart;\n\n    To hold thy course among the heavenly stars,\n      Yet dwell upon the earth;\n    To stand behind Fate's firm-laid prison bars,\n      Yet win all Freedom's worth.\n\n    --Sydney Henry Morse.\n\n\n    'Twere sweet indeed to close our eyes\n      with those we cherish near,\n    And wafted upward by their sighs soar\n      to some calmer sphere;\n    But whether on the scaffold high or\n      in the battle's van\n    The fittest place where man can die\n      is where he dies for man.\n\n    --Michael Joseph Barry.\n\n\nA TRUE HERO\n\n(James Braidwood of the London Fire Brigade; died June, 1861.)\n\n    Not at the battle front, writ of in story,\n    Not in the blazing wreck, steering to glory;\n\n    Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever,\n    Died he--this Hero now; hero forever.\n\n    No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him;\n    No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him;\n\n    Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty.\n    Only an honest man doing his duty;\n\n    Just a God-fearing man, simple and lowly,\n    Constant at kirk and hearth, kindly as holy;\n\n    Death found--and touched him with finger in flying--\n    Lo! he rose up complete--hero undying.\n\n    Now all men mourn for him, lovingly raise him,\n    Up from his life obscure, chronicle, praise him;\n\n    Tell his last act; done 'midst peril appalling,\n    And the last word of cheer from his lips falling;\n\n    Follow in multitudes to his grave's portal;\n    Leave him there, buried in honor immortal.\n\n    So many a Hero walks unseen beside us,\n    Till comes the supreme stroke sent to divide us.\n\n    Then the Lord calls his own--like this man, even,\n    Carried, Elijah-like, fire-winged, to heaven.\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\n    Unless above himself he can\n    Erect himself, how poor a thing is man.\n\n    --Samuel Daniel.\n\n\nBATTLES\n\n    Nay, not for place, but for the right,\n      To make this fair world fairer still--\n    Or lowly lily of the night,\n      Or sun topped tower of a hill,\n    Or high or low, or near or far,\n      Or dull or keen, or bright or dim,\n    Or blade of grass, or brightest star--\n      All, all are but the same to him.\n\n    O pity of the strife for place!\n      O pity of the strife for power!\n    How scarred, how marred a mountain's face!\n      How fair the face of a flower!\n    The blade of grass beneath your feet\n      The bravest sword--aye, braver far\n    To do and die in mute defeat\n      Than bravest conqueror of war!\n\n    When I am dead, say this, but this:\n      \"He grasped at no man's blade or shield.\n    Or banner bore, but helmetless,\n      Alone, unknown, he held the field;\n    He held the field, with sabre drawn,\n      Where God had set him in the fight;\n    He held the field, fought on and on,\n      And so fell, fighting for the right!\"\n\n    --Joaquin Miller.\n\n\n    While thus to love he gave his days\n    In loyal worship, scorning praise,\n    How spread their lures for him in vain,\n    Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain!\n    He thought it happier to be dead,\n    To die for Beauty than live for bread.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\n    Whether we climb, whether we plod,\n      Space for one task the scant years lend,\n    To choose some path that leads to God,\n      And keep it to the end.\n\n    --Lizette Woodworth Reese.\n\n\n    Bravely to do whate'er the time demands,\n      Whether with pen or sword, and not to flinch,\n    This is the task that fits heroic hands;\n      So are Truth's boundaries widened, inch by inch.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n\n\nCOURAGE\n\nCONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR\n\n\nTHE BATTLEFIELD\n\n    Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,\n      Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,\n    And fiery hearts and armed hands\n      Encountered in the battle cloud.\n\n    Ah! never shall the land forget\n      How gushed the life-blood of her brave--\n    Gushed, warm with life and courage yet,\n      Upon the soil they fought to save.\n\n    Now all is calm and fresh and still,\n      Alone the chirp of flitting bird,\n    And talks of children on the hill,\n      And bell of wandering kine are heard.\n\n    No solemn host goes trailing by\n      The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;\n    Men start not at the battle-cry;\n      Oh, be it never heard again!\n\n    Soon rested those who fought; but thou\n      Who minglest in the harder strife\n    For truths which men receive not now,\n      Thy warfare only ends with life.\n\n    A friendless warfare! lingering long\n      Through weary day and weary year;\n    A wild and many-weaponed throng\n      Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.\n\n    Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof.\n      And blench not at thy chosen lot;\n    The timid good may stand aloof,\n      The sage may frown--yet faint thou not.\n\n    Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,\n      The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;\n    For with thy side shall dwell at last\n      The victory of endurance born.\n\n    Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;\n      The eternal years of God are hers;\n    But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,\n      And dies among his worshipers.\n\n    Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,\n      When they who helped thee flee in fear,\n    Die full of hope and manly trust,\n      Like those who fell in battle here.\n\n    Another hand thy sword shall wield,\n      Another hand the standard wave,\n    Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed,\n      The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.\n\n    --William Cullen Bryant.\n\n\nDARE YOU?\n\n    Doubting Thomas and loving John,\n    Behind the others walking on:\n\n    \"Tell me now, John, dare you be\n    One of the minority?\n    To be lonely in your thought,\n    Never visited nor sought,\n    Shunned with secret shrug, to go\n    Through the world esteemed its foe;\n    To be singled out and hissed,\n    Pointed at as one unblessed,\n    Warned against in whispers faint,\n    Lest the children catch a taint;\n    To bear off your titles well,--\n    Heretic and infidel?\n    If you dare, come now with me,\n    Fearless, confident and free.\"\n\n    \"Thomas, do you dare to be\n    Of the great majority?\n    To be only, as the rest,\n    With Heaven's common comforts blessed;\n    To accept, in humble part,\n    Truth that shines on every heart;\n    Never to be set on high,\n    Where the envious curses fly;\n    Never name or fame to find,\n    Still outstripped in soul and mind;\n    To be hid, unless to God,\n    As one grass-blade in the sod;\n    Underfoot with millions trod?\n    If you dare, come with us, be\n    Lost in love's great unity.\"\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nSENSITIVENESS\n\n    Time was I shrank from what was right,\n      From fear of what was wrong;\n    I would not brave the sacred fight\n      Because the foe was strong.\n\n    But now I cast that finer sense\n      And sorer shame aside;\n    Such dread of sin was indolence,\n      Such aim at heaven was pride.\n\n    So when my Saviour calls I rise,\n      And calmly do my best;\n    Leaving to Him, with silent eyes\n      Of hope and fear, the rest.\n\n    I step, I mount, where He has led;\n      Men count my haltings o'er;\n    I know them; yet, though self I dread,\n      I love His precept more.\n\n    --John Henry Newman.\n\n\nCOURAGE\n\n    Because I hold it sinful to despond,\n      And will not let the bitterness of life\n    Blind me with burning tears, but look beyond\n      Its tumult and its strife;\n\n    Because I lift my head above the mist,\n      Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blow,\n    By every ray and every raindrop kissed\n      That God's love doth bestow;\n\n    Think you I find no bitterness at all?\n      No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack?\n    Think you there are no ready tears to fall\n      Because I keep them back?\n\n    Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve,\n      To curse myself and all who love me? Nay!\n    A thousand times more good than I deserve\n      God gives me every day.\n\n    And in each one of these rebellious tears\n      Kept bravely back He makes a rainbow shine;\n    Gratefully I take His slightest gift, no fears\n      Nor any doubts are mine.\n\n    Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past\n      One golden day redeems a weary year;\n    Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last\n      Will sound his voice of cheer.\n\n    Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be.\n      I must be glad and grateful to the end.\n    I grudge you not your cold and darkness,--me\n      The powers of light befriend.\n\n    --Celia Thaxter.\n\n\nDO AND BE BLEST\n\n    Dare to think, though others frown;\n      Dare in words your thoughts express;\n    Dare to rise, though oft cast down;\n      Dare the wronged and scorned to bless.\n\n    Dare from custom to depart;\n      Dare the priceless pearl possess;\n    Dare to wear it next your heart;\n      Dare, when others curse, to bless.\n\n    Dare forsake what you deem wrong;\n      Dare to walk in wisdom's way,\n    Dare to give where gifts belong,\n      Dare God's precepts to obey.\n\n    Do what conscience says is right,\n      Do what reason says is best,\n    Do with all your mind and might;\n      Do your duty and be blest.\n\n\nA PLACE WITH HIM\n\n    O tired worker, faltering on life's rugged way,\n      With faithful hands so full they may not rest,\n    Forget not that the weak of earth have one sure stay,\n      And humblest ones by God himself are blest,\n            Who work for Him!\n\n    Then courage take, faint heart! and though the path be long\n      God's simple rule thy steps will safely guide:--\n    \"Love Him, thy neighbor as thyself, and do no wrong\";\n      In calm content they all shall surely bide\n            Who walk with Him!\n\n    So banish every fear, each daily task take up,\n      God's grace thy failing strength shall build anew;\n    His mercy, in thy sorrows, stay the flowing cup:\n      And His great love keep for thy spirit true\n            A place with him!\n\n    --J. D. Seabury.\n\n\nGOD A FORTRESS\n\n    A mighty fortress is our God,\n      A bulwark never failing:\n    Our Helper, he, amid the flood\n      Of mortal ills prevailing.\n    For still our ancient foe\n    Doth seek to work us woe;\n    His craft and power are great,\n    And, armed with cruel hate,\n      On earth is not his equal.\n\n    Did we in our own strength confide,\n      Our striving would be losing;\n    Were not the right man on our side,\n      The man of God's own choosing.\n    Dost ask who that may be?\n    Christ Jesus, it is he;\n    Lord Sabaoth is his name,\n    From age to age the same,\n      And he must win the battle.\n\n    And though this world, with devils filled,\n      Should threaten to undo us;\n    We will not fear, for God hath willed\n      His truth to triumph through us.\n    The Prince of darkness grim--\n    We tremble not for him;\n    His rage we can endure,\n    For lo! his doom is sure,\n      One little word shall fell him.\n\n    That word above all earthly powers--\n      No thanks to them--abideth;\n    The Spirit and the gifts are ours\n      Through him who with us sideth.\n    Let goods and kindred go,\n    This mortal life also;\n    The body they may kill:\n    God's truth abideth still,\n      His kingdom is forever.\n\n    --Martin Luther, tr. by Frederick H. Hedge.\n\n\nSTRENGTH\n\n    Be strong to hope, O heart!\n      Though day is bright,\n    The stars can only shine\n      In the dark night.\n    Be strong, O heart of mine,\n      Look toward the light.\n\n    Be strong to bear, O heart!\n      Nothing is vain:\n    Strive not, for life is care,\n      And God sends pain.\n    Heaven is above, and there\n      Rest will remain.\n\n    Be strong to love, O heart!\n      Love knows not wrong;\n    Didst thou love creatures even,\n      Life were not long;\n    Didst thou love God in heaven\n      Thou wouldst be strong.\n\n\n    Why comes temptation but for man to meet\n    And master and make crouch beneath his foot,\n    And so be pedestaled in triumph? Pray,\n    \"Lead us into no such temptation, Lord!\"\n    Yea, but, O thou whose servants are the bold,\n    Lead such temptations by the head and hair,\n    Reluctant dragons, up to who dares fight,\n    That so he may do battle and have praise.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nBE JUST AND FEAR NOT\n\n    Speak thou the truth. Let others fence,\n      And trim their words for pay:\n    In pleasant sunshine of pretense\n      Let others bask their day.\n\n    Guard thou the fact; though clouds of night\n      Down on thy watch tower stoop:\n    Though thou shouldst see thine heart's delight\n      Borne from thee by their swoop.\n\n    Face thou the wind. Though safer seem\n      In shelter to abide:\n    We were not made to sit and dream:\n      The safe must first be tried.\n\n    Where God hath set His thorns about,\n      Cry not, \"The way is plain\":\n    His path within for those without\n      Is paved with toil and pain.\n\n    One fragment of His blessed Word,\n      Into thy spirit burned,\n    Is better than the whole half-heard\n      And by thine interest turned.\n\n    Show thou thy light. If conscience gleam,\n      Set not thy bushel down;\n    The smallest spark may send his beam\n      O'er hamlet, tower, and town.\n\n    Woe, woe to him, on safety bent,\n      Who creeps to age from youth,\n    Failing to grasp his life's intent\n      Because he fears the truth.\n\n    Be true to every inmost thought,\n      And as thy thought, thy speech:\n    What thou hast not by suffering bought,\n      Presume thou not to teach.\n\n    Hold on, hold on--thou hast the rock,\n      The foes are on the sand:\n    The first world tempest's ruthless shock\n      Scatters their drifting strand:\n\n    While each wild gust the mist shall clear\n      We now see darkly through,\n    And justified at last appear\n      The true, in Him that's True.\n\n    --Henry Alford.\n\n\nCOURAGE DEFINED\n\n    The brave man is not he who feels no fear,\n    For that were stupid and irrational;\n    But he whose noble soul its fear subdues,\n    And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.\n    As for your youth whom blood and blows delight,\n    Away with them! there is not in their crew\n    One valiant spirit.\n\n    --Joanna Baillie.\n\n\nDEMAND FOR COURAGE\n\n    Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art;\n    Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart\n    Thy two-edged weapon; patience is thy shield,\n    Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.\n    To be afraid to die, or wish for death,\n    Are words and passions of despairing breath.\n    Who doth the first the day doth faintly yield;\n    And who the second basely flies the field.\n\n    --Francis Quarles.\n\n\n    When falls the hour of evil chance--\n      And hours of evil chance will fall--\n    Strike, though with but a broken lance!\n      Strike, though you have no lance at all!\n\n    Shrink not, however great the odds;\n      Shrink not, however dark the hour--\n    The barest possibility of good\n      Demands your utmost power.\n\n\n    They are slaves who fear to speak\n    For the fallen and the weak;\n    They are slaves who will not choose\n    Hatred, scoffing and abuse,\n    Rather than in silence shrink\n    From the truth they needs must think;\n    They are slaves who dare not be\n    In the right with two or three.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nTRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT\n\n    Courage, brother, do not stumble,\n      Though thy path be dark as night;\n    There's a star to guide the humble--\n      Trust in God and do the right.\n    Though the road be long and dreary,\n      And the end be out of sight;\n    Foot it bravely, strong or weary--\n      Trust in God and do the right.\n\n    Perish \"policy\" and cunning,\n      Perish all that fears the light;\n    Whether losing, whether winning,\n      Trust in God and do the right.\n    Shun all forms of guilty passion,\n      Fiends can look like angels bright;\n    Heed no custom, school, or fashion--\n      Trust in God and do the right.\n\n    Some will hate thee, some will love thee,\n      Some will flatter, some will slight;\n    Cease from man and look above thee,\n      Trust in God and do the right.\n    Simple rule and safest guiding--\n      Inward peace and shining light--\n    Star upon our path abiding--\n      TRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT.\n\n    --Norman Macleod.\n\n\nTHE PRESENT CRISIS\n\n    We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful time.\n    In an age on ages telling to be living is sublime.\n    Hark! the waking up of nations; Gog and Magog to the fray.\n    Hark! what soundeth? 'Tis creation groaning for its latter day.\n\n    Will ye play, then, will ye dally, with your music and your wine?\n    Up! it is Jehovah's rally; God's own arm hath need of thine;\n    Hark! the onset! will ye fold your faith-clad arms in lazy lock?\n    Up! O up, thou drowsy soldier! Worlds are charging to the shock.\n\n    Worlds are charging--heaven beholding; thou hast but an hour to fight;\n    Now the blazoned cross unfolding, on, right onward for the right!\n    On! let all the soul within you for the truth's sake go abroad!\n    Strike! let every nerve and sinew tell on ages; tell for God!\n\n    --Arthur Cleveland Coxe.\n\n\nBRAVERY\n\n    We will speak on; we will be heard;\n      Though all earth's systems crack,\n    We will not bate a single word,\n      Nor take a letter back.\n\n    We speak the truth; and what care we\n      For hissing and for scorn\n    While some faint gleaming we can see\n      Of Freedom's coming morn!\n\n    Let liars fear; let cowards shrink;\n      Let traitors turn away;\n    Whatever we have dared to think,\n      That dare we also say.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nNO ENEMIES\n\n    He has no enemies, you say?\n      My friend, your boast is poor;\n    He who hath mingled in the fray\n      Of duty, that the brave endure,\n    Must have made foes. If he has none\n    Small is the work that he has done.\n    He has hit no traitor on the hip;\n    He has cast no cup from tempted lip;\n    He has never turned the wrong to right;\n    He has been a coward in the fight.\n\n\n    One deed may mar a life,\n      And one can make it.\n    Hold firm thy will for strife,\n      Lest a quick blow break it!\n    Even now from far, on viewless wing,\n    Hither speeds the nameless thing\n      Shall put thy spirit to the test.\n    Haply or e'er yon sinking sun\n      Shall drop behind the purple West\n    All shall be lost--or won!\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n    In spite of sorrow, loss, and pain,\n      Our course be onward still;\n    We sow on Burmah's barren plain,\n      We reap on Zion's hill.\n\n    --Adoniram Judson.\n\n\n    I find no foeman in the road but Fear.\n    To doubt is failure and to dare success.\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nDARE TO DO RIGHT\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    You have a work that no other can do,\n    Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,\n    Angels will hasten the story to tell.\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    Other men's failures can never save you;\n    Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;\n    Stand like a hero, and battle till death.\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    God, who created you, cares for you too;\n    Treasures the tears that his striving ones shed,\n    Counts and protects every hair of your head.\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    Keep the great judgment-seat always in view;\n    Look at your work as you'll look at it then--\n    Scanned by Jehovah, and angels, and men.\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    Cannot Omnipotence carry you through?\n    City, and mansion, and throne all in sight--\n    Can you not dare to be true and do right?\n\n    Dare to do right! dare to be true!\n    Prayerfully, lovingly, firmly pursue\n    The path by apostles and martyrs once trod,\n    The path of the just to the city of God.\n\n    --George Lansing Taylor.\n\n\nPLUCK WINS\n\n    Pluck wins! It always wins! though days be slow,\n    And nights be dark 'twixt days that come and go,\n    Still pluck will win; its average is sure,\n    He gains the prize who will the most endure;\n    Who faces issues; he who never shirks;\n    Who waits and watches, and who always works.\n\n\nBE NEVER DISCOURAGED\n\n    Be never discouraged!\n      Look up and look on;\n    When the prospect is darkest\n      The cloud is withdrawn.\n    The shadows that blacken\n      The earth and the sky,\n    Speak to the strong-hearted,\n      Salvation is nigh.\n\n    Be never discouraged!\n      If you would secure\n    The earth's richest blessings,\n      And make heaven sure,\n    Yield not in the battle,\n      Nor quail in the blast;\n    The brave and unyielding\n      Win nobly at last.\n\n    Be never discouraged!\n      By day and by night\n    Have glory in prospect\n      And wisdom in sight;\n    Undaunted and faithful,\n      You never will fail,\n    Though kingdoms oppose you\n      And devils assail.\n\n    --D. C. Colesworthy.\n\n\nNEVER SAY FAIL\n\n    Keep pushing--'tis wiser than sitting aside\n    And dreaming and sighing and waiting the tide.\n    In life's earnest battle they only prevail\n    Who daily march onward, and never say fail.\n\n    With an eye ever open, a tongue that's not dumb,\n    And a heart that will never to sorrow succumb,\n    You'll battle--and conquer, though thousands assail;\n    How strong and how mighty, who never say fail.\n\n    In life's rosy morning, in manhood's firm pride,\n    Let this be the motto your footsteps to guide:\n    In storm and in sunshine, whatever assail,\n    We'll onward and conquer, and never say fail.\n\n\nONLY ONE WAY\n\n    However the battle is ended,\n      Though proudly the victor comes,\n    With fluttering flags and prancing nags\n      And echoing roll of drums,\n    Still truth proclaims this motto,\n      In letters of living light:\n    No question is ever settled\n      Until it is settled right.\n\n    Though the heel of the strong oppressor\n      May grind the weak in the dust,\n    And the voices of fame with one acclaim\n      May call him great and just,\n    Let those who applaud take warning,\n      And keep this motto in sight:\n    No question is ever settled\n      Until it is settled right.\n\n    Let those who have failed take courage;\n      Though the enemy seemed to have won,\n    Though his ranks are strong, if in the wrong\n      The battle is not yet done.\n    For, sure as the morning follows\n      The darkest hour of the night,\n    No question is ever settled\n      Until it is settled right.\n\n\nFORTITUDE AMID TRIALS\n\n    O, never from thy tempted heart\n    Let thine integrity depart!\n    When Disappointment fills thy cup,\n    Undaunted, nobly drink it up;\n    Truth will prevail and Justice show\n    Her tardy honors, sure, though slow.\n          Bear on--bear bravely on!\n\n    Bear on! Our life is not a dream,\n    Though often such its mazes seem;\n    We were not born for lives of ease,\n    Ourselves alone to aid and please.\n    To each a daily task is given,\n    A labor which shall fit for Heaven;\n    When Duty calls, let Love grow warm;\n    Amid the sunshine and the storm,\n    With Faith life's trials boldly breast,\n    And come a conqueror to thy rest.\n          Bear on--bear bravely on!\n\n\n    He that feeds men serveth few;\n    He serves all who dares be true.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nPLUCK\n\n    Be firm. One constant element in luck\n    Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck.\n    See yon tall shaft? It felt the earthquake's thrill,\n    Clung to its base, and greets the sunlight still.\n\n    Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip,\n    But only crow-bars loose the bulldog's grip;\n    Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields\n    Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields.\n\n    Yet, in opinions look not always back;\n    Your wake is nothing,--mind the coming track;\n    Leave what you've done for what you have to do,\n    Don't be \"consistent,\" but be simply true.\n\n    --Oliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n\n    Do thy little; do it well;\n    Do what right and reason tell;\n    Do what wrong and sorrow claim:\n    Conquer sin and cover shame.\n    Do thy little, though it be\n    Dreariness and drudgery;\n    They whom Christ apostles made\n    Gathered fragments when he bade.\n\n\n    Is the work difficult?\n      Jesus directs thee.\n    Is the path dangerous?\n      Jesus protects thee.\n\n    Fear not and falter not;\n      Let the word cheer thee:\n    All through the coming year\n      He will be near thee.\n\n\n    Well to suffer is divine.\n    Pass the watchword down the line\n      Pass the countersign, Endure!\n    Not to him who rashly dares,\n    But to him who nobly bears,\n      Is the victor's garland sure.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    If thou canst plan a noble deed\n    And never flag till thou succeed,\n    Though in the strife thy heart shall bleed,\n    Whatever obstacles control,\n    Thine hour will come; go on, true soul!\n    Thou'lt win the prize; thou'lt reach the goal.\n\n\n    I honor the man who is willing to sink\n    Half his present repute for freedom to think;\n    And when he has that, be his cause strong or weak,\n    Will risk t'other half for freedom to speak.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    The word is great, and no deed is greater\n      When both are of God, to follow or lead;\n    But alas! for the truth when the word comes later,\n      With questioned steps, to sustain the deed.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n    Stand upright, speak thy thought, declare\n      The truth thou hast that all may share;\n    Be bold, proclaim it everywhere;\n      They only live who dare.\n\n    --Lewis Morris.\n\n\n    There is no duty patent in the world\n    Like daring try be good and true myself,\n    Leaving the shows of things to the Lord of show\n    And Prince o' the power of the air.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Tender-handed stroke a nettle,\n    And it stings you for your pains;\n    Grasp it like a man of mettle,\n      And it soft as silk remains.\n\n    --Aaron Hill (1685-1750).\n\n\n    On the red rampart's slippery swell,\n    With heart that beat a charge, he fell\n      Foeward, as fits a man;\n    But the high soul burns on to light men's feet\n    Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    I do not ask that Thou shalt front the fray.\n      And drive the warring foeman from my sight:\n    I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day,\n      Strength for the fight!\n\n\n    No coward soul is mine,\n    No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere;\n    I see Heaven's glories shine,\n      And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.\n\n    --Emily Bronte.\n\n\n      You will find that luck\n      Is only pluck\n    To try things over and over;\n      Patience and skill,\n      Courage and will,\n    Are the four leaves of luck's clover.\n\n\n                    The chivalry\n    That dares the right and disregards alike\n    The yea and nay o' the world.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    God has his best things for the few\n      Who dare to stand the test;\n    He has his second choice for those\n      Who will not have his best.\n\n\n    Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie;\n    A fault which needs it most grows two thereby.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\n\n\nINDEPENDENCE\n\nMANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION\n\n\nWANTED\n\n    God give us men! A time like this demands\n    Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands;\n    Men whom the lust of office does not kill;\n      Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;\n    Men who possess opinions and a will;\n      Men who have honor--men who will not lie.\n    Men who can stand before a demagogue\n      And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking;\n    Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog\n      In public duty and in private thinking;\n    For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds,\n    Their large professions and their little deeds,\n    Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps,\n    Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps.\n\n    --Josiah Gilbert Holland.\n\n\nTO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE\n\n    By thine own soul's law learn to live,\n      And if men thwart thee take no heed;\n    And if men hate thee have no care;\n      Sing thou thy song, and do thy deed;\n    Hope thou thy hope, and pray thy prayer,\n      And claim no crown they will not give,\n    Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair.\n\n    Keep thou thy soul-won, steadfast oath,\n      And to thy heart be true thy heart;\n    What thy soul teaches learn to know,\n      And play out thine appointed part,\n    And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow,\n      Nor helped nor hardened in thy growth,\n    To thy full stature thou shalt grow.\n\n    Fix on the future's goal thy face,\n      And let thy feet be lured to stray\n    Nowhither, but be swift to run,\n      And nowhere tarry by the way,\n    Until at last the end is won,\n      And thou mayst look back from thy place\n    And see thy long day's journey done.\n\n    --Pakenham Beatty.\n\n\nLORD OF HIMSELF\n\n    How happy is he born and taught\n      That serveth not another's will;\n    Whose armor is his honest thought,\n      And simple truth his utmost skill.\n\n    Whose passions not his masters are,\n      Whose soul is still prepared for death;\n    Not tied unto the world with care\n      Of public fame or private breath.\n\n    Who envies none that chance doth raise,\n      Or vice; who never understood\n    How deepest wounds are given by praise,\n      Nor rules of state but rules of good.\n\n    Who hath his life from rumors freed,\n      Whose conscience is his strong retreat;\n    Whose state can neither flatterers feed,\n      Nor ruin make accusers great.\n\n    Who God doth late and early pray\n      More of his grace than gifts to lend;\n    And entertains the harmless day\n      With a well-chosen book or friend.\n\n    This man is freed from servile bands,\n      Of hope to rise or fear to fall;\n    Lord of himself, though not of lands,\n      And having nothing, yet hath all.\n\n    --Henry Wotton.\n\n\n    High above hate I dwell;\n    O storms, farewell!\n\n\nUNCONQUERED\n\n    Out of the night that covers me,\n      Black as the pit from pole to pole,\n    I thank whatever gods may be\n      For my unconquerable soul.\n\n    Beyond this place of wrath and tears\n      Looms but the horror of the shade,\n    And yet the menace of the years\n      Finds and shall find me unafraid.\n\n    In the fell clutch of circumstance\n      I have not winced nor cried aloud;\n    Under the bludgeonings of chance\n      My head is bloody, but unbowed.\n\n    It matters not how strait the gate,\n      How charged with punishments the scroll;\n    I am the master of my fate,\n      I am the captain of my soul.\n\n    --William Ernest Henley.\n\n\nRELIGION AND DOCTRINE\n\n    He stood before the Sanhedrim:\n    The scowling rabbis gazed at him.\n    He recked not of their praise or blame;\n    There was no fear, there was no shame,\n    For one upon whose dazzled eyes\n    The whole world poured its vast surprise.\n    The open heaven was far too near\n    His first day's light too sweet and clear,\n    To let him waste his new-gained ken\n    On the hate-clouded face of men.\n\n    But still they questioned, Who art thou?\n    What hast thou been? What art thou now?\n    Thou art not he who yesterday\n    Sat here and begged beside the way,\n    For he was blind.\n                            \"_And I am he;\n    For I was blind, but now I see._\"\n\n    He told the story o'er and o'er;\n    It was his full heart's only lore;\n    A prophet on the Sabbath day\n    Had touched his sightless eyes with clay,\n    And made him see who had been blind,\n    Their words passed by him like the wind\n    Which raves and howls, but cannot shock\n    The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.\n\n    Their threats and fury all went wide;\n    They could not touch his Hebrew pride.\n    Their sneers at Jesus and his band,\n    Nameless and homeless in the land,\n    Their boasts of Moses and his Lord,\n    All could not change him by one word.\n\n    \"_I know not what this man may be,\n    Sinner or saint; but as for me\n    One thing I know: that I am he\n    Who once was blind, and now I see._\"\n\n    They were all doctors of renown,\n    The great men of a famous town\n    With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise\n    Beneath their wide phylacteries;\n    The wisdom of the East was theirs,\n    And honor crowned their silvery hairs.\n    The man they jeered, and laughed to scorn\n    Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born;\n    But he knew better far than they\n    What came to him that Sabbath day;\n    And what the Christ had done for him\n    He knew, and not the Sanhedrim.\n\n    --John Hay.\n\n\nTHE OLD STOIC\n\n    Riches I hold in light esteem,\n      And Love I laugh to scorn;\n    And lust of fame was but a dream,\n      That vanished with the morn.\n\n    And, if I pray, the only prayer\n      That moves my lips for me\n    Is, \"Leave the heart that now I bear,\n      And give me liberty!\"\n\n    Yes, as my swift days near their goal,\n      'Tis all that I implore,\n    In life and death a chainless soul\n      And courage to endure.\n\n    --Emily Bronte.\n\n\n    Keep to the right, within and without,\n      With stranger and pilgrim and friend;\n    Keep to the right and you need have no doubt\n      That all will be well in the end.\n    Keep to the right in whatever you do,\n      Nor claim but your own on the way;\n    Keep to the right, and hold on to the true,\n      From the morn to the close of life's day!\n\n\nFOR A' THAT\n\n    Is there for honest poverty\n      That hangs his head, and a' that?\n    The coward slave, we pass him by,\n      We dare be poor for a' that;\n      For a' that and a' that;\n      Our toils obscure and a' that;\n    The rank is but the guinea-stamp,\n      The man's the gowd for a' that.\n\n    What though on hamely fare we dine,\n      Wear hodden gray, and a' that:\n    Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine,\n      A man's a man for a' that;\n      For a' that and a' that,\n      Their tinsel show, and a' that,\n    The honest man, though e'er sae poor,\n      Is king o' men, for a' that.\n\n    You see yon birkie ca'd a lord,\n      Wha struts and stares, and a' that:\n    Though hundreds worship at his word\n      He's but a coof for a' that.\n      For a' that and a' that,\n      His riband, star, and a' that,\n    The man of independent mind,\n      He looks and laughs at a' that.\n\n    A prince can mak a belted knight,\n      A marquis, duke, and a' that;\n    But an honest man's aboon his might,\n      Guid faith, he mauna fa' that,\n      For a' that and a' that,\n      Their dignities, and a' that,\n    The pith of sense and pride o' worth,\n      Are higher ranks than a' that.\n\n    Then let us pray that come it may,\n      As come it will, for a' that,\n    That sense and worth o'er a' the earth,\n      May bear the gree and a' that;\n      For a' that and a' that,\n      It's comin' yet for a' that,\n    That man to man, the warld o'er,\n      Shall brothers be, for a' that.\n\n    --Robert Burns.\n\n\n    Stone walls do not a prison make,\n      Nor iron bars a cage;\n    Minds innocent and quiet take\n      That for a hermitage;\n    If I have freedom in my love,\n      And in my soul am free,\n    Angels alone, that soar above,\n      Enjoy such liberty.\n\n    --Richard Lovelace.\n\n\n\"A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT\"\n\n(A new song to an old tune.)\n\n    \"A man's a man,\" says Robert Burns,\n      \"For a' that and a' that\";\n    But though the song be clear and strong\n      It lacks a note for a' that.\n    The lout who'd shirk his daily work,\n      Yet claim his wage and a' that,\n    Or beg when he might earn his bread,\n      Is _not_ a man for a' that.\n\n    If all who \"dine on homely fare\"\n      Were true and brave and a' that,\n    And none whose garb is \"hodden gray\"\n      Was fool or knave and a' that,\n    The vice and crime that shame our time\n      Would disappear and a' that,\n    And plowmen be as great as kings,\n      And churls as earls for a' that.\n\n    But 'tis not so; yon brawny fool,\n      Who swaggers, swears, and a' that,\n    And thinks because his strong right arm\n      Might fell an ox, and a' that,\n    That he's as noble, man for man,\n      As duke or lord, and a' that,\n    Is but an animal at best\n      But _not_ a man for a' that.\n\n    A man may own a large estate,\n      Have palace, park, and a' that,\n    And not for birth, but honest worth,\n      Be thrice a man for a' that.\n    And Sawnie, herding on the moor,\n      Who beats his wife and a' that,\n    Is nothing but a brutal boor,\n      Nor half a man for a' that.\n\n    It comes to this, dear Robert Burns,\n      The truth is old, and a' that,\n    The rank _is_ but the guinea's stamp,\n      The man's the gowd for a' that.\n    And though you'd put the self-same mark\n      On copper, brass, and a' that,\n    The lie is gross, the cheat is plain,\n      And will not pass for a' that.\n\n    \"For a' that and a' that\"\n      'Tis soul and heart and a' that\n    That makes a king a gentleman,\n      And not his crown for a' that.\n    And whether he be rich or poor\n      The best is he, for a' that,\n    Who stands erect in self-respect,\n      And acts the man for a' that.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\nESSE QUAM VIDERI\n\n    The knightly legend on thy shield betrays\n      The moral of thy life; a forecast wise,\n      And that large honor that deceit defies,\n    Inspired thy fathers in the elder days,\n    Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase,\n      _To be, rather than seem._ As eve's red skies\n      Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies,\n    Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays,\n    Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend.\n      The ever-mutable multitude at last\n    Will hail the power they did not comprehend--\n    Thy fame will broaden through the centuries;\n      As, storm and billowy tumult overpast,\n    The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas.\n\n    --John Hay.\n\n\nTHE HIGHER LAW\n\n    Man was not made for forms, but forms for man,\n      And there are times when law itself must bend\n    To that clear spirit always in the van,\n      Outspeeding human justice. In the end\n    Potentates, not humanity, must fall.\n      Water will find its level, fire will burn,\n    The winds must blow around the earthly ball,\n      The earthly ball by day and night must turn;\n    Freedom is typed in every element,\n      Man must be free, if not through law, why then\n    Above the law, until its force be spent\n      And justice brings a better. But, O, when,\n    Father of Light, when shall the reckoning come\n    To lift the weak, and strike the oppressor dumb.\n\n    --Christopher Pearse Cranch.\n\n\n    What I am, what I am not, in the eye\n    Of the world, is what I never cared for much.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nI RESOLVE\n\n    To keep my health;\n    To do my work;\n    To live;\n    To see to it that I grow and gain and give;\n    Never to look behind me for an hour;\n    To wait in meekness, and to walk in power;\n    But always fronting onward, to the light,\n    Always and always facing toward the right.\n    Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide-astray--\n    On, with what strength I have--\n    Back to the way.\n\n    --Charlotte Perkins Stetson.\n\n\nIN MYSELF\n\n    I do not ask for any crown\n      But that which all may win;\n    Nor try to conquer any world\n      Except the one within.\n    Be thou my guide until I find\n      Led by a tender hand,\n    The happy kingdom in myself\n      And dare to take command.\n\n    --Louisa May Alcott.\n\n\nHIDE NOT THY HEART\n\n    This is my creed,\n    This is my deed:\n    \"Hide not thy heart!\"\n    Soon we depart;\n    Mortals are all;\n      A breath, then the pall;\n    A flash on the dark--\n    All's done--stiff and stark.\n    No time for a lie;\n    The truth, and then die.\n    Hide not thy heart!\n\n    Forth with thy thought!\n    Soon 'twill be naught,\n    And thou in thy tomb.\n    Now is air, now is room.\n    Down with false shame;\n    Reck not of fame;\n    Dread not man's spite;\n    Quench not thy light.\n    This be thy creed,\n    This be thy deed:\n    \"Hide not thy heart!\"\n\n    If God is, he made\n    Sunshine and shade,\n    Heaven and hell;\n    This we know well.\n    Dost thou believe?\n    Do not deceive;\n    Scorn not thy faith--\n    If 'tis a wraith\n    Soon it will fly.\n    Thou who must die,\n    Hide not thy heart!\n\n    This is my creed,\n    This be my deed:\n    Faith, or a doubt,\n    I shall speak out--\n    And hide not my heart.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\nA GENTLEMAN\n\n(Psa. XV.)\n\n    'Tis he whose every thought and deed\n      By rule of virtue moves;\n    Whose generous tongue disdains to speak\n      The thing his heart disproves.\n\n    Who never did a slander forge\n      His neighbor's fame to wound;\n    Nor hearken to a false report\n      By malice whispered round.\n\n    Who vice in all its pomp and power\n      Can treat with just neglect;\n    And piety, though clothed in rags,\n      Religiously respect.\n\n    Who to his plighted word of truth\n      Has ever firmly stood;\n    And, though he promised to his loss,\n      Still makes his promise good.\n\n    Whose soul in usury disdains\n      His treasure to employ;\n    Whom no reward can ever bribe\n      The guiltless to destroy.\n\n\n    I hold it as a changeless law,\n      From which no soul can sway or swerve,\n    We have that in us which will draw\n      Whate'er we need or most deserve.\n\n\nBE TRUE THYSELF\n\n    Thou must be true thyself\n      If thou the truth wouldst teach;\n    Thy soul must overflow if thou\n      Another's soul wouldst reach.\n    It needs the overflow of heart\n      To give the lips full speech.\n\n    Think truly, and thy thoughts\n      Shall the world's famine feed;\n    Speak truly, and each word of thine\n      Shall be a fruitful seed;\n    Live truly, and thy life shall be\n      A great and noble creed.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\n    Keep pure thy soul!\n    Then shalt thou take the whole\n    Of delight;\n    Then, without a pang,\n    Thine shall be all of beauty whereof the poet sang--\n    The perfume and the pageant, the melody, the mirth,\n    Of the golden day and the starry night;\n    Of heaven and of earth.\n    Oh, keep pure thy soul!\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n    Somebody did a golden deed;\n    Somebody proved a friend in need;\n    Somebody sang a beautiful song;\n    Somebody smiled the whole daylong;\n    Somebody thought, \"'Tis sweet to live.\"\n    Somebody said, \"I'm glad to give\";\n    Somebody fought a valiant fight;\n    Somebody lived to shield the right;\n      Was it you?\n\n\n    Then draw we nearer, day by day,\n      Each to his brethren, all to God;\n    Let the world take us as she may,\n      We must not change our road;\n    Not wondering, though in grief, to find\n    The martyr's foe still keep her mind;\n    But fixed to hold Love's banner fast,\n    And by submission win at last.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\n    Knowing, what all experience serves to show,\n    No mud can soil us but the mud we throw.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    Be no imitator; freshly act thy part;\n      Through this world be thou an independent ranger;\n    Better is the faith that springeth from thy heart\n      Than a better faith belonging to a stranger.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    None but one can harm you,\n    None but yourself who are your greatest foe,\n    He that respects himself is safe from others,\n    He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    And some innative weakness there must be\n    In him that condescends to victory\n    Such as the _present_ gives, and cannot wait--\n    Safe in himself as in a fate.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    To be the thing we seem,\n    To do the thing we deem\n      Enjoined by duty;\n    To walk in faith, nor dream\n    Of questioning God's scheme\n      Of truth and beauty.\n\n\n    To live by law, acting the law we live by without fear,\n    And, because right is right, to follow right,\n    Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    Though love repine, and reason chafe,\n      There came a voice without reply:\n    \"'Tis man's perdition to be safe,\n      When for the truth he ought to die.\"\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\n    Whatever you are--be that;\n    Whatever you say--be true;\n      Straightforwardly act--\n      Be honest--in fact\n    Be nobody else but you.\n\n\n    If thou _hast_ something, bring thy goods;\n      A fair exchange be thine!\n    If thou _art_ something, bring thy soul,\n      And interchange with mine.\n\n    --Schiller, tr. by Edward Bulwer Lytton.\n\n\n    However others act toward thee,\n      Act thou toward them as seemeth right;\n    And whatsoever others be,\n      Be thou the child of love and light.\n\n\n    This above all: to thine own self be true,\n    And it must follow, as the night the day,\n    Thou canst not then be false to any man.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    My time is short enough at best,\n      I push right onward while I may;\n    I open to the winds my breast,\n      And walk the way.\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\n    Not in the clamor of the crowded street,\n      Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,\n    But in ourselves are triumph and defeat.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    It becomes no man to nurse despair,\n    But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms\n    To follow up the worthiest till he die.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n\n\nGREATNESS\n\nFAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY\n\n\nA GREAT MAN\n\n    That man is great, and he alone,\n    Who serves a greatness not his own,\n      For neither praise nor pelf;\n    Content to know and be unknown:\n      Whole in himself.\n\n    Strong is that man, he only strong,\n    To whose well-ordered will belong,\n      For service and delight,\n    All powers that, in the face of Wrong,\n      Establish Right.\n\n    And free is he, and only he,\n    Who, from his tyrant passions free,\n      By Fortune undismayed,\n    Hath power upon himself, to be\n      By himself obeyed.\n\n    If such a man there be, where'er\n    Beneath the sun and moon he fare,\n      He cannot fare amiss;\n    Great Nature hath him in her care,\n      Her cause is his;\n\n    Who holds by everlasting law\n    Which neither chance nor change can flaw,\n      Whose steadfast course is one\n    With whatsoever forces draw\n      The ages on;\n\n    Who hath not bowed his honest head\n    To base Occasion; nor, in dread\n      Of Duty, shunned her eye;\n    Nor truckled to loud times; nor wed\n      His heart to a lie;\n\n    Nor feared to follow, in the offense\n    Of false opinion, his own sense\n      Of justice unsubdued;\n    Nor shrunk from any consequence\n      Of doing good;\n\n    He looks his Angel in the face\n    Without a blush; nor heeds disgrace\n      Whom naught disgraceful done\n    Disgraces. Who knows nothing base\n      Fears nothing known.\n\n    Not morseled out from day to day\n    In feverish wishes, nor the prey\n      Of hours that have no plan,\n    His life is whole, to give away\n      To God and man.\n\n    For though he live aloof from ken,\n    The world's unwitnessed denizen,\n      The love within him stirs\n    Abroad, and with the hearts of men\n      His own confers.\n\n    The judge upon the justice-seat;\n    The brown-backed beggar in the street;\n      The spinner in the sun;\n    The reapers reaping in the wheat;\n      The wan-cheeked nun\n\n    In cloisters cold; the prisoner lean\n    In lightless den, the robed queen;\n      Even the youth who waits,\n    Hiding the knife, to glide unseen\n      Between the gates--\n\n    He nothing human alien deems\n    Unto himself, nor disesteems\n      Man's meanest claim upon him.\n    And where he walks the mere sunbeams\n      Drop blessings on him.\n\n    Because they know him Nature's friend,\n    One whom she doth delight to tend\n      With loving kindness ever:\n    Helping and heartening to the end\n      His high endeavor.\n\n    --Edward Bulwer Lytton.\n\n\nFAME AND DUTY\n\n    What shall I do lest life in silence pass?\n      \"And if it do,\n    And never prompt the bray of noisy brass,\n      What need'st thou rue?\n    Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute--\n      The shallows roar;\n    Worth is the ocean--fame is but the bruit\n      Along the shore.\"\n\n    What shall I do to be forever known?\n      \"Thy duty ever!\"\n    This did full many who yet slept unknown.\n      \"O never, never!\n    Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown\n      Whom thou know'st not?\n    By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown--\n      Divine their lot.\"\n\n    What shall I do, an heir of endless life?\n      \"Discharge aright\n    The simple dues with which each day is rife,\n      Yea, with thy might.\n    Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise\n      Will life be fled,\n    While he who ever acts as conscience cries,\n      Shall live, though dead.\"\n\n    --Johann C. F. Schiller.\n\n\nNOBLE LIVES\n\n    There are hearts which never falter\n      In the battle for the right;\n    There are ranks which never alter\n      Watching through the darkest night;\n    And the agony of sharing\n      In the fiercest of the strife\n    Only gives a nobler daring,\n      Only makes a grander life.\n\n    There are those who never weary\n      Bearing suffering and wrong;\n    Though the way is long and dreary\n      It is vocal with their song,\n    While their spirits in God's furnace,\n      Bending to His gracious will,\n    Are fashioned in a purer mold\n      By His loving, matchless skill.\n\n    There are those whose loving mission\n      'Tis to bind the bleeding heart;\n    And to teach a calm submission\n      When the pain and sorrow smart.\n    They are angels, bearing to us\n      Love's rich ministry of peace,\n    While the night is nearing to us\n      When life's bitter trials cease.\n\n    There are those who battle slander,\n      Envy, jealousy and hate;\n    Who would rather die than pander\n      To the passions of earth's great;\n    No earthly power can ever crush them,\n      They dread not the tyrant's frown;\n    Fear or favor cannot hush them,\n      Nothing bind their spirits down.\n\n    These, these alone are truly great;\n    These are the conquerors of fate;\n    These truly live, they never die;\n    But, clothed with immortality,\n    When they lay their armor down\n    Shall enter and receive the crown.\n\n\nTHE HIGHER LIFE\n\n    To play through life a perfect part,\n      Unnoticed and unknown;\n    To seek no rest in any heart\n      Save only God alone;\n    In little things to own no will.\n      To have no share in great;\n    To find the labor ready still\n      And for the crown to wait.\n\n    Upon the brow to bear no trace\n      Of more than common care;\n    To write no secret in the face\n      For men to read it there;\n    The daily cross to clasp and bless\n      With such familiar zeal\n    As hides from all that not the less\n      The daily weight you feel;\n\n    In toils that praise will never pay,\n      To see your life go past;\n    To meet in every coming day\n      Twin sister of the last;\n    To hear of high heroic things,\n      And yield them reverence due,\n    But feel life's daily sufferings\n      Are far more fit for you;\n\n    To own no secret, soft disguise\n      To which self-love is prone,\n    Unnoticed by all other eyes,\n      Unworthy in your own;\n    To yield with such a happy art,\n      That no one thinks you care,\n    And say to your poor bleeding heart,\n      \"How little you can bear!\"\n\n    O 'tis a pathway hard to choose,\n      A struggle hard to share;\n    For human pride would still refuse\n      The nameless trials there.\n    But since we know the gate is low\n      That leads to heavenly bliss,\n    What higher grace could God bestow\n      Than such a life as this?\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\nNOBILITY OF GOODNESS\n\n    My fairest child, I have no song to give you;\n    No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;\n    Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you,\n      For every day.\n    Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;\n    Do noble things, not dream them all day long;\n    And so make life, death, and that vast forever,\n      One grand, sweet song!\n\n    --Charles Kingsley.\n\n\nTHE GLORY OF FAILURE\n\n    We who have lost the battle\n      To you who have fought and won:\n    Give ye good cheer and greeting!\n      Stoutly and bravely done!\n\n    Reach us a hand in passing,\n      Comrades--and own the name!\n    Yours is the thrill and the laurel:\n      Ours is the smart and shame.\n\n    Though we were nothing skillful,\n      Pity us not nor scorn!\n    Send us a hail as hearty--\n      \"Stoutly and bravely borne!\"\n\n    Others may scorn or pity;\n      You who are soldiers know.\n    Where was the joy of your battle\n      Save in the grip with the foe?\n\n    Did we not stand to the conflict?\n      Did we not fairly fall?\n    Is it your crowns ye care for?\n      Nay, to have fought is all.\n\n    Humbled and sore we watch you,\n      Cheerful and bruised and lamed.\n    Take the applause of the conquered--\n      Conquered and unashamed!\n\n    --Alice Van Vliet.\n\n\n    He is brave whose tongue is silent\n    Of the trophies of his word.\n    He is great whose quiet bearing\n    Marks his greatness well assured.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold.\n\n\nTHE LOSING SIDE\n\n    Helmet and plume and saber, banner and lance and shield,\n    Scattered in sad confusion over the trampled field;\n    And the band of broken soldiers, with a weary, hopeless air,\n    With heads in silence drooping, and eyes of grim despair.\n    Like foam-flakes left on the drifting sand\n      In the track of a falling tide,\n    On the ground where their cause has failed they stand,\n      The last of the losing side.\n\n    Wisdom of age is vanquished, and generous hopes of youth,\n    Passion of faith and honor, fire of love and truth;\n    And the plans that seemed the fairest in the fight have not prevailed,\n    The keenest blades are broken, and the strongest arms have failed.\n    But souls that know not the breath of shame,\n      And tongues that have never lied,\n    And the truest hearts, and the fairest fame,\n      Are here--on the losing side.\n\n    The conqueror's crown of glory is set with many a gem,\n    But I join not in their triumph--there are plenty to shout for _them;_\n    The cause is the most applauded whose warriors gain the day,\n    And the world's best smiles are given to the victors in the fray.\n    But dearer to me is the darkened plain,\n      Where the noblest dreams have died,\n    Where hopes have been shattered and heroes slain\n      In the ranks of the losing side.\n\n    --Arthur E. J. Legge.\n\n\nIO VICTIS\n\n    I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the battle of life,\n    The hymn of the wounded and beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife;\n    Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resounding acclaim\n    Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chaplet of fame,\n    But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary and broken in heart,\n    Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part;\n    Whose youth bore no flower on its branches, whose hopes burned in ashes\n      away,\n    From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at\n      the dying of day\n    With the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied, unheeded,\n      alone,\n    With death swooping down o'er their failure, and all but their faith\n      overthrown.\n\n    While the voice of the world shouts its chorus--its pean for those who\n      have won;\n    While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, and high to the breeze and\n      the sun\n    Glad banners are waving, hands clapping, and hurrying feet\n    Thronging after the laurel-crowned victors, I stand on the field of\n      defeat,\n    In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wounded, and dying, and\n      there\n    Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their pain-knotted brows, breathe\n      a prayer,\n    Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, \"They only the victory\n      win,\n    Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that\n      tempts us within;\n    Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world\n      holds on high;\n    Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight--if need be,\n      to die.\"\n\n    Speak, History! who are Life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say,\n    Are they those whom the world called the victors? who won the success\n      of a day?\n    The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans who fell at Thermopylae's tryst,\n    Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges, or Socrates? Pilate, or Christ?\n\n    --William M. Story.\n\n\n    He makes no friend who never made a foe.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nTHE TRUE KING\n\n    'Tis not wealth that makes a king,\n    Nor the purple coloring;\n    Nor the brow that's bound with gold,\n    Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled.\n\n    The king is he who, void of fear,\n    Looks abroad with bosom clear;\n    Who can tread ambition down,\n    Nor be swayed by smile or frown,\n    Nor for all the treasure cares,\n    That mine conceals or harvest wears,\n    Or that golden sands deliver\n    Bosomed in the glassy river.\n\n    What shall move his placid might?\n    Not the headlong thunder's light,\n    Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade,\n    With onward lance or fiery blade.\n    Safe, with wisdom for his crown,\n    He looks on all things calmly down,\n    He welcomes Fate when Fate is near,\n    Nor taints his dying breath with fear.\n\n    No; to fear not earthly thing,\n    That it is that makes the king;\n    And all of us, whoe'er we be,\n    May carve us out that royalty.\n\n    --Seneca, tr. by Leigh Hunt.\n\n\n    With comrade Duty, in the dark or day,\n      To follow Truth--wherever it may lead;\n      To hate all meanness, cowardice or greed;\n    To look for Beauty under common clay;\n    Our brothers' burden sharing, when they weep,\n      But, if we fall, to bear defeat alone;\n      To live in hearts that loved us, when we're gone\n    Beyond the twilight (till the morning break!)--to sleep--\n              That is Success!\n\n    --Ernest Neal Lyon.\n\n\n    The common problem, yours, mine, every one's,\n    Is, not to fancy what were fair in life\n    Provided it could be, but, finding first\n    What may be, then find out how to make it fair\n    Up to our means; a very different thing.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nBETTER THAN GOLD\n\n    Better than grandeur, better than gold,\n    Than rank and titles a thousandfold,\n    Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,\n    And simple pleasures that always please;\n    A heart that can feel for another's woe,\n    That has learned with love's deep fires to glow,\n    With sympathy large enough to enfold\n    All men as brothers, is better than gold.\n\n    Better than gold is a conscience clear,\n    Though toiling for bread in a humble sphere;\n    Doubly blest is content and health\n    Untried by the lusts and the cares of wealth.\n    Lowly living and lofty thought\n    Adorn and ennoble the poor man's cot;\n    For mind and morals in nature's plan\n    Are the genuine tests of the gentleman.\n\n    Better than gold is the sweet repose\n    Of the sons of toil when labors close;\n    Better than gold is the poor man's sleep\n    And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep.\n    Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed,\n    Where luxury pillows its aching head;\n    The toiler a simple opiate deems\n    A shorter route to the land of dreams.\n\n    Better than gold is a thinking mind\n    That in the realm of books can find\n    A treasure surpassing Australian ore,\n    And live with the great and good of yore;\n    The sage's lore and the poet's lay;\n    The glories of empires passed away;\n    The world's great dream will thus unfold\n    And yield a pleasure better than gold.\n\n    Better than gold is a peaceful home,\n    Where all the fireside characters come,\n    The shrine of love, the heaven of life,\n    Hallowed by mother or by wife.\n    However humble the home may be,\n    Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree,\n    The blessings that never were bought or sold\n    And center there, are better than gold.\n\n    --Abram J. Ryan.\n\n\n    When success exalts thy lot\n    God for thy virtue lays a plot.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nMAXIMUS\n\n    I hold him great who, for Love's sake,\n      Can give with generous, earnest will;\n    Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake\n      I think I hold more generous still.\n\n    I bow before the noble mind\n      That freely some great wrong forgives;\n    Yet nobler is the one forgiven,\n      Who bears that burden well and lives.\n\n    It may be hard to gain, and still\n      To keep a lowly, steadfast heart;\n    Yet he who loses has to fill\n      A harder and a truer part.\n\n    Glorious it is to wear the crown\n      Of a deserved and pure success;\n    He who knows how to fail has won\n      A crown whose luster is not less.\n\n    Great may he be who can command\n      And rule with just and tender sway;\n    Yet is Diviner wisdom taught\n      Better by him who can obey.\n\n    Blessed are those who die for God,\n      And earn the martyr's crown of light;\n    Yet he who lives for God may be\n      A greater conqueror in his sight.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\n    'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great:\n    Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,\n    Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.\n    Who noble ends by noble means obtains,\n    Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains;\n    Like good Aurelius, let him reign, or bleed\n    Like Socrates--that man is great indeed.\n    One self-approving hour whole years outweighs\n    Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;\n    And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels,\n    Than Caesar with a senate at his heels.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\n    Though world on world in myriad myriads roll\n    Round us, each with different powers,\n    And other forms of life than ours,\n    What know we greater than the soul?\n    On God and Godlike men we build our trust.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nTHE GOOD, GREAT MAN\n\n    How seldom, friend, a good, great man inherits\n      Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains!\n    It seems a story from the world of spirits\n    When any man obtains that which he merits,\n      Or any merits that which he obtains.\n\n    For shame, my friend; renounce this idle strain!\n    What would'st thou have a good, great man obtain?\n    Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,\n    Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain?\n    Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.\n    Hath he not always treasurer, always friends,\n    The great, good man? Three treasures--love, and light,\n      And calm thoughts, equable as infants' breath;\n    And three fast friends, more sure than day or night--\n      Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.\n\n    --Samuel Taylor Coleridge.\n\n\nTHE POEM OF THE UNIVERSE\n\n    The poem of the universe\n      Nor rhythm has nor rhyme;\n    For God recites the wondrous song\n      A stanza at a time.\n\n    Great deeds is he foredoomed to do--\n      With Freedom's flag unfurled--\n    Who hears the echo of that song\n      As it goes down the world.\n\n    Great words he is compelled to speak\n      Who understands the song;\n    He rises up like fifty men,\n      Fifty good men and strong.\n\n    A stanza for each century:\n      Now heed it all who can!\n    Who hears it, he, and only he,\n      Is the elected man.\n\n    --Charles Weldon.\n\n\n    When faith is lost, when honor dies,\n      The man is dead!\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nFAILURE AND SUCCESS\n\n    He fails who climbs to power and place\n    Up the pathway of disgrace.\n    He fails not who makes truth his cause,\n    Nor bends to win the crowd's applause.\n    He fails not, he who stakes his all\n    Upon the right, and dares to fall;\n    What though the living bless or blame,\n    For him the long success of fame.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\nWHAT DOES IT MATTER?\n\n    It matters little where I was born,\n      Or if my parents were rich or poor;\n    Whether they shrunk at the cold world's scorn,\n      Or walked in the pride of wealth secure.\n    But whether I live an honest man\n      And hold my integrity firm in my clutch\n    I tell you, brother, as plain as I can,\n      It matters much.\n\n    It matters little how long I stay\n      In a world of sorrow, sin, and care;\n    Whether in youth I am called away\n      Or live till my bones and pate are bare.\n    But whether I do the best I can\n      To soften the weight of Adversity's touch\n    On the faded cheek of my fellow man,\n      It matters much.\n\n    It matters little where be my grave--\n      Or on the land or in the sea,\n    By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave,\n      It matters little or naught to me;\n    But whether the Angel Death comes down,\n      And marks my brow with his loving touch,\n    As one that shall wear the victor's crown,\n      It matters much.\n\n    --Noah Barker.\n\n\n    For I am 'ware it is the seed of act\n    God holds appraising in his hollow palm,\n    Not act grown great thence in the world below;\n    Leafage and branchage vulgar eyes admire.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nOBSCURE MARTYRS\n\n\"The world knows nothing of its greatest men.\"\n\n    They have no place in storied page;\n      No rest in marble shrine;\n    They are past and gone with a perished age,\n      They died and \"made no sign.\"\n    But work that shall find its wages yet,\n    And deeds that their God did not forget,\n      Done for their love divine--\n    These were their mourners, and these shall be\n    The crowns of their immortality.\n\n    O, seek them not where sleep the dead,\n      Ye shall not find their trace;\n    No graven stone is at their head,\n      No green grass hides their face;\n    But sad and unseen is their silent grave;\n    It may be the sand or the deep sea wave,\n      Or a lonely desert place;\n    For they needed no prayers and no mourning-bell--\n    They were tombed in true hearts that knew them well.\n\n    They healed sick hearts till theirs were broken,\n      And dried sad eyes till theirs lost light;\n    We shall know at last by a certain token\n      How they fought and fell in the fight.\n    Salt tears of sorrow unbeheld,\n    Passionate cries unchronicled,\n      And silent strifes for the right--\n    Angels shall count them, and earth shall sigh\n    That she left her best children to battle and die.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold.\n\n\nTHY BEST\n\n    Before God's footstool to confess\n      A poor soul knelt and bowed his head.\n      \"I failed,\" he wailed. The Master said,\n    \"Thou did'st thy best--that is success.\"\n\n    --Henry Coyle.\n\n\n          Aspire, break bounds, I say;\n    Endeavor to be good and better still,\n    And best! Success is naught, endeavor's all.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nFAILURE\n\n    He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled,\n      At eve he drew it empty to the shore;\n    He took the diver's plunge into the sea,\n      But thence within his hand no pearl he bore.\n\n    He ran a race, but never reached his goal;\n      He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim;\n    And slept at last beneath a simple stone,\n      With no achievements carved about his name.\n\n    Men called it failure; but for my own part\n      I dare not use that word, for what if Heaven\n    Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read,\n      Not, \"Hast thou won?\" but only, \"Hast thou striven?\"\n\n    --Kate Tucker Goode.\n\n\nTHE BEGGAR'S REVENGE\n\n    The king's proud favorite at a beggar threw a stone.\n    He picked it up as if it had for alms been thrown.\n\n    He bore it in his bosom long with bitter ache,\n    And sought his time revenge with that same stone to take.\n\n    One day he heard a street mob's hoarse, commingled cry:\n    The favorite comes!--but draws no more the admiring eye.\n\n    He rides an ass, from all his haughty state disgraced;\n    And by the rabble's mocking gibes his way is traced.\n\n    The stone from out his bosom swift the beggar draws,\n    And flinging it away, exclaims: \"A fool I was!\n\n    'Tis madness to attack, when in his power, your foe,\n    And meanness then to strike when he has fallen low.\"\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nA THOUGHT\n\n    Hearts that are great beat never loud;\n      They muffle their music, when they come;\n    They hurry away from the thronging crowd\n      With bended brows and lips half dumb.\n\n    And the world looks on and mutters--\"Proud.\"\n      But when great hearts have passed away,\n    Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud,\n      And in love they kneel around their clay.\n\n    Hearts that are great are always lone;\n      They never will manifest their best;\n    Their greatest greatness is unknown,\n      Earth knows a little--God the rest.\n\n    --Abram J. Ryan.\n\n\nHIS MONUMENT\n\n    He built a house, time laid it in the dust;\n      He wrote a book, its title now forgot;\n      He ruled a city, but his name is not\n    On any tablet graven, or where rust\n    Can gather from disuse, or marble bust.\n\n    He took a child from out a wretched cot;\n    Who on the State dishonor might have brought;\n      And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust.\n    The boy, to manhood grown, became a light\n      To many souls and preached to human need\n    The wondrous love of the Omnipotent.\n    The work has multiplied like stars at night\n      When darkness deepens; every noble deed\n    Lasts longer than a granite monument.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\n    It is not the wall of stone without\n      That makes a building small or great,\n    But the soul's light shining round about,\n    And the faith that overcometh doubt,\n      And the love that stronger is than hate.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nTHE NOBLY BORN\n\n    Who counts himself as nobly born\n      Is noble in despite of place;\n    And honors are but brands to one\n      Who wears them not with nature's grace.\n\n    The prince may sit with clown or churl\n      Nor feel himself disgraced thereby;\n    But he who has but small esteem\n      Husbands that little carefully.\n\n    Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer,\n      Count it still more thou art thine own.\n    Stand on a larger heraldry\n      Than that of nation or of zone.\n\n    Art thou not bid to knightly halls?\n      Those halls have missed a courtly guest:\n    That mansion is not privileged\n      Which is not open to the best.\n\n    Give honor due when custom asks,\n      Nor wrangle for this lesser claim;\n    It is not to be destitute\n      To have the thing without the name.\n\n    Then, dost thou come of gentle blood,\n      Disgrace not thy good company;\n    If lowly born, so bear thyself\n      That gentle blood may come of thee.\n\n    Strive not with pain to scale the height\n      Of some fair garden's petty wall;\n    But climb the open mountain side\n      Whose summit rises over all.\n\n\n    And, for success, I ask no more than this:\n    To bear unflinching witness to the truth.\n    All true whole men succeed; for what is worth\n    Success's name unless it be the thought,\n    The inward surety, to have carried out\n    A noble purpose to a noble end,\n    Although it be the gallows or the block?\n    'Tis only Falsehood that doth ever need\n    These outward shows of gain to bolster her.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    Greatly begin! though thou have time\n    But for a line, be that sublime--\n    Not failure, but low aim is crime.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nTHE BURIAL OF MOSES\n\n    By Nebo's lonely mountain,\n      On this side Jordan's wave,\n    In a vale in the land of Moab,\n      There lies a lonely grave.\n    But no man dug that sepulchre,\n      And no man saw it e'er;\n    For the angels of God upturned the sod,\n      And laid the dead man there.\n\n    That was the grandest funeral\n      That ever passed on earth;\n    But no man heard the trampling,\n      Or saw the train go forth.\n    Noiselessly as the daylight\n      Comes when the night is done,\n    And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek\n      Grows into the great sun--\n\n    Noiselessly as the springtime\n      Her crest of verdure weaves,\n    And all the trees on all the hills\n      Open their thousand leaves--\n    So, without sound of music,\n      Or voice of them that wept,\n    Silently down from the mountain crown\n      The great procession swept.\n\n    Perchance some bald old eagle\n      On gray Beth-peor's height,\n    Out of his rocky eyrie\n      Looked on the wondrous sight.\n    Perchance some lion, stalking,\n      Still shuns the hallowed spot,\n    For beast and bird have seen and heard\n      That which man knoweth not.\n\n    But when the warrior dieth\n      His comrades in the war,\n    With arms reversed and muffled drums\n      Follow the funeral car;\n    They show the banners taken,\n      They tell his battles won,\n    And after him lead his matchless steed\n      While peals the minute gun.\n\n    Amid the noblest of the land\n      They lay the sage to rest;\n    And give the bard an honored place,\n      With costly marble drest,\n    In the great minster's transept height,\n      Where lights like glory fall,\n    While the sweet choir sings and the organ rings\n      Along the emblazoned wall.\n\n    This was the bravest warrior\n      That ever buckled sword;\n    This the most gifted poet\n      That ever breathed a word;\n    And never earth's philosopher\n      Traced, with his golden pen,\n    On the deathless page, truths half so sage\n      As he wrote down for men.\n\n    And had he not high honor?\n      The hillside for his pall;\n    To lie in state while angels wait\n      With stars for tapers tall;\n    And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,\n      Over his bier to wave;\n    And God's own hand, in that lonely land,\n      To lay him in his grave;\n\n    In that deep grave without a name,\n      Whence his uncoffined clay\n    Shall break again--most wondrous thought!--\n      Before the judgment day,\n    And stand, with glory wrapt around,\n      On the hills he never trod,\n    And speak of the strife that won our life\n      Through Christ, the incarnate God.\n\n    O lonely tomb in Moab's land,\n      O dark Beth-peor's hill,\n    Speak to these curious hearts of ours,\n      And teach them to be still.\n    God hath his mysteries of grace--\n      Ways that we cannot tell;\n    He hides them deep, like the secret sleep\n      Of him he loved so well.\n\n    --Cecil Frances Alexander.\n\n\n    O, blessed is that man of whom some soul can say,\n    \"He was an inspiration along life's toilsome way,\n    A well of sparkling water, a fountain flowing free,\n    Forever like his Master, in tenderest sympathy.\"\n\n\n    Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?\n    All fear, none aid you, and few understand.\n    Painful pre-eminence!--yourself to view\n    Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\nEMIR HASSAN\n\n    Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race,\n    Asked with folded hands the Almighty's grace,\n    Then within the banquet-hall he sat,\n    At his meal, upon the embroidered mat.\n\n    There a slave before him placed the food,\n    Spilling from the charger, as he stood,\n    Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast\n    Drops that foully stained the silken vest.\n\n    To the floor, in great remorse and dread,\n    Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said:\n    \"Master, they who hasten to restrain\n    Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign.\"\n\n    Gentle was the answer Hassan gave:\n    \"I am not angry.\" \"Yet,\" pursued the slave,\n    \"Yet doth higher recompense belong\n    To the injured who forgives a wrong.\"\n\n    \"I forgive,\" said Hassan. \"Yet we read,\"\n    So the prostrate slave went on to plead,\n    \"That a higher seat in glory still\n    Waits the man who renders good for ill.\"\n\n    \"Slave, receive thy freedom; and, behold,\n    In thy hand I lay a purse of gold.\n    Let me never fail to heed, in aught,\n    What the prophet of our God hath taught.\"\n\n\nTRUE GREATNESS\n\n    Who is as the Christian great?\n      Bought and washed with sacred blood,\n    Crowns he sees beneath his feet.\n      Soars aloft and walks with God.\n\n    Lo, his clothing is the sun,\n      The bright sun of righteousness;\n    He hath put salvation on,\n      Jesus is his beauteous dress.\n\n    Angels are his servants here;\n      Spread for him their golden wings;\n    To his throne of glory bear,\n      Seat him by the King of kings.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\n    The glory is not in the task, but in\n    The doing it for Him.\n\n    --Jean Ingelow.\n\n\nMENCIUS\n\n    Three centuries before the Christian age\n      China's great teacher, Mencius, was born;\n      Her teeming millions did not know that morn\n    Had broken on her darkness; that a sage,\n    Reared by a noble mother, would her page\n      Of history forevermore adorn.\n    For twenty years, from court to court, forlorn\n    He journeyed, poverty his heritage,\n    And preached of virtue, but none cared to hear.\n      Life seemed a failure, like a barren rill;\n      He wrote his books, and lay beneath the sod:\n    When, lo! his work began; and far and near\n      Adown the ages Mencius preaches still:\n      Do thy whole duty, trusting all to God.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\n    He stood, the youth they called the Beautiful,\n    At morning, on his untried battle-field,\n    And laughed with joy to see his stainless shield,\n    When, with a tender smile, but doubting sigh,\n              His lord rode by.\n\n    When evening fell, they brought him, wounded sore,\n    His battered shield with sword-thrusts gashed and rent,\n    And laid him where the king stood by his tent.\n    \"Now art thou Beautiful,\" the master said,\n              And bared his head.\n\n    --Annie M. L. Hawes.\n\n\n    Great men grow greater by the lapse of time;\n      We know those least whom we have seen the latest;\n    And they, 'mongst those whose names have grown sublime,\n      Who worked for human liberty are greatest.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n        It is enough--\n          Enough--just to be good;\n    To lift our hearts where they are understood;\n    To let the thirst for worldly power and place\n    Go unappeased; to smile back in God's face\n    With the glad lips our mothers used to kiss.\n        Ah! though we miss\n        All else but this,\n          To be good is enough!\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\n    He who ascends to mountain tops shall find\n      Their loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow;\n    He who surpasses or subdues mankind\n      Must look down on the hate of those below.\n      Though high above the sun of glory glow,\n    And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,\n      Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow\n    Contending tempests on his naked head.\n\n    --George Gordon Byron.\n\n\n    Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,\n    Is the immediate jewel of their souls:\n    Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;\n    Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;\n    But he that filches from me my good name\n    Robs me of that which not enriches him,\n    And makes me poor indeed.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    That man may last, but never lives,\n    Who much receives but nothing gives;\n    Whom none can love, whom none can thank;\n    Creation's blot; creation's blank!\n\n    But he who marks, from day to day,\n    In generous acts his radiant way\n    Treads the same path his Saviour trod:\n    The path to glory and to God.\n\n\n    The eye with seeing is not filled,\n      The ear with hearing not at rest;\n    Desire with having is not stilled,\n      With human praise no heart is blest.\n\n    Vanity, then, of vanities,\n      All things for which men grasp and grope!\n    The precious things in heavenly eyes\n      Are love, and truth, and trust, and hope.\n\n\n    A gem which falls within the mire will still a gem remain;\n    Men's eyes turn downward to the earth and search for it with pain.\n    But _dust_, though whirled aloft to heaven, continues dust alway,\n    More base and noxious in the air than when on earth it lay.\n\n    --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\n    It was not anything she said;\n      It was not anything she did;\n    It was the movement of her head,\n      The lifting of her lid.\n    And as she trod her path aright\n      Power from her very garments stole;\n    For such is the mysterious might\n      God grants a noble soul.\n\n\n    True worth is in being, not seeming;\n      In doing, each day that goes by,\n    Some little good, not in dreaming,\n      Of great things to do by and by.\n    For whatever men say in their blindness,\n      And spite of the fancies of youth,\n    There's nothing so kingly as kindness,\n      And nothing so royal as truth.\n\n    --Alice Cary.\n\n\n    The wisest man could ask no more of Fate\n      Than to be simple, modest, manly, true,\n      Safe from the Many, honored by the Few;\n    To count as naught in world of church or state\n    But inwardly in secret to be great.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;\n    And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame;\n    But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,\n    Shall draw the Thing as he sees it, for the God of Things as they are.\n\n    --Rudyard Kipling.\n\n\n    In life's small things be resolute and great\n    To keep thy muscle trained; knowest thou when Fate\n    Thy measure takes? or when she'll say to thee,\n    \"I find thee worthy; do this deed for me\"?\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    'Tis a lifelong toil till our lump be leaven.\n      The better! What's come to perfection perishes.\n    Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven.\n      Work done least rapidly Art most cherishes.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,\n    And either live with glorious victory\n    Or die with fame, renowned in chivalry.\n    He is not worthy of the honey-comb\n    That shuns the hive because the bees have stings.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    One by one thy duties wait thee,\n      Let thy whole strength go to each.\n    Let no future dreams elate thee,\n      Learn thou first what these can teach.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\n    Give me heart-touch with all that live\n      And strength to speak my word;\n    But if that is denied me, give\n      The strength to live unheard.\n\n    --Edwin Markham.\n\n\n    Honor and shame from no condition rise;\n    Act well your part, there all the honor lies\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\n    How wretched is the man with honors crowned,\n    Who, having not the one thing needful found,\n    Dies, known to all, but to himself unknown.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    He fought a thousand glorious wars,\n      And more than half the world was his,\n    And somewhere, now, in yonder stars,\n      Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is.\n\n    --William Makepeace Thackeray.\n\n\n    Howe'er it be, it seems to me\n      'Tis only noble to be good;\n    Kind hearts are more than coronets,\n      And simple faith than Norman blood.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed,\n    Not the applauding thunder at its heels\n    Which men call fame.\n\n    --Alexander Smith.\n\n\n    It is worth while to live!\n      Be of good cheer;\n      Love casts out fear;\n    Rise up, achieve.\n\n    --Christina G. Rossetti.\n\n\n    No endeavor is in vain;\n      Its reward is in the doing,\n      And the rapture of pursuing\n    Is the prize the vanquished gain.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    Far better in its place the lowliest bird\n      Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song,\n    Than that a seraph strayed should take the word\n      And sing His glory wrong.\n\n    --Jean Ingelow.\n\n\n    Often ornateness\n    Goes with greatness.\n    Oftener felicity\n    Comes of simplicity.\n\n    --William Watson.\n\n\n    A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust,\n    And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush;\n    As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Be noble! and the nobleness that lies\n    In other men, sleeping, but never dead,\n    Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss,\n    And find a secret gain in others' loss.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n    Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp,\n    Or what's heaven for?\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Though thy name be spread abroad,\n      Like winged seed, from shore to shore,\n    What thou art before thy God,\n      That thou art and nothing more.\n\n\n    My business is not to remake myself,\n    But make the absolute best of what God made.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    For never land long lease of empire won\n    Whose sons sat silent when base deeds were done.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    He that would free from malice pass his days\n    Must live obscure and never merit praise.\n\n    --John Gay.\n\n\n    Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,\n    Before a thousand peering littlenesses.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life,\n    Try to be Shakespeare--leave the rest to fate.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;\n    O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\n    With fame in just proportion envy grows;\n    The man that makes a character makes foes.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\n    'Tis not what man does which exalts him,\n    But what man would do.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Better have failed in the high aim, as I,\n    Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    The simple, silent, selfless man\n    Is worth a world of tonguesters.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n\n\nDUTY\n\nLOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL\n\n\nODE TO DUTY\n\n    Stern daughter of the voice of God!\n      O Duty! if that name thou love\n    Who art a light to guide, a rod\n      To check the erring and reprove;\n    Thou who art victory and law\n    When empty terrors overawe;\n    From vain temptation dost set free;\n    And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!\n\n    There are who ask not if thine eye\n    Be on them; who, in love and truth,\n    Where no misgiving is, rely\n    Upon the genial sense of youth;\n    Glad hearts, without reproach or blot,\n    Who do thy work and know it not:\n    Oh! if through confidence misplaced\n    They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.\n\n    Serene will be our days, and bright\n    And happy will our nature be,\n    When love is an unerring light,\n    And joy its own security;\n    And they a blissful course may hold\n    Even now, who, not unwisely bold,\n    Live in the spirit of this creed;\n    Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.\n\n    I, loving freedom, and untried,\n    No sport of every random gust,\n    Yet being to myself a guide,\n    Too blindly have reposed my trust;\n    And oft, when in my heart was heard\n    Thy timely mandate, I deferred\n    The task, in smoother walks to stray;\n    But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.\n\n    Through no disturbance of my soul,\n    Or strong compunction in me wrought,\n    I supplicate for thy control,\n    But in the quietness of thought.\n    Me this unchartered freedom tires;\n    I feel the weight of chance desires:\n    My hopes no more must change their name,\n    I long for a repose that ever is the same.\n\n    Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear\n    The Godhead's most benignant grace;\n    Nor know we anything so fair\n    As is the smile upon thy face:\n    Flowers laugh before thee on their beds\n    And fragrance in thy footing treads;\n    Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;\n    And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.\n\n    To humbler functions, awful Power!\n    I call thee; I myself commend\n    Unto thy guidance from this hour;\n    Oh, let my weakness have an end!\n    Give unto me, made lowly wise,\n    The spirit of self-sacrifice;\n    The confidence of reason give;\n    And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\nTHE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE\n\n    Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,\n      That of our vices we can frame\n    A ladder, if we will but tread\n      Beneath our feet each deed of shame!\n\n    All common things, each day's events,\n      That with the hour begin and end,\n    Our pleasures and our discontents,\n      Are rounds by which we may ascend.\n\n    The longing for ignoble things;\n      The strife for triumph more than truth;\n    The hardening of the heart, that brings\n      Irreverence for the dreams of youth;\n\n    All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds\n      That have their root in thoughts of ill;\n    Whatever hinders or impedes\n      The action of the nobler will;--\n\n    All these must first be trampled down\n      Beneath our feet, if we would gain\n    In the bright fields of fair renown\n      The right of eminent domain.\n\n    We have not wings, we cannot soar;\n      But we have feet to scale and climb\n    By slow degrees, by more and more,\n      The cloudy summits of our time.\n\n    The heights by great men reached and kept\n      Were not attained by sudden flight,\n    But they while their companions slept\n      Were toiling upward in the night.\n\n    Standing on what too long we bore\n      With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,\n    We may discern--unseen before--\n      A path to higher destinies,\n\n    Nor deem the irrevocable Past\n      As wholly wasted, wholly vain,\n    If, rising on its wrecks, at last\n      To something nobler we attain.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nREWARD OF FAITHFULNESS\n\n    The deeds which selfish hearts approve\n      And fame's loud trumpet sings\n    Secure no praise where truth and love\n      Are counted noblest things;\n    And work which godless folly deems\n      Worthless, obscure, and lowly,\n    To Heaven's ennobling vision seems\n      Most godlike, grand, and holy.\n\n    Then murmur not if toils obscure\n      And thorny paths be thine;\n    To God be true--they shall secure\n      The joy of life divine\n    Who in the darkest, sternest sphere\n      For Him their powers employ;\n    The toils contemned and slighted here\n      Shall yield the purest joy.\n\n    When endless day dispels the strife\n      Which blinds and darkens now,\n    Perchance the brightest crown of life\n      Shall deck some lowly brow.\n    Then learn, despite thy boding fears,\n      From seed with sorrow sown,\n    In love, obscurity and tears\n      The richest sheaves are grown.\n\n    --Edward Hartley Dewart.\n\n\n\"DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE\"\n\n    From an old English parsonage\n      Down by the sea,\n    There came in the twilight\n      A message to me;\n    Its quaint Saxon legend\n      Deeply engraven,\n    Hath as it seems to me\n      Teaching for heaven;\n    And on through the hours\n      The quiet words ring,\n    Like a low inspiration,\n      \"Doe the nexte thynge.\"\n\n    Many a questioning,\n      Many a fear,\n    Many a doubt,\n      Hath guiding here.\n    Moment by moment\n      Let down from heaven,\n    Time, opportunity,\n      Guidance are given.\n    Fear not to-morrow,\n      Child of the King;\n    Trust it with Jesus,\n      \"Doe the nexte thynge.\"\n\n    O He would have thee\n      Daily more free,\n    Knowing the might\n      Of thy royal degree;\n    Ever in waiting,\n      Glad for his call,\n    Tranquil in chastening,\n      Trusting through all.\n    Comings and goings\n      No turmoil need bring:\n    His all thy future--\n      \"Doe the nexte thynge.\"\n\n    Do it immediately,\n      Do it with prayer,\n    Do it reliantly,\n      Casting all care:\n    Do it with reverence,\n      Tracing His hand\n    Who hath placed it before thee\n      With earnest command.\n    Stayed on Omnipotence,\n      Safe, 'neath his wing,\n    Leave all resultings,\n      \"Doe the nexte thynge.\"\n\n    Looking to Jesus,\n      Ever serener,\n    Working or suffering,\n      Be thy demeanor!\n    In the shade of his presence,\n      The rest of his calm,\n    The light of his countenance,\n      Live out thy psalm:\n    Strong in his faithfulness.\n      Praise him and sing,\n    Then as he beckons thee,\n      \"Doe the nexte thynge.\"\n\n\nZEAL IN LABOR\n\n    Go, labor on; spend and be spent,\n      Thy joy to do the Father's will;\n    It is the way the Master went;\n      Should not the servant tread it still?\n\n    Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught;\n      Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain;\n    Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;\n      The Master praises--what are men?\n\n    Go, labor on; your hands are weak;\n      Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;\n    Yet falter not; the prize you seek\n      Is near--a kingdom and a crown!\n\n    Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray!\n      Be wise the erring soul to win;\n    Go forth into the world's highway;\n      Compel the wanderer to come in.\n\n    Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice:\n      For toil comes rest, for exile home;\n    Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,\n      The midnight peal, \"Behold, I come!\"\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nTHE EVANGELIST\n\n    Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set\n    On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret,\n    At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour.\n    When they beheld at a mean cabin's door,\n    A fisher's widow in her mourning clad,\n    Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad,\n    The tear that wet them kept her lids within,\n    Her child to cradle and her flax to spin;\n    Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen,\n    The Master and His friend could see, unseen.\n\n    An old man ready for his earthly bed,\n    A beggar with a jar upon his head,\n    Came by, and to the mourning spinner there\n    Said, \"Woman, I this vase of milk should bear\n    Unto a dweller in the hamlet near;\n    But I am weak and bent with many a year;\n    More than a thousand paces yet to go\n    Remain, and, without help, I surely know\n    I cannot end my task and earn its fee.\"\n\n    The woman rose, and not a word said she,\n    Without a pause her distaff laid aside,\n    And left the cradle where the orphan cried,\n    Took up the jar, and with the beggar went.\n\n    \"Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,\"\n    Said Peter, \"but small sense that woman showed,\n    In leaving thus her child and her abode\n    For the chance-comer that first sought her out;\n    The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,\n    To ease him of his load upon the way.\"\n\n    The Lord made answer unto Peter, \"Nay,\n    Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,\n    Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.\n    She went at once, and wisely did in that.\"\n\n    And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat\n    Down on a bench was in the humble place,\n    And with His blest hands for a moment's space,\n    He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.\n    Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.\n\n    When she to whom the Lord had given this proof\n    Of good-will came back to her humble roof,\n    She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,\n    The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!\n\n    --Francois Coppee.\n\n\nTHE BEST THAT I CAN\n\n    \"I cannot do much,\" said a little star,\n      \"To make the dark world bright;\n    My silver beams cannot struggle far\n      Through the folding gloom of night:\n    But I am a part of God's great plan,\n    And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can.\"\n\n    \"What is the use,\" said a fleecy cloud,\n      \"Of these dew-drops that I hold?\n    They will hardly bend the lily proud,\n      Though caught in her cup of gold;\n    Yet I am a part of God's great plan,\n    My treasures I'll give as well as I can.\"\n\n    A child went merrily forth to play,\n      But a thought, like a silver thread,\n    Kept winding in and out all day\n      Through the happy, busy head,\n    \"Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can,\n    For you are a part of God's great plan.'\"\n\n    So she helped a younger child along,\n      When the road was rough to the feet;\n    And she sang from her heart a little song,\n      A song that was passing sweet;\n    And her father, a weary, toil-worn man,\n      Said, \"I too will do the best that I can.\"\n\n\nWORK LOYALLY\n\n    Just where you stand in the conflict,\n      There is your place!\n    Just where you think you are useless\n      Hide not your face!\n    God placed you there for a purpose,\n      Whate'er it be;\n    Think He has chosen you for it--\n      Work loyally.\n\n    Gird on your armor! Be faithful\n      At toil or rest,\n    Whiche'er it be, never doubting\n      God's way is best.\n    Out in the fight, or on picket,\n      Stand firm and true;\n    This is the work which your Master\n      Gives you to do.\n\n\n    Who does the best his circumstance allows,\n    Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\nLOYALTY\n\n    When courage fails and faith burns low,\n      And men are timid grown,\n    Hold fast thy loyalty and know\n      That Truth still moveth on.\n\n    For unseen messengers she hath,\n      To work her will and ways,\n    And even human scorn and wrath\n      God turneth to her praise.\n\n    She can both meek and lordly be,\n      In heavenly might secure;\n    With her is pledge of victory,\n      And patience to endure.\n\n    The race is not unto the swift,\n      The battle to the strong,\n    When dawn her judgment-days that sift\n      The claims of right and wrong.\n\n    And more than thou canst do for Truth\n      Can she on thee confer,\n    If thou, O heart, but give thy youth\n      And manhood unto her.\n\n    For she can make thee inly bright,\n      Thy self-love purge away,\n    And lead thee in the path whose light\n      Shines to the perfect day.\n\n    Who follow her, though men deride,\n      In her strength shall be strong;\n    Shall see their shame become their pride,\n      And share her triumph song!\n\n    --Frederick Lucian Hosmer.\n\n\nLIBERTY\n\n    I am Liberty--God's daughter!\n      My symbols--a law and a torch;\n    Not a sword to threaten slaughter,\n    Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch;\n    But a light that the world may see,\n    And a truth that shall make men free.\n\n    I am the sister of Duty,\n      And I am the sister of Faith;\n    To-day adored for my beauty,\n      To-morrow led forth for death.\n    I am she whom ages prayed for;\n    Heroes suffered undismayed for;\n    Whom the martyrs were betrayed for.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\nTHE NEAREST DUTY\n\n    My soul was stirred; I prayed, \"Let me\n      Do some great work, so purely,\n    To right life's wrongs, that I shall know\n      That I have loved Thee surely.\"\n    My lips sent forth their eager cry,\n      The while my heart beat faster,\n    \"For some great deed to prove my love\n      Send me; send me, my Master!\"\n\n    From out the silence came a voice,\n      Saying: \"If God thou fearest,\n    Rise up and do, thy whole life through,\n      The duty that lies nearest.\n    The friendly word, the kindly deed,\n      Though small the act in seeming,\n    Shall in the end unto thy soul\n      Prove mightier than thy dreaming.\n\n    The cup of water to the faint,\n      Or rest unto the weary,\n    The light thou giv'st another's life,\n      Shall make thine own less dreary.\n    And boundless realms of faith and love\n      Will wait for thy possessing;\n    Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst win\n      Unto thy soul a blessing.\"\n\n    And so I wait with peaceful heart,\n      Content to do His pleasure;\n    Not caring if the world shall mock\n      At smallness of the measure\n    Of thoughts or deeds or daily life.\n      He knows the true endeavor--\n    To do His will, to seek His face--\n      And He will fail me never.\n\n    --Sarah A. Gibbs.\n\n\nTHE ONE TALENT\n\n    Hide not thy talent in the earth;\n      However small it be,\n    Its faithful use, its utmost worth,\n      God will require of thee.\n\n    The humblest service rendered here\n      He will as truly own\n    As Paul's in his exalted sphere,\n      Or Gabriel's near the throne.\n\n    The cup of water kindly given,\n      The widow's cheerful mites,\n    Are worthier in the eye of heaven\n      Than pride's most costly rites.\n\n    His own, which He hath lent on trust,\n      He asks of thee again;\n    Little or much, the claim is just,\n      And thine excuses vain.\n\n    Go, then, and strive to do thy part--\n      Though humble it may be;\n    The ready hand, the willing heart,\n      Are all heaven asks of thee.\n\n    --William Cutler.\n\n\nONE TALENT\n\n(Matt. XXV. 18)\n\n    In a napkin smooth and white,\n    Hidden from all mortal sight,\n    My one talent lies to-night.\n\n    Mine to hoard, or mine to use;\n    Mine to keep, or mine to lose;\n    May I not do what I choose?\n\n    Ah! the gift was only lent\n    With the Giver's known intent\n    That it should be wisely spent.\n\n    And I know he will demand\n    Every farthing at my hand,\n    When I in his presence stand.\n\n    What will be my grief and shame\n    When I hear my humble name\n    And cannot repay his claim!\n\n    One poor talent--nothing more!\n    All the years that have gone o'er\n    Have not added to the store.\n\n    Some will double what they hold,\n    Others add to it tenfold\n    And pay back the shining gold.\n\n    Would that I had toiled like them!\n    All my sloth I now condemn;\n    Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.\n\n    Lord, oh teach me what to do.\n    Make me faithful, make me true,\n    And the sacred trust renew.\n\n    Help me, ere too late it be,\n    Something yet to do for Thee,\n    Thou who hast done all for me.\n\n\n    Art thou little? Do thy little well;\n      And for thy comfort know\n    Great men can do their greatest work\n      No better than just so.\n\n    --Johann W. von Goethe.\n\n\nRESPONSIBILITY FOR TALENTS\n\n    Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how--\n    By what path or on what errand--list and learn thine errand now.\n\n    From the palace to the city on the business of thy King\n    Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.\n\n    Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand:\n    Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.\n\n    Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?\n    Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?\n\n    Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze\n    Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.\n\n    Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities;\n    Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.\n\n    And know this--at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King\n    With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.\n\n    Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day\n    Reap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    Not once or twice in our fair island-story\n    The path of duty was the way to glory.\n    He, that ever following her commands,\n    On with toil of heart and knees and hands,\n    Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won\n    His path upward, and prevailed,\n    Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled\n    Are close upon the shining table-lands\n    To which our God himself is moon and sun.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nGO RIGHT ON WORKING\n\n    Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true,\n      But what's the use of sighing?\n    They're soonest with their duties through\n      Who bravely keep on trying.\n    There's no advantage to be found\n      In sorrowing or shirking;\n    They with success are soonest crowned\n      Who just go right on working.\n\n    Strive patiently and with a will\n      That shall not be defeated;\n    Keep singing at your task until\n      You see it stand completed.\n    Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near,\n      Your sky's glad sunshine murking;\n    Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer,\n      And just go right on working.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\nJUSTICE ONLY\n\n    Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!\n      When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!\n    Even if he wrongeth thee in aught,\n      Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.\n\n    But let none wist! Live, day by day,\n      With little and with little swelling\n    Thy tale of duty done--the way\n      The wise ant-people build their dwelling;\n\n    Not harming any living thing;\n      That thou may'st have--at time of dying--\n    A Hand to hold thee, and to bring\n      Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,\n\n    Pass to the farther world. For none\n      Save Justice leads there! Father, mother,\n    Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,\n      Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other\n\n    Save only Justice! All alone\n      Each entereth here, and each one leaveth\n    This life alone; and every one\n      The fruit of all his deeds receiveth\n\n    Alone--alone; bad deeds and good!\n      That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,\n    Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,\n      A thing committed to the burning.\n\n    But Justice shall not quit thee then,\n      If thou hast served her, therefore never\n    Cease serving; that shall hold thee when\n      The darkness falls which falls forever,\n\n    Which hath no star, nor way and guide.\n      But Justice knows the road; and midnight\n    Is noon to her. Man at her side\n      Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.\n\n    And he who loved her more than all,\n      Who purged by sorrow his offenses,\n    Shall shine, in realms celestial,\n      With glory, quit of sins and senses.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.\n\n\nGOD'S VENGEANCE\n\n    Saith the Lord, \"Vengeance is mine;\"\n      \"I will repay,\" saith the Lord;\n    Ours be the anger divine,\n      Lit by the flash of his word.\n\n    How shall his vengeance be done?\n      How, when his purpose is clear?\n    Must he come down from the throne?\n      Hath he no instruments here?\n\n    Sleep not in imbecile trust,\n      Waiting for God to begin;\n    While, growing strong in the dust,\n      Rests the bruised serpent of sin.\n\n    Right and Wrong--both cannot live\n      Death-grappled. Which shall we see?\n    Strike! Only Justice can give\n      Safety to all that shall be.\n\n    Shame! to stand faltering thus,\n      Tricked by the balancing odds;\n    Strike! God is waiting for us!\n      Strike! for the vengeance is God's!\n\n    --John Hay.\n\n\n    Bear a lily in thy hand;\n    Gates of brass cannot withstand\n    One touch of that magic wand.\n\n    Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,\n    In thy heart the dew of youth,\n    On thy lips the smile of truth.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nA SINGLE STITCH\n\n    One stitch dropped as the weaver drove\n      His nimble shuttle to and fro,\n    In and out, beneath, above,\n      Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow\n    As if the fairies had helping been;\n    One small stitch which could scarce be seen,\n    But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,\n    And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;\n    And the perfect pattern was marred for aye\n    By the one small stitch that was dropped that day.\n\n    One small life in God's great plan,\n      How futile it seems as the ages roll,\n    Do what it may or strive how it can\n      To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!\n    A single stitch in an endless web,\n    A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!\n    But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,\n    Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;\n    And each life that fails of its true intent\n    Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\nTHE BLESSINGS\n\n    An angel came from the courts of gold,\n    With gifts and tidings manifold;\n    With blessings many to crown the one\n    Whose work of life was the noblest done.\n\n    He came to a rich man's gilded door;\n    Where a beautiful lady stood before\n    His vision, fair as the saints are fair,\n    With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.\n\n    He needed not to be told her life--\n    The pure young mother, the tender wife;\n    He needed not to be told that she,\n    In home of sorrow and poverty,\n\n    Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;\n    He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.\n    \"No! no!\" a voice to the angel heart\n    Spoke low: \"Seek on in the busy mart.\"\n\n    He found a door that was worn and old;\n    The night was damp and the wind was cold.\n    A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;\n    The midnight lamp to her features lent\n\n    A paler look as she toiled the while,\n    But yet the mouth had a restful smile.\n    Doing her duty with honest pride;\n    Breasting temptation on every side.\n\n    \"For her the blessings,\" the angel said,\n    And touched with pity the girlish head.\n    \"No time nor money for alms has she,\n    But duty is higher than charity.\"\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nDUTIES\n\n    I reach a duty, yet I do it not,\n      And therefore see no higher; but, if done,\n    My view is brightened and another spot\n      Seen on my moral sun.\n\n    For, be the duty high as angels' flight,\n      Fulfill it, and a higher will arise\n    E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite--\n      Receding as the skies.\n\n    And thus it is the purest most deplore\n      Their want of purity. As fold by fold,\n    In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more\n      Of duty they behold.\n\n    Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes\n      On duties crowding only to appal?\n    No; duty is our ladder to the skies,\n      And, climbing not, we fall.\n\n    --Robert Leighton (1611-1684).\n\n\nWHAT SHE COULD\n\n    \"And do the hours step fast or slow?\n      And are ye sad or gay?\n    And is your heart with your liege lord, lady,\n      Or is it far away?\"\n\n    The lady raised her calm, proud head,\n      Though her tears fell, one by one:\n    \"Life counts not hours by joy or pangs,\n      But just by duties done.\n\n    \"And when I lie in the green kirkyard,\n      With the mould upon my breast,\n    Say not that 'She did well--or ill,'\n      Only, 'She did her best.'\"\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\nUNWASTED DAYS\n\n    The longer on this earth we live\n      And weigh the various qualities of men,\n    Seeing how most are fugitive\n      Or fitful gifts at best, of now and then--\n      Wind-favored corpse-lights, daughters of the fen--\n    The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty\n    Of plain devotedness to duty,\n      Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise,\n        But finding amplest recompense\n        For life's ungarlanded expense\n      In work done squarely and unwasted days.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nTRIFLES THAT MAKE SAINTS\n\n    A tone of pride or petulance repressed\n      A selfish inclination firmly fought,\n      A shadow of annoyance set at naught,\n    A measure of disquietude suppressed;\n    A peace in importunity possessed,\n      A reconcilement generously sought,\n      A purpose put aside, a banished thought,\n    A word of self-explaining unexpressed:\n    Trifles they seem, these petty soul-restraints,\n      Yet he who proves them so must needs possess\n      A constancy and courage grand and bold;\n    They are the trifles that have made the saints.\n      Give me to practice them in humbleness\n      And nobler power than mine doth no man hold.\n\n\n    The world is full of beauty,\n      As other worlds above;\n    And if we did our duty\n      It might be full of love.\n\n    --Gerald Massey.\n\n\n    What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?\n    Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just;\n    And he but naked, though locked up in steel,\n    Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;\n    I woke, and found that life was Duty.\n    Was thy dream then, a shadowy lie?\n    Toil on, sad heart, courageously,\n    And thou shalt find that dream to be\n    A noonday light and truth to thee.\n\n    --Ellen Sturgis Hooper.\n\n\n    Do thy duty; that is best;\n    Leave unto thy Lord the rest.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    While I sought Happiness she fled\n      Before me constantly.\n    Weary, I turned to Duty's path,\n      And Happiness sought me,\n    Saying, \"I walk this road to-day,\n      I'll bear thee company.\"\n\n\n    So nigh is grandeur to our dust,\n      So near is God to man,\n    When Duty whispers low, \"Thou must,\"\n      The youth replies, \"I can.\"\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\n    Faithfully faithful to every trust,\n      Honestly honest in every deed,\n    Righteously righteous and justly just;\n      This is the whole of the good man's creed.\n\n\n    Find out what God would have you do,\n      And do that little well;\n    For what is great and what is small\n      'Tis only he can tell.\n\n\n\n\nSERVICE\n\nUSEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR\n\n\nWAKING\n\n    I have done at length with dreaming;\n      Henceforth, O thou soul of mine!\n    Thou must take up sword and buckler,\n      Waging warfare most divine.\n\n    Life is struggle, combat, victory!\n      Wherefore have I slumbered on\n    With my forces all unmarshaled,\n      With my weapons all undrawn?\n\n    O how many a glorious record\n      Had the angels of me kept\n    Had I done instead of doubted,\n      Had I warred instead of wept!\n\n    But begone, regret, bewailing!\n      Ye had weakened at the best;\n    I have tried the trusty weapons\n      Resting erst within my breast.\n\n    I have wakened to my duty,\n      To a knowledge strong and deep,\n    That I recked not of aforetime,\n      In my long inglorious sleep.\n\n    For the end of life is service,\n      And I felt it not before,\n    And I dreamed not how stupendous\n      Was the meaning that it bore.\n\n    In this subtle sense of being,\n      Newly stirred in every vein,\n    I can feel a throb electric--\n      Pleasure half allied with pain.\n\n    'Tis so sweet, and yet so awful,\n      So bewildering, yet brave,\n    To be king in every conflict\n      Where before I crouched a slave!\n\n    'Tis so glorious to be conscious\n      Of a growing power within\n    Stronger than the rallying forces\n      Of a charged and marshaled sin!\n\n    Never in those old romances\n      Felt I half the thrill of life\n    That I feel within me stirring,\n      Standing in this place of strife.\n\n    O those olden days of dalliance,\n      When I wantoned with my fate;\n    When I trifled with the knowledge\n      That had well-nigh come too late.\n\n    Yet, my soul, look not behind thee;\n      Thou hast work to do at last;\n    Let the brave toil of the present\n      Overarch the crumbling past.\n\n    Build thy great acts high and higher;\n      Build them on the conquered sod\n    Where thy weakness first fell bleeding,\n      And thy first prayer rose to God.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\nSMALL BEGINNINGS\n\n    A traveler through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea;\n    And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree.\n    Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe its early vows;\n    And age was pleased, in heat of noon, to bask beneath its boughs;\n    The dormouse loved its dangling twigs the birds sweet music bore;\n    It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore.\n\n    A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern,\n    A passing stranger scooped a well where weary men might turn;\n    He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink;\n    He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.\n    He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried,\n    Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside.\n\n    A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new;\n    A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true.\n    It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became\n    A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame.\n    The thought was small; its issue great; a watchfire on the hill,\n    It shed its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still!\n\n    A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart,\n    Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unstudied, from the heart;\n    A whisper on the tumult thrown--a transitory breath--\n    It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death.\n    O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast!\n    Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last!\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\nTHE CHOIR INVISIBLE\n\n    O may I join the choir invisible\n    Of those immortal dead who live again\n    In minds made better by their presence; live\n    In pulses stirred to generosity,\n    In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn\n    For miserable aims that end with self,\n    In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,\n    And with their mild persistence urge man's search\n    To vaster issues.\n                So to live is heaven:\n    To make undying music in the world,\n    Breathing as beauteous order that controls\n    With growing sway the growing life of man.\n    So we inherit that sweet purity\n    For which we struggled, failed and agonized,\n    With widening retrospect that bred despair.\n    Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,\n    A vicious parent shaming still its child\n    Poor, anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;\n    Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,\n    Die in the large and charitable air.\n    And all our rarer, better, truer, self,\n    That sobbed religiously in yearning song,\n    That watched to ease the burden of the world,\n    Laboriously tracing what must be,\n    And what may yet be better--saw within\n    A worthier image for the sanctuary,\n    And shaped it forth before the multitude\n    Divinely human, raising worship so\n    To higher reverence more mixed with love--\n    That better self shall live till human Time\n    Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky\n    Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb,\n    Unread forever.\n                This is life to come,\n    Which martyred men have made more glorious\n    For us who strive to follow. May I reach\n    That purest heaven, be to other souls\n    The cup of strength in some great agony,\n    Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,\n    Beget the smiles that have no cruelty--\n    Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,\n    And in diffusion ever more intense.\n    So shall I join the choir invisible\n    Whose music is the gladness of the world.\n\n    --George Eliot.\n\n\nMY TASK\n\n    To love some one more dearly ev'ry day,\n    To help a wandering child to find his way,\n    To ponder o'er a noble thought, and pray,\n      And smile when evening falls.\n\n    To follow truth as blind men long for light,\n    To do my best from dawn of day till night,\n    To keep my heart fit for His holy sight,\n      And answer when He calls.\n\n    --Maude Louise Ray.\n\n\n\"IT IS MORE BLESSED\"\n\n    Give! as the morning that flows out of heaven;\n    Give! as the waves when their channel is riven;\n    Give! as the free air and sunshine are given;\n      Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give!\n    Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing;\n    Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing;\n    Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing:\n      Give as He gave thee who gave thee to live.\n\n    Pour out thy love like the rush of a river,\n    Wasting its waters, forever and ever,\n    Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver:\n      Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.\n    Scatter thy life as the summer's shower pouring;\n    What if no bird through the pearl rain is soaring?\n    What if no blossom looks upward adoring?\n      Look to the life that was lavished for thee!\n\n    So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses:\n    Evil and thankless the desert it blesses;\n    Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses;\n      Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.\n    What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?\n    What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?\n    Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes,\n      Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.\n\n    Almost the day of thy giving is over;\n    Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover\n    Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover:\n      What shall thy longing avail in the grave?\n    Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking--\n    Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking;\n    Soon, heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking,\n      Thou shalt know God and the gift that he gave.\n\n    --Rose Terry Cooke.\n\n\nALONG THE WAY\n\n    There are so many helpful things to do\n      Along life's way\n    (Helps to the helper, if we did but know),\n      From day to day.\n    So many troubled hearts to soothe,\n    So many pathways rough to smooth,\n    So many comforting words to say,\n    To the hearts that falter along the way.\n\n    Here is a lamp of hope gone out\n      Along the way.\n    Some one stumbled and fell, no doubt--\n      But, brother, stay!\n    Out of thy store of oil refill;\n    Kindle the courage that smoulders still;\n    Think what Jesus would do to-day\n    For one who had fallen beside the way.\n\n    How many lifted hands still plead\n      Along life's way!\n    The old, sad story of human need\n      Reads on for aye.\n    But let us follow the Saviour's plan--\n    Love unstinted to every man;\n    Content if, at most, the world should say:\n    \"He helped his brother along the way!\"\n\n\nSAVED TO SERVE\n\n    Is thy cruse of comfort failing?\n      Rise and share it with another,\n    And through all the years of famine\n      It shall serve thee and thy brother.\n\n    Love divine will fill thy storehouse\n      Or thy handful still renew;\n    Scanty fare for one will often\n      Make a royal feast for two.\n\n    For the heart grows rich in giving--\n      All its wealth is living gain;\n    Seeds which mildew in the garner\n      Scattered fill with gold the plain.\n\n    Is thy burden hard and heavy?\n      Do thy steps drag wearily?\n    Help to bear thy brother's burden;\n      God will bear both it and thee.\n\n    Numb and weary on the mountains,\n      Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow?\n    Chafe that frozen form beside thee,\n      And together both shall glow.\n\n    Art thou stricken in life's battle?\n      Many wounded round thee moan:\n    Lavish on their wounds thy balsam,\n      And that balm shall heal thine own.\n\n    Is thy heart a well left empty?\n      None but God the void can fill.\n    Nothing but the ceaseless Fountain\n      Can its ceaseless longings still.\n\n    Is the heart a living power?\n      Self-entwined its strength sinks low.\n    It can only live in loving,\n      And by serving love will grow.\n\n\nBY DOING GOOD WE LIVE\n\n    A certain wise man, deeply versed\n      In all the learning of the East,\n    Grew tired in spirit, and athirst\n      From life to be released.\n\n    So to Eliab, holy man\n      Of God he came: \"Ah, give me, friend,\n    The herb of death, that now the span\n      Of my vain life may end.\"\n\n    Eliab gently answered: \"Ere\n      The soul may free itself indeed,\n    This herb of healing thou must bear\n      To seven men in need;\n\n    \"When thou hast lightened each man's grief,\n      And brought him hope and joy again,\n    Return; nor shalt thou seek relief\n      At Allah's hands in vain.\"\n\n    The wise man sighed, and humbly said:\n      \"As Allah willeth, so is best.\"\n    And with the healing herb he sped\n      Away upon his quest.\n\n    And as he journeyed on, intent\n      To serve the sorrowing in the land\n    On deeds of love and mercy bent,\n      The herb bloomed in his hand,\n\n    And through his pulses shot a fire\n      Of strength and hope and happiness;\n    His heart leaped with a glad desire\n      To live and serve and bless.\n\n    Lord of all earthly woe and need,\n      Be this, life's flower, mine!\n    To love, to comfort, and to heal--\n      Therein is life divine!\n\n    --Josephine Troup.\n\n\nFOR STRENGTH WE ASK\n\n    For strength we ask\n    For the ten thousand times repeated task,\n      The endless smallnesses of every day.\n\n    No, not to lay\n      My life down in the cause I cherish most,\n      That were too easy. But, whate'er it cost,\n\n    To fail no more\n    In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor\n      In love toward the unlovely, and to give,\n\n    Each day I live,\n      To every hour with outstretched hand, its meed\n      Of not-to-be-regretted thought and deed.\n\n    --Agnes Ethelwyn Wetherald.\n\n\nMARTHA OR MARY?\n\n    I cannot choose; I should have liked so much\n    To sit at Jesus' feet--to feel the touch\n    Of his kind gentle hand upon my head\n    While drinking in the gracious words he said.\n\n    And yet to serve Him!--Oh, divine employ--\n    To minister and give the Master joy;\n    To bathe in coolest springs his weary feet,\n    And wait upon Him while He sat at meat!\n\n    Worship or service--which? Ah, that is best\n    To which he calls us, be it toil or rest;\n    To labor for Him in life's busy stir,\n    Or seek His feet, a silent worshiper.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\n    This is the gospel of labor--ring it, ye bells of the kirk--\n    The Lord of Love came down from above to live with the men who work.\n    This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil;\n    Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil.\n\n    --Henry van Dyke.\n\n\nMARTHA\n\n    Yes, Lord, Yet some must serve!\n      Not all with tranquil heart,\n    Even at Thy dear feet,\n    Wrapped in devotion sweet,\n      May sit apart!\n\n    Yes, Lord! Yet some must bear\n      The burden of the day,\n    Its labor and its heat,\n    While others at Thy feet\n      May muse and pray.\n\n    Yes, Lord! Yet some must do\n      Life's daily task-work; some\n    Who fain would sing must toil\n    Amid earth's dust and moil,\n      While lips are dumb!\n\n    Yes, Lord! Yet man must earn\n      And woman bake the bread;\n    And some must watch and wake\n    Early for others' sake,\n      Who pray instead!\n\n    Yes, Lord! Yet even thou\n      Hast need of earthly care;\n    I bring the bread and wine\n    To Thee a Guest divine--\n      Be this my prayer!\n\n    --Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.\n\n\n    If we sit down at set of sun\n    And count the things that we have done,\n      And counting, find\n    One self-denying act, one word\n    That eased the heart of him who heard,\n      One glance most kind,\n    That fell like sunshine where it went,\n    Then we may count the day well spent.\n\n    But if through all the livelong day\n    We've eased no heart by yea or nay;\n      If through it all\n    We've nothing done that we can trace\n    That brought the sunshine to a face,\n      No act most small\n    That helped some soul, and nothing cost,\n    Then count that day as worse than lost.\n\n\n    This for the day of life I ask:\n    Some all-absorbing, useful task;\n    And when 'tis wholly, truly done,\n    A tranquil rest at set of sun.\n\n\nSERVICE\n\n    Ah! grand is the world's work, and noble, forsooth,\n      The doing one's part, be it ever so small!\n    You, reaping with Boaz, I, gleaning with Ruth,\n      Are honored by serving, yet servants of all.\n\n    No drudge in his corner but speeds the world's wheels;\n      No serf in the field but is sowing God's seed--\n    More noble, I think, in the dust though he kneels,\n      Than the pauper of wealth, who makes scorn of the deed.\n\n    Is toil but a treadmill? Think not of the grind,\n      But think of the grist, what is done and to do,\n    The world growing better, more like to God's mind,\n      By long, faithful labor of helpers like you.\n\n    The broom or the spade or the shuttle, that plies\n      Its own honest task in its own honest way,\n    Serves heaven not less than a star in the skies--\n      What more could the Pleiades do than obey?\n\n    --James Buckham.\n\n\nSUMMER AND WINTER\n\n    If no kindly thought or word\n      We can give, some soul to bless,\n    If our hands, from hour to hour,\n      Do no deeds of gentleness;\n    If to lone and weary ones\n      We no comfort will impart--\n    Tho' 'tis summer in the sky,\n      Yet 'tis winter in the heart!\n\n    If we strive to lift the gloom\n      From a dark and burdened life;\n    If we seek to lull the storm\n      Of our fallen brother's strife;\n    If we bid all hate and scorn\n      From the spirit to depart--\n    Tho' 'tis winter in the sky,\n      Yet 'tis summer in the heart!\n\n\nTHE ELEVENTH-HOUR LABORER\n\n    Idlers all day about the market-place\n      They name us, and our dumb lips answer not,\n    Bearing the bitter while our sloth's disgrace,\n      And our dark tasking whereof none may wot.\n\n    Oh, the fair slopes where the grape-gatherers go!--\n      Not they the day's fierce heat and burden bear,\n    But we who on the market-stones drop slow\n      Our barren tears, while all the bright hours wear.\n\n    Lord of the vineyard, whose dear word declares\n      Our one hour's labor as the day's shall be,\n    What coin divine can make our wage as theirs\n      Who had the morning joy of work for Thee?\n\n    --L. Gray Noble.\n\n\n\"THY LABOR IS NOT IN VAIN\"\n\n    \"I have labored in vain,\" a preacher said,\n      And his brow was marked with care;\n    \"I have labored in vain.\" He bowed down his head,\n    And bitter and sad were the tears he shed\n      In that moment of dark despair.\n\n    \"I am weary and worn, and my hands are weak,\n      And my courage is well-nigh gone;\n    For none give heed to the words I speak,\n    And in vain for a promise of fruit I seek\n      Where the seed of the Word is sown.\"\n\n    And again with a sorrowful heart he wept,\n      For his spirit with grief was stirred,\n    Till the night grew dark, and at last he slept,\n    And a silent calm o'er his spirit crept,\n      And a whisper of \"peace\" was heard.\n\n    And he thought in his dream that his soul took flight\n      To a blessed and bright abode;\n    He saw a throne of dazzling light,\n    And harps were ringing, and robes were white--\n      Made white in a Saviour's blood.\n\n    And he saw such a countless throng around\n      As he never had seen before,\n    Their brows with jewels of light were crowned,\n    And sorrow and sighing no place had found--\n      The troubles of time were o'er.\n\n    Then a white-robed maiden came forth and said,\n      \"Joy! Joy! for the trials are passed!\n    I am one that thy gentle words have led\n    In the narrow pathway of life to tread--\n      I welcome thee home at last!\"\n\n    And the preacher gazed on the maiden's face--\n      He had seen that face on earth,\n    Where, with anxious heart, in his wonted place\n    He had told his charge of a Saviour's grace,\n      And their need of a second birth.\n\n    Then the preacher smiled, and the angel said,\n      \"Go forth to thy work again;\n    It is not in vain that the seed is shed--\n    If only ONE soul to the cross is led,\n      Thy labor is not in vain.\"\n\n    And at last he woke, and his knee he bent\n      In grateful, childlike prayer,\n    And he prayed till an answer of peace was sent,\n    And Faith and Hope as a rainbow bent\n      O'er the clouds of his earthly care.\n\n    And he rose in joy, and his eye was bright.\n      His sorrow and grief had fled,\n    And his soul was calm and his heart was light,\n    For his hands were strong in his Saviour's might\n      As forth to his work he sped.\n\n\n    Whatever dies, or is forgot--\n    Work done for God, it dieth not.\n\n\nFOLLOWING THE MASTER\n\n    I asked the Lord that I might worthier be,\n    Might grow in faith and hope and charity;\n    And straight, \"Go feed my lambs!\" he answered me.\n\n    \"Nay, Lord!\" I cried. \"Can outward deeds avail\n    To cleanse my spirit? Heart and courage fail\n    And sins prevent, and foes and fears assail.\"\n\n    And still, \"Go, feed my lambs!\" was all I heard.\n    But should I rest upon that simple word?\n    Was that, indeed, my message from my Lord?\n\n    Behold, I thought that he his hand would lay\n    On my sick soul, and words of healing say,\n    And charm the plague-spot from my heart away.\n\n    Half wroth, I turned to go; but oh! the look\n    He on me cast--a gaze I could not brook;\n    With deep relentings all my spirit shook.\n\n    \"O dearest Lord,\" I cried, \"I will obey,\n    Say what thou wilt! only lead thou the way;\n    For, following thee, my footsteps shall not stray.\"\n\n    He took me at my word. He went before;\n    He led me to the dwellings of the poor,\n    Where wolf-eyed Want keeps watch beside the door.\n\n    He beckoned me, and I essayed to go\n    Where Sin and Crime, more sad than Want and Woe,\n    Hold carnival, and Vice walks to and fro.\n\n    And when I faltered at the sight, He said,\n    \"Behold, I died for such! These hands have bled,\n    This side for such has pierced been,\" he said.\n\n    \"Is the disciple greater than his Lord?\n    The servant than his Master?\" Oh, that word!\n    It smote me like a sharp, two-edged sword!\n\n    And since that hour, if any work of mine\n    Has been accepted by my Lord as sign\n    That I was following in his steps divine;\n\n    If, serving others (though imperfectly),\n    My own poor life has worthier come to be,\n    And I have grown in faith and charity,\n\n    Dear Lord, be thine the glory! Thou hast wrought,\n    All unaware, the blessing that I sought.\n    O that these lips might praise thee as they ought!\n\n\nBE ALWAYS GIVING\n\n    The sun gives ever; so the earth--\n    What it can give so much 'tis worth;\n    The ocean gives in many ways--\n    Gives baths, gives fishes, rivers, bays;\n    So, too, the air, it gives us breath.\n    When it stops giving, comes in death.\n      Give, give, be always giving;\n      Who gives not is not living;\n        The more you give\n        The more you live.\n\n    God's love hath in us wealth unheaped\n    Only by giving it is reaped;\n    The body withers, and the mind\n    Is pent up by a selfish rind.\n    Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf,\n    Give love, give tears, and give thyself.\n      Give, give, be always giving,\n      Who gives not is not living;\n        The more we give\n        The more we live.\n\n\n    Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs,\n    For the world wants daily little kindly deeds;\n    O, what care and sorrow you may help remove\n    With your song and courage, sympathy and love.\n\n\nNOT LOST\n\n    The look of sympathy; the gentle word\n    Spoken so low that only angels heard;\n    The secret act of pure self-sacrifice,\n    Unseen by men, but marked by angels' eyes;\n      These are not lost.\n\n    The silent tears that fall at dead of night\n    Over soiled robes that once were pure and white;\n    The prayers that rise like incense from the soul,\n    Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole;\n      These are not lost.\n\n    The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth,\n    When dreams had less of self and more of truth;\n    The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet,\n    Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet;\n      These are not lost.\n\n    The kindly plans devised for others' good,\n    So seldom guessed, so little understood;\n    The quiet, steadfast love that strove to win\n    Some wanderer from the ways of sin;\n      These are not lost.\n\n    Not lost, O Lord! for in Thy city bright\n    Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light,\n    And things long hidden from our gaze below\n    Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know\n      They were not lost.\n\n\n    There's never a rose in all the world\n      But makes some green spray sweeter;\n    There's never a wind in all the sky\n      But makes some bird wing fleeter;\n    There's never a star but brings to heaven\n      Some silver radiance tender;\n    And never a rosy cloud but helps\n      To crown the sunset splendor;\n    No robin but may thrill some heart,\n      His dawn like gladness voicing;\n    God gives us all some small sweet way\n      To set the world rejoicing.\n\n\nA BROADER FIELD\n\n    O thou who sighest for a broader field\n      Wherein to sow the seeds of truth and right--\n    Who fain a fuller, nobler power would wield\n      O'er human souls that languish for the light--\n\n    Search well the realm that even now is thine!\n      Canst not thou in some far-off corner find\n    A heart sin-bound, like tree with sapping vine,\n      Waiting for help its burdens to unbind?\n\n    Some human plant, perchance beneath thine eyes,\n      Pierced through with hidden thorns of idle fears;\n    Or drooping low for need of light from skies\n      Obscured by doubt-clouds raining poison tears?\n\n    Some bruised soul the balm of love would heal;\n      Some timid spirit faith would courage give;\n    Or maimed brother, who, though brave and leal,\n      Still needeth thee, to rightly walk and live?\n\n    O while one soul thou findest which hath not known\n      The fullest help thy soul hath power to give,\n    Sigh not for fields still broader than thine own,\n      But, steadfast in thine own, more broadly live.\n\n    --Julia Anna Wolcott.\n\n\n    Be it health or be it leisure,\n      Be it skill we have to give,\n    Still in spending it for others\n      Christians only really live.\n\n    Not in having or receiving,\n      But in giving, there is bliss;\n    He who has no other pleasure\n      Ever may rejoice in this.\n\n\nWHAT CHRIST SAID\n\n    I said, \"Let me walk in the fields.\"\n      He said, \"No, walk in the town.\"\n    I said, \"There are no flowers there.\"\n      He said, \"No flowers, but a crown.\"\n\n    I said, \"But the skies are black;\n      There is nothing but noise and din.\"\n    And He wept as he sent me back;\n      \"There is more,\" He said; \"there is sin.\"\n\n    I said, \"But the air is thick,\n      And fogs are veiling the sun.\"\n    He answered, \"Yet souls are sick,\n      And souls in the dark undone.\"\n\n    I said, \"I shall miss the light,\n      And friends will miss me, they say.\"\n    He answered, \"Choose to-night\n      If _I_ am to miss you, or they.\"\n\n    I pleaded for time to be given.\n      He said, \"Is it hard to decide?\n    It will not seem hard in heaven\n      To have followed the steps of your Guide.\"\n\n    I cast one look at the fields,\n      Then set my face to the town;\n    He said, \"My child, do you yield?\n      Will you leave the flowers for the crown?\"\n\n    Then into His hand went mine,\n      And into my heart came He;\n    And I walk in a light divine\n      The path I had feared to see.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nMY SERVICE\n\n    I asked the Lord to let me do\n      Some mighty work for Him;\n    To fight amid His battle hosts,\n      Then sing the victor's hymn.\n    I longed my ardent love to show,\n    But Jesus would not have it so.\n\n    He placed me in a quiet home,\n      Whose life was calm and still,\n    And gave me little things to do,\n      My daily round to fill;\n    I could not think it good to be\n    Just put aside so silently.\n\n    Small duties gathered round my way,\n      They seemed of earth alone;\n    I, who had longed for conquests bright\n      To lay before His throne,\n    Had common things to do and bear,\n    To watch and strive with daily care.\n\n    So then I thought my prayer unheard,\n      And asked the Lord once more\n    That He would give me work for Him\n      And open wide the door;\n    Forgetting that my Master knew\n    Just what was best for me to do.\n\n    Then quietly the answer came,\n      \"My child, I hear thy cry;\n    Think not that mighty deeds alone\n      Will bring the victory.\n    The battle has been planned by Me,\n    Let daily life thy conquests see.\"\n\n\nPASS IT ON\n\n    Have you had a kindness shown?\n            Pass it on.\n    It was not given to you alone,\n            Pass it on.\n    Let it travel through the years;\n    Let it wipe another's tears;\n    Till in heaven the deed appears,\n            Pass it on.\n\n    Have you found the heavenly light?\n            Pass it on.\n    Souls are groping in the night,\n            Daylight gone.\n    Lift your lighted lamp on high,\n    Be a star in some one's sky,\n    He may live who else would die.\n            Pass it on.\n\n\nGIVING AND TAKING\n\n    Who gives, and hides the giving hand,\n      Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise,\n      Shall find his smallest gift outweighs\n    The burden of the sea and land.\n\n    Who gives to whom hath naught been given,\n      His gift in need, though small indeed\n      As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed,\n    Is large as earth and rich as heaven.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier, from Tinnevaluna of India.\n\n\nONE PATH TO LIGHT\n\n    What is the world? A wandering maze,\n    Where sin hath tracked a thousand ways\n      Her victims to ensnare.\n    All broad and winding and aslope,\n    All tempting with perfidious hope,\n      All ending in despair.\n    Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,\n    Bearing their baubles or their loads\n      Down to eternal night.\n    One only path that never bends,\n    Narrow and rough and steep, ascends\n      Through darkness into light.\n    Is there no guide to show that path?\n    The Bible. He alone that hath\n      The Bible need not stray.\n    But he who hath and will not give\n    That light of life to all that live,\n      Himself shall lose the way.\n\n\nIF WE COULD ONLY SEE\n\n    It were not hard, we think, to serve Him\n      If we could only see!\n    If he would stand with that gaze intense\n    Burning into our bodily sense,\n    If we might look on that face most tender,\n    The brows where the scars are turned to splendor,\n    Might catch the light of his smile so sweet,\n    And view the marks on his hands and feet,\n      How loyal we should be!\n    It were not hard, we think, to serve him,\n      If we could only see!\n\n    It were not hard, he says, to see him,\n      If we would only serve;\n    \"He that doeth the will of Heaven,\n    To him shall knowledge and sight be given.\"\n    While for his presence we sit repining,\n    Never we see his countenance shining;\n    They who toil where his reapers be\n    The glow of his smile may always see,\n      And their faith can never swerve.\n    It were not hard, he says, to see him,\n      If we would only serve.\n\n\n    Think not in sleep to fold thy hands,\n    Forgetful of thy Lord's commands,\n    From Duty's claims no life is free,\n    Behold! To-day has need of thee.\n\n\nWHEN YOU DO AN ACT\n\n    You can never tell when you do an act\n      Just what the result will be;\n    But with every deed you are sowing a seed,\n      Though its harvest you may not see.\n    Each kindly act is an acorn dropped\n      In God's productive soil;\n    Though you may not know, yet the tree shall grow\n      And shelter the brows that toil.\n\n\nYOUR MISSION\n\n    If you cannot on the ocean\n      Sail among the swiftest fleet,\n    Rocking on the highest billows,\n      Laughing at the storms you meet;\n    You can stand among the sailors\n      Anchored yet within the bay;\n    You can lend a hand to help them\n      As they launch their boat away.\n\n    If you are too weak to journey\n      Up the mountain steep and high,\n    You can stand within the valley\n      While the multitudes go by;\n    You can chant in happy measure\n      As they slowly pass along;\n    Though they may forget the singer\n      They will not forget the song.\n\n    If you have not gold and silver\n      Ever ready to command;\n    If you cannot toward the needy,\n      Reach an ever-open hand;\n    You can visit the afflicted,\n      O'er the erring you can weep;\n    You can be a true disciple\n      Sitting at the Saviour's feet.\n\n    If you cannot in the harvest\n      Garner up the richest sheaves,\n    Many a grain both ripe and golden\n      Will the careless reapers leave;\n    Go and glean among the briers\n      Growing rank against the wall,\n    For it may be that their shadow\n      Hides the heaviest wheat of all.\n\n    If you cannot in the conflict\n      Prove yourself a soldier true,\n    If where fire and smoke are thickest\n      There's no work for you to do;\n    When the battle-field is silent\n      You can go with careful tread:\n    You can bear away the wounded,\n      You can cover up the dead.\n\n    If you cannot be the watchman,\n      Standing high on Zion's wall,\n    Pointing out the path to heaven,\n      Offering life and peace to all;\n    With your prayers and with your bounties\n      You can do what Heaven demands,\n    You can be like faithful Aaron,\n      Holding up the prophet's hands.\n\n    Do not, then, stand idly waiting\n      For some greater work to do;\n    Fortune is a lazy goddess--\n      She will never come to you.\n    Go and toil in any vineyard,\n      Do not fear to do or dare;\n    If you want a field of labor\n      You can find it anywhere.\n\n    --G. M. Grannis.\n\n\nTHE FAITHFUL MONK\n\n    Golden gleams of noonday fell\n    On the pavement of the cell,\n    And the monk still lingered there\n    In the ecstasy of prayer;\n    Fuller floods of glory streamed\n    Through the window, and it seemed\n    Like an answering glow of love\n    From the countenance above.\n\n    On the silence of the cell\n    Break the faint tones of a bell.\n    'Tis the hour when at the gate\n    Crowds of poor and hungry wait,\n    Wan and wistful, to be fed\n    With the friar of mercy's bread.\n\n    Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!\n    On the monk's rapt ear it swells,\n    No! fond, flattering dream, away!\n    Mercy calls; no longer stay!\n    Whom thou yearnest here to find\n    In the musings of thy mind,\n    God and Jesus, lo, they wait\n    Knocking at thy convent gate!\n\n    From his knees the monk arose;\n    With full heart and hand he goes,\n    At his gate the poor relieves,\n    Gains a blessing and receives;\n    To his cell returned, and there\n    Found the angel of his prayer,\n    Who with radiant features said,\n    \"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled.\"\n\n    --Charles Timothy Brooks.\n\n\nTHE HEAVENLY PRESENCE\n\n    Somewhere I have read of an aged monk\n      Who, kneeling one day in his cell,\n    Beheld in a glorious vision the form\n      Of the dear Lord Christ; and there fell\n\n    Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet,\n      And his lips could frame no word,\n    As he gazed on the form and noted the love\n      That beamed from the face of his Lord.\n\n    There came to his ears the sound of a bell\n      Which called him early and late\n    To carry loaves to the wretched poor\n      Who lingered about the gate.\n\n    Could he leave his cell now glorified\n      By the presence of the Christ,\n    The Blessed Son, the Holy One,\n      His Saviour, the Sacrificed?\n\n    He went to his act of mercy, and when\n      He returned to his cell, the dim\n    Gay light was dispelled as the loving Christ\n      Re-entered to welcome him.\n\n    And the Blessed One remained, more fair,\n      More glorious than before,\n    And the heart of the aged monk was glad,\n      And his cell was dim no more.\n\n    \"Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ,\n      All through this day,\" is the prayer\n    Which sounds from my heart, and my lips repeat\n      Each morning, and Christ, the Fair,\n\n    Seems very near as his words I hear,\n      Though his form I do not see;\n    \"When you care for the least of these, dear child,\n      You have done it unto me.\n\n    \"With loving service fill all this day,\n      Do good in the name of your Lord,\n    And I will be near, your heart to cheer,\n      According to my word.\"\n\n    --William Norris Burr.\n\n\nONLY\n\n    It was _only_ a blossom,\n      Just the merest bit of bloom,\n    But it brought a glimpse of summer\n      To the little darkened room.\n\n    It was _only_ a glad \"good morning,\"\n      As she passed along the way;\n    But it spread the morning's glory\n      Over the livelong day.\n\n    _Only_ a song; but the music,\n      Though simply pure and sweet,\n    Brought back to better pathways\n      The reckless roving feet.\n\n    \"_Only_,\" in our blind wisdom,\n      How dare we say at all?\n    Since the ages alone can tell us\n      Which is the great or small.\n\n\nSOMETHING YOU CAN DO\n\n    Hark! the voice of Jesus calling,\n      \"Who will go and work to-day?\n    Fields are white and harvests waiting,\n      Who will bear the sheaves away?\"\n    Loud and long the Master calleth,\n      Rich reward he offers free;\n    Who will answer, gladly saying,\n      \"Here am I, send me, send me.\"\n\n    If you cannot cross the ocean\n      And the heathen lands explore,\n    You can find the heathen nearer,\n      You can help them at your door;\n    If you cannot give your thousands\n      You can give the widow's mite;\n    And the least you give for Jesus\n      Will be precious in his sight.\n\n    If you cannot speak like angels,\n      If you cannot preach like Paul,\n    You can tell the love of Jesus,\n      You can say he died for all.\n    If you cannot rouse the wicked\n      With the Judgment's dread alarms,\n    You can lead the little children\n      To the Saviour's waiting arms.\n\n    Let none hear you idly saying\n      \"There is nothing I can do,\"\n    While the sons of men are dying,\n      And the Master calls for you.\n    Take the task he gives you gladly,\n      Let his work your pleasure be;\n    Answer quickly, when he calleth,\n      \"Here am I, send me, send me.\"\n\n    --Daniel March.\n\n\nSEEDTIME\n\n              Sow thou thy seed!\n    Glad is the light of Spring--the sun is glowing.\n              Do thou thy deed:\n    Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing?\n\n              Thy seed may be\n    Bearer of thousands scattered far and near;\n              Eternity\n    May feel the impress of the deed done here.\n\n    --Arthur L. Salmon.\n\n\nTOIL A BLESSING\n\n    The toil of brain, or heart, or hand,\n      Is man's appointed lot;\n    He who God's call can understand\n      Will work and murmur not.\n    Toil is no thorny crown of pain,\n      Bound round man's brow for sin;\n    True souls, from it, all strength may gain,\n      High manliness may win.\n\n    O God! who workest hitherto,\n      Working in all we see,\n    Fain would we be, and bear, and do,\n      As best it pleaseth thee.\n    Where'er thou sendest we will go,\n      Nor any questions ask,\n    And that thou biddest we will do,\n      Whatever be the task.\n\n    Our skill of hand, and strength of limb,\n      Are not our own, but thine;\n    We link them to the work of Him\n      Who made all life divine.\n    Our brother-friend, thy holy Son,\n      Shared all our lot and strife;\n    And nobly will our work be done\n      If molded by his life.\n\n    --Thomas W. Freckelton.\n\n\n    No service in itself is small;\n      None great, though earth it fill;\n    But that is small that seeks its own,\n      And great that seeks God's will.\n\n    Then hold my hand, most gracious God,\n      Guide all my goings still;\n    And let it be my life's one aim,\n      To know and do thy will.\n\n\nEASILY GIVEN\n\n    It was only a sunny smile,\n      And little it cost in the giving;\n        But it scattered the night\n        Like morning light,\n      And made the day worth living.\n    Through life's dull warp a woof it wove,\n    In shining colors of light and love,\n    And the angels smiled as they watched above,\n      Yet little it cost in giving.\n\n    It was only a kindly word,\n      And a word that was lightly spoken;\n        Yet not in vain,\n        For it stilled the pain\n      Of a heart that was nearly broken.\n    It strengthened a fate beset by fears\n    And groping blindly through mists of tears\n    For light to brighten the coming years,\n      Although it was lightly spoken.\n\n    It was only a helping hand,\n      And it seemed of little availing;\n        But its clasps were warm,\n        And it saved from harm\n      A brother whose strength was failing.\n    Its touch was tender as angels' wings,\n    But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs,\n    And pointed the way to higher things,\n      Though it seemed of little availing.\n\n    A smile, a word, a touch,\n      And each is easily given;\n        Yet one may win\n        A soul from sin\n      Or smooth the way to heaven.\n    A smile may lighten a falling heart,\n    A word may soften pain's keenest smart,\n    A touch may lead us from sin apart--\n      How easily each is given!\n\n\nWORKING WITH CHRIST\n\n    O matchless honor, all unsought,\n    High privilege, surpassing thought\n    That thou shouldst call us, Lord, to be\n    Linked in work-fellowship with thee!\n    To carry out _thy_ wondrous plan,\n    To bear _thy_ messages to man;\n    \"In trust,\" with Christ's own word of grace\n    To every soul of human race.\n\n\nTHE \"NEW LOGION\"\n\n    \"Jesus saith,\" and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand,\n    Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand?\n    Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high:\n    \"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there\n      am I\"?\n\n    Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire,\n    That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire,\n    Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high,\n    \"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there\n      am I\"?\n\n    Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay,\n    Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way,\n    Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high,\n    \"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there\n      am I\"?\n\n    Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always see\n    In the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree,\n    Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh,\n    \"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there\n      am I\"?\n\n    Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife,\n    In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life,\n    Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high,\n    \"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there\n      am I.\"\n\n    --Mrs. Henry B. Smith.\n\n\n    He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,\n    To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun,\n    That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base\n    Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nHER CREED\n\n    She stood before a chosen few,\n    With modest air and eyes of blue;\n    A gentle creature, in whose face\n    Were mingled tenderness and grace.\n\n    \"You wish to join our fold,\" they said;\n    \"Do you believe in all that's read\n    From ritual and written creed,\n    Essential to our human need?\"\n\n    A troubled look was in her eyes;\n    She answered, as in vague surprise,\n    As though the sense to her were dim.\n    \"I only strive to follow Him.\"\n\n    They knew her life, how oft she stood,\n    Pure in her guileless maidenhood,\n    By dying bed, in hovel lone,\n    Whose sorrow she had made her own.\n\n    Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,\n    Sweet as the note of any bird;\n    Her hand been open in distress;\n    Her joy to brighten and to bless.\n\n    Yet still she answered, when they sought\n    To know her inmost, earnest thought,\n    With look as of the seraphim\n    \"I only strive to follow Him.\"\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nWAKING THOUGHTS\n\n    Another day God gives me, pure and white.\n    How can I make it holy in his sight?\n    Small means have I and but a narrow sphere,\n    Yet work is round me, for he placed me here.\n    How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes;\n    Show me the duty that around me lies.\n\n    \"The house is small, but human hearts are there,\n    And for this day at least beneath thy care.\n    Someone is sad--then speak a word of cheer;\n    Someone is lonely--make him welcome here;\n    Someone has failed--protect him from despair;\n    Someone is poor--there's something you can spare!\n\n    \"Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer,\n    And carry sunshine with thee everywhere.\n    The little duties do with all thine heart\n    And from things sordid keep a mind apart;\n    Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest,\n    In blessing others thou thyself art blest!\"\n\n\nLONELY SERVICE\n\n    Methought that in a solemn church I stood;\n    Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet,\n    Lay spread from door to door, from street to street.\n    Midway the form hung high upon the rood\n    Of Him who gave his life to be our good.\n    Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet\n    Among the candles, shining still and sweet.\n    Men came and went, and worshipped as they could--\n    And still their dust a woman with her broom,\n    Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door.\n    Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom,\n    Across the church a silent figure come;\n    \"Daughter,\" it said, \"thou sweepest well my floor.\"\n    \"It is the Lord!\" I cried, and saw no more.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nSHARE YOUR BLESSINGS\n\n    Dig channels for the streams of love,\n      Where they may broadly run,\n    And love has overflowing streams\n      To fill them every one.\n    But if at any time thou cease\n      Such channels to provide,\n    The very founts of love to thee\n      Will soon be parched and dried.\n    For thou must share if thou wouldst keep\n      That good thing from above;\n    Ceasing to share you cease to have;\n      Such is the law of love.\n\n\nONLY A LITTLE\n\n    Only a seed--but it chanced to fall\n    In a little cleft of a city wall,\n    And taking root, grew bravely up\n    Till a tiny blossom crowned its top.\n\n    Only a thought--but the work it wrought\n    Could never by tongue or pen be taught;\n    For it ran through a life like a thread of gold,\n    And the life bore fruit--a hundred fold.\n\n    Only a word--but 'twas spoken in love,\n    With a whispered prayer to the Lord above;\n    And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more,\n    For a new-born soul \"entered in by the door.\"\n\n\nPAUL AT MELITA\n\n    Secure in his prophetic strength,\n      The water peril o'er,\n    The many-gifted man at length\n      Stepped on the promised shore.\n\n    He trod the shore; but not to rest,\n      Nor wait till angels came;\n    Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,\n      The firebrands and the flame.\n\n    But when he felt the viper's smart,\n      Then instant aid was given.\n    Christian, hence learn to do thy part,\n      And leave the rest to Heaven.\n\n    --John Henry Newman.\n\n\n    All service ranks the same with God;\n    If now, as formerly He trod\n    Paradise, His presence fills\n    Our earth, each only as God wills\n    Can work--God's puppets, best and worst,\n    Are we; there is no last nor first.\n\n    Say not \"a small event!\" Why \"small\"?\n    Costs it more pain that this, ye call\n    A \"great event,\" should come to pass\n    Than that? Untwine me, from the mass\n    Of deeds which make up life, one deed\n    Power shall fall short in, or exceed.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    What will it matter in a little while\n      That for a day\n    We met and gave a word, a touch, a smile,\n      Upon the way?\n    These trifles! Can they make or mar\n      Human life?\n    Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes are\n      By love or strife?\n    Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break,\n      Or make it whole,\n    And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake,\n      May save a soul.\n\n\n                    Get leave to work\n    In this world--'tis the best you get at all;\n    For God in cursing gives us better gifts\n    Than men in benediction. God says, \"Sweat\n    For foreheads;\" men say \"crowns;\" and so we are crowned--\n    Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel\n    Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work;\n    Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    Be useful where thou livest, that they may\n      Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still;\n    Kindness, good parts, great places, are the way\n      To compass this. Find out men's wants and will,\n    And meet them there. All worldly joys go less\n    To the one joy of doing kindnesses.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\n    When He who, sad and weary, longing sore\n    For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door,\n    One saw the heavenly, one the human guest;\n    But who shall say which loved the Master best?\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver,\n      Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there.\n    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .\n    Then with a rush the intolerable craving\n      Shivers throughout me like a trumpet call--\n    Oh to save these! to perish for their saving,\n      Die for their life, be offered for them all!\n\n\n    No man is born into the world whose work\n    Is not born with him; there is always work,\n    And tools to work withal, for those who will;\n    And blessed are the horny hands of toil!\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,\n    In whatso we share with another's need;\n    Not what we give, but what we share,\n    For the gift without the giver is bare;\n    Who gives himself with his alms feeds three:\n    Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    Look not beyond the stars for heaven,\n      Nor 'neath the sea for hell;\n    Know thou, who leads a useful life\n      In Paradise doth dwell.\n\n    --Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    Small service is true service while it lasts:\n      Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one;\n    The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,\n    Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n    Mechanic soul, thou must not only do\n    With Martha, but with Mary ponder too;\n    Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary;\n    But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary.\n\n    --Francis Quarles.\n\n\n    If thou hast the gift of strength, then know\n    Thy part is to uplift the trodden low;\n    Else, in the giant's grasp, until the end\n    A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.\n\n    --George Meredith.\n\n\n    The best men doing their best\n    Know, peradventure, least of what they do.\n    Men usefullest i' the world are simply used.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    New words to speak, new thoughts to hear,\n      New love to give and take;\n    Perchance new burdens I may bear\n      To-day for love's sweet sake.\n\n\n    He doth good work whose heart can find\n      The spirit 'neath the letter;\n    Who makes his kind of happier mind,\n      Leaves wiser men and better.\n\n\n    Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,\n    Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,\n    Labor--all labor is noble and holy.\n\n    --Frances Sargent Osgood.\n\n\n    In silence mend what ills deform the mind;\n    But all thy good impart to all thy kind.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\n    God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day:\n    A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say.\n\n\n    That best portion of a good man's life--\n    His little, nameless, unremembered acts\n    Of kindness and of love.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n    Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground,\n    Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n\n\nBROTHERHOOD\n\nCHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE\n\n\nTHE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD\n\n    There are hermit souls that live withdrawn\n      In the peace of their self-content;\n    There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart\n      In a fellowless firmament;\n    There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths\n      Where highways never ran--\n    But let me live by the side of the road\n      And be a friend to man.\n\n    Let me live in a house by the side of the road,\n      Where the race of men go by--\n    The men who are good and the men who are bad,\n      As good and as bad as I.\n    I would not sit in the scorner's seat,\n      Or hurl the cynic's ban--\n    Let me live in a house by the side of the road,\n      And be a friend to man.\n\n    I see from my house by the side of the road,\n      By the side of the highway of life,\n    The men who press with the ardor of hope\n      The men who are faint with the strife.\n    But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears--\n      Both parts of an infinite plan--\n    Let me live in a house by the side of the road\n      And be a friend to man.\n\n    I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead\n      And mountains of wearisome height;\n    And the road passes on through the long afternoon\n      And stretches away to the night.\n    But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,\n      And weep with the strangers that moan,\n    Nor live in my house by the side of the road\n      Like a man who dwells alone.\n\n    Let me live in my house by the side of the road\n      Where the race of men go by--\n    They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,\n      Wise, foolish--so am I.\n    Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat\n      Or hurl the cynic's ban?\n    Let me live in my house by the side of the road\n      And be a friend to man.\n\n    --Sam Walter Foss.\n\n\nIS YOUR LAMP BURNING?\n\n    Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?\n      I pray you look quickly and see;\n    For if it were burning, then surely\n      Some beams would fall brightly on me.\n\n    Straight, straight is the road, but I falter.\n      And oft I fall out by the way;\n    Then lift your lamp higher, my brother,\n      Lest I should make fatal delay.\n\n    There are many and many around you\n      Who follow wherever you go;\n    If you thought that they walked in the shadow\n      Your lamp would burn brighter, I know.\n\n    Upon the dark mountains they stumble,\n      They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie\n    With their white pleading faces turned upward\n      To the clouds and the pitiful sky.\n\n    There is many a lamp that is lighted,\n      We behold them anear and afar,\n    But not many among them, my brother,\n      Shine steadily on, like a star.\n\n    I think, were they trimmed night and morning,\n      They would never burn down or go out,\n    Though from the four quarters of heaven\n      The winds were all blowing about.\n\n    If once all the lamps that are lighted\n      Should steadily blaze in a line,\n    Wide over the land and the ocean,\n      What a girdle of glory would shine!\n\n    How all the dark places would brighten!\n      How the mists would roll up and away!\n    How the earth would laugh out in her gladness\n      To hail the millennial day!\n\n    Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?\n      I pray you look quickly and see;\n    For if it were burning, then surely\n      Some beams would fall brightly on me.\n\n\nIF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT\n\n            If I should die to-night,\n    My friends would look upon my quiet face\n    Before they laid it in its resting-place,\n    And deem that death had left it almost fair,\n    And laying snow-white flowers upon my hair,\n    Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,\n    And fold my hands with lingering caress--\n      Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!\n\n            If I should die to-night,\n    My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,\n    Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought,\n    Some gentle word the frozen lips had said--\n    Errands on which the willing feet had sped;\n    The memory of my selfishness and pride,\n    My hasty words, would all be put aside,\n      And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.\n\n            If I should die to-night,\n    Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,\n    Recalling other days remorsefully.\n    The eyes that chill me with averted glance\n    Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,\n    And soften in the old familiar way;\n    For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay?\n      So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.\n\n            O friends, I pray to-night,\n    Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow.\n    The way is lonely; let me feel them now.\n    Think gently of me; I am travel-worn,\n    My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.\n    Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!\n    When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need\n      The tenderness for which I long to-night.\n\n    --Belle Eugenia Smith.\n\n\nFRUITION\n\n    We scatter seeds with careless hand\n      And dream we ne'er shall see them more,\n        But for a thousand years\n        Their fruit appears\n    In weeds that mar the land\n      Or helpful store.\n\n    The deeds we do, the words we say--\n      Into still air they seem to fleet;\n        We count them ever past;\n        But they shall last--\n    In the dread judgment they\n      And we shall meet.\n\n    I charge thee by the years gone by,\n      For the love's sake of brethren dear,\n        Keep thou the one true way,\n        In work and play,\n    Lest in that world their cry\n      Of woe thou hear.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\n    Still shines the light of holy lives\n      Like star beams over doubt;\n    Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives\n      Some dark possession out.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nHAVE CHARITY\n\n    Then gently scan your brother man,\n      Still gentler sister woman;\n    Though they may gang a kennin' wrang\n      To step aside is human:\n    One point must still be greatly dark,\n      The moving _why_ they do it:\n    And just as lamely can ye mark\n      How far, perhaps, they rue it.\n\n    Who made the heart, 'tis He alone\n      Decidedly can try us;\n    He knows each chord--its various tone,\n      Each spring--its various bias;\n    Then at the balance let's be mute,\n      We never can adjust it;\n    What's done we partly may compute,\n      But know not what's resisted.\n\n    --Robert Burns.\n\n\nTHE VOICE OF PITY\n\n    Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness,\n      O'er the sons of wrong and strife,\n    Were their strong temptations planted\n      In thy path of life?\n\n    He alone whose hand is bounding\n      Human power and human will,\n    Looking through each soul's surrounding,\n      Knows its good or ill.\n\n    Earnest words must needs be spoken\n      When the warm heart bleeds or burns\n    With its scorn of wrong, or pity\n      For the wronged, by turns.\n\n    But, by all thy nature's weakness,\n      Hidden faults and follies known,\n    Be thou, in rebuking evil,\n      Conscious of thine own.\n\n    Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty\n      To thy lips her trumpet set,\n    But with harsher blasts shall mingle\n      Wailings of regret.\n\n    So when thoughts of evil-doers\n      Waken scorn or hatred move,\n    Shall a mournful fellow-feeling\n      Temper all with love.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan,\n    That man shall be the joy of man.\n\n    --From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\nJUDGE NOT\n\n    Judge not; the workings of his brain\n      And of his heart thou canst not see;\n    What looks to thy dim eyes a stain\n      In God's pure light may only be\n    A scar--brought from some well-won field\n    Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.\n\n    The look, the air, that frets thy sight\n      May be a token that, below,\n    The soul has closed in deadly fight\n      With some infernal fiery foe--\n    Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace\n    And cast thee shuddering on thy face!\n\n    The fall thou darest to despise--\n      May be the angel's slackened hand\n    Has suffered it, that he may rise\n      And take a firmer, surer stand;\n    Or, trusting less to earthly things,\n    May henceforth learn to use his wings.\n\n    And judge none lost; but wait and see\n      With hopeful pity, not disdain,\n    The depth of the abyss may be\n      The measure of the height of pain,\n    And love and glory that may raise\n    This soul to God in after days.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\nTHINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING\n\n    Think gently of the erring;\n      Ye know not of the power\n    With which the dark temptation came\n      In some unguarded hour;\n    Ye may not know how earnestly\n      They struggled, or how well,\n    Until the hour of weakness came\n      And sadly thus they fell.\n\n    Think gently of the erring;\n      Oh, do not thou forget,\n    However darkly stained by sin,\n      He is thy brother yet;\n    Heir of the self-same heritage,\n      Child of the self-same God,\n    He has but stumbled in the path\n      Thou hast in weakness trod.\n\n    Speak gently to the erring;\n      For is it not enough\n    That innocence and peace have gone,\n      Without thy censure rough?\n    It sure must be a weary lot,\n      That sin-stained heart to bear,\n    And those who share a happier fate\n      Their chidings well may spare.\n\n    Speak gently to the erring;\n      Thou yet mayst lead them back,\n    With holy words and tones of love,\n      From misery's thorny track;\n    Forget not thou hast often sinned,\n      And sinful yet must be;\n    Deal gently with the erring, then,\n      As God has dealt with thee.\n\n    --Julia A. Fletcher.\n\n\nHARSH JUDGMENTS\n\n    O God! whose thoughts are brightest light,\n      Whose love runs always clear,\n    To whose kind wisdom sinning souls\n      Amidst their sins are dear,\n\n    Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart\n      With charity like thine,\n    Till self shall be the only spot\n      On earth which does not shine.\n\n    I often see in my own thoughts,\n      When they lie nearest Thee,\n    That the worst men I ever knew\n      Were better men than me.\n\n    He whom no praise can reach is aye\n      Men's least attempts approving;\n    Whom justice makes all-merciful\n      Omniscience makes all-loving.\n\n    How thou canst think so well of us\n      Yet be the God thou art,\n    Is darkness to my intellect,\n      But sunshine to my heart.\n\n    Yet habits linger in the soul;\n      More grace, O Lord! more grace!\n    More sweetness from thy loving heart!\n      More sunshine from thy face!\n\n    The discord is within, which jars\n      So sadly in life's song;\n    'Tis we, not they, who are in fault,\n      When others seem so wrong.\n\n    'Tis we who weigh upon ourselves;\n      Self is the irksome weight;\n    To those who can see straight themselves,\n      All things look always straight.\n\n    My God, with what surpassing love\n      Thou lovest all on earth;\n    How good the least good is to thee,\n      How much each soul is worth!\n\n    All bitterness is from ourselves;\n      All sweetness is from thee;\n    Sweet God! for evermore be thou\n      Fountain and fire in me!\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nHOW TO JUDGE\n\n    \"Judge the people by their actions\"--tis a rule you often get--\n    \"Judge the actions by their people\" is a wiser maxim yet.\n    Have I known you, brother, sister? Have I looked into your heart?\n    Mingled with your thoughts my feelings, taken of your life my part?\n    Through the warp of your convictions sent the shuttle of my thought\n    Till the web became the Credo, for us both, of Should and Ought?\n    Seen in thousand ways your nature, in all act and look and speech?\n    By that large induction only I your law of being reach.\n    Now I hear of this wrong action--what is that to you and me?\n    Sin within you may have done it--fruit not nature to the tree.\n    Foreign graft has come to bearing--mistletoe grown on your bough--\n    If I ever really knew you, then, my friend, I know you now.\n    So I say, \"He never did it,\" or, \"He did not so intend\";\n    Or, \"Some foreign power o'ercame him\"--so I judge the action, friend.\n    Let the mere outside observer note appearance as he can;\n    We, more righteous judgment passing, test each action by its man.\n\n    --James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\n\"TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL\"\n\n    If I knew you and you knew me,\n    If both of us could clearly see,\n    And with an inner sight divine\n    The meaning of your heart and mine,\n    I'm sure that we would differ less,\n    And clasp our hands in friendliness;\n    Our thoughts would pleasantly agree\n    If I knew you and you knew me.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\nKINDNESS\n\n    A little word in kindness spoken,\n      A motion, or a tear,\n    Has often healed the heart that's broken\n      And made a friend sincere.\n\n    A word, a look, has crushed to earth\n      Full many a budding flower,\n    Which, had a smile but owned its birth,\n      Would bless life's darkest hour.\n\n    Then deem it not an idle thing\n      A pleasant word to speak;\n    The face you wear, the thought you bring,\n      A heart may heal or break.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nIF WE KNEW\n\n    If we knew the cares and sorrows\n      Crowded round our neighbor's way,\n    If we knew the little losses,\n      Sorely grievous, day by day,\n    Would we then so often chide him\n      For the lack of thrift and gain,\n    Leaving on his heart a shadow\n      Leaving on our hearts a stain?\n\n    If we knew the clouds above us,\n      Held by gentle blessings there,\n    Would we turn away, all trembling,\n      In our blind and weak despair?\n    Would we shrink from little shadows\n      Lying on the dewy grass\n    While 'tis only birds of Eden\n      Just in mercy flying past?\n\n    Let us reach within our bosoms\n      For the key to other lives,\n    And with love to erring natures\n      Cherish good that still survives;\n    So that when our disrobed spirits\n      Soar to realms of light again,\n    We may say, \"Dear Father, judge us\n      As we judged our fellow men.\"\n\n\n    Time to me this truth hath taught,\n      'Tis a truth that's worth revealing:\n    More offend from want of thought\n      Than from want of feeling.\n    If advice we would convey,\n      There's a time we should convey it;\n    If we've but a word to say,\n      There's a time in which to say it.\n\n\nHONOR ALL MEN\n\n    Great Master! teach us how to hope in man:\n      We lift our eyes upon his works and ways,\n      And disappointment chills us as we gaze,\n    Our dream of him so far the truth outran,\n    So far his deeds are ever falling short.\n      And then we fold our graceful hands and say,\n      \"The world is vulgar.\" Didst thou turn away,\n    O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought,\n    Because the humble souls of Galilee\n      Were tuned not to the music of thine own\n      And chimed not to the pulsing undertone\n    Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea?\n    Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend,\n      When we so daintily do condescend.\n\n    --Martha Perry Howe.\n\n\nBROTHERHOOD\n\n    That plenty but reproaches me\n      Which leaves my neighbor bare.\n    Not wholly glad my heart can be\n      While his is bowed with care.\n\n    If I go free, and sound, and stout,\n      While his poor fetters clank,\n    Unsated still, I'll still cry out,\n      And plead with Whom I thank.\n\n    Almighty, thou who Father be\n      Of him, of me, of all,\n    Draw us together, him and me,\n      That, whichsoever fall,\n\n    The other's hand may fail him not--\n      The other's strength decline\n    No task of succor that his lot\n      May claim from son of thine.\n\n    I would be fed. I would be clad.\n      I would be housed and dry.\n    But if so be my heart is sad--\n      What benefit have I?\n\n    Best he whose shoulders best endure\n      The load that brings relief;\n    And best shall be his joy secure\n      Who shares that joy with grief.\n\n    --Edward Sandford Martin.\n\n\nTHE LIFE I SEEK\n\n    Not in some cloistered cell\n    Dost thou, Lord, bid me dwell\n      My love to show,\n    But 'mid the busy marts,\n    Where men with burdened hearts\n      Do come and go.\n\n    Some tempted soul to cheer\n    When breath of ill is near\n      And foes annoy;\n    The sinning to restrain,\n    To ease the throb of pain--\n      Be such my joy.\n\n    Lord, make me quick to see\n    Each task awaiting me,\n      And quick to do;\n    Oh, grant me strength, I pray,\n    With lowly love each day,\n      And purpose true,\n\n    To go as Jesus went,\n    Spending and being spent,\n      Myself forgot;\n    Supplying human needs\n    By loving words and deeds--\n      Oh, happy lot!\n\n    --Robert M. Offord.\n\n\nTHY BROTHER\n\n    When thy heart with joy o'erflowing\n      Sings a thankful prayer,\n    In thy joy, O let thy brother\n      With thee share.\n\n    When the harvest sheaves ingathered\n      Fill thy barns with store,\n    To thy God and to thy brother\n      Give the more.\n\n    If thy soul with power uplifted\n      Yearns for glorious deed,\n    Give thy strength to serve thy brother\n      In his need.\n\n    Hast thou borne a secret sorrow\n      In thy lonely breast?\n    Take to thee thy sorrowing brother\n      For a guest.\n\n    Share with him thy bread of blessing,\n      Sorrow's burden share;\n    When thy heart enfolds a brother,\n      God is there.\n\n    --Theodore Chickering Williams.\n\n\nALL'S WELL\n\n    Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse\n      Foretold not half life's good to me:\n    Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force\n      To show how sweet it is to be!\n        Thy witching dream\n      And pictured scheme\n    To match the fact still want the power:\n        Thy promise brave--\n        From birth to grave--\n    Life's boon may beggar in an hour.\n\n    \"Ask and receive,\" 'tis sweetly said;\n      Yet what to plead for know I not;\n    For wish is wasted, hope o'ersped,\n      And aye to thanks returns my thought.\n        If I would pray,\n        I've naught to say\n    But this, that God may be God still;\n        For him to live\n        Is still to give,\n    And sweeter than my wish, his will.\n\n    O wealth of life beyond all bound!\n      Eternity each moment given!\n    What plummet may the Present sound\n      Who promises a future heaven?\n        Or glad or grieved,\n        Oppressed, relieved,\n    In blackest night or brightest day,\n        Still pours the flood\n        Of golden good,\n    And more than heartful fills me aye.\n\n    My wealth is common; I possess\n      No petty province, but the whole.\n    What's mine alone is mine far less\n      Than treasure shared by every soul,\n        Talk not of store,\n        Millions or more--\n    Of values which the purse may hold--\n        But this divine!\n        I own the mine\n    Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.\n\n    I have a stake in every star,\n      In every beam that fills the day;\n    All hearts of men my coffers are,\n      My ores arterial tides convey;\n        The fields and skies\n        And sweet replies\n    Of thought to thought are my gold-dust,\n        The oaks and brooks\n        And speaking looks\n    Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust.\n\n    Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow\n      For him who lives above all years;\n    Who all-immortal makes the Now,\n      And is not ta'en in Time's arrears;\n        His life's a hymn\n        The seraphim\n    Might stop to hear or help to sing,\n        And to his soul\n        The boundless whole\n    Its bounty all doth daily bring.\n\n    \"All mine is thine,\" the sky-soul saith;\n      \"The wealth I am must then become\n    Richer and richer, breath by breath--\n      Immortal gain, immortal room!\"\n        And since all his\n        Mine also is,\n    Life's gift outruns my fancies far,\n        And drowns the dream\n        In larger stream,\n    As morning drinks the morning star.\n\n    --David Atwood Wasson.\n\n\nHOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED?\n\n    How doth death speak of our beloved\n      When it has laid them low,\n    When it has set its hallowing touch\n      On speechless lip and brow?\n\n    It clothes their every gift and grace\n    With radiance from the holiest place,\n    With light as from an angel's face,\n\n    Recalling with resistless force\n    And tracing to their hidden source\n    Deeds scarcely noticed in their course--\n\n    This little loving fond device,\n    That daily act of sacrifice,\n    Of which too late we learned the price.\n\n    Opening our weeping eyes to trace\n    Simple unnoticed kindnesses,\n    Forgotten tones of tenderness,\n\n    Which evermore to us must be\n    Sacred as hymns in infancy\n    Learnt listening at a mother's knee.\n\n    Thus doth death speak of our beloved\n      When it has laid them low.\n    Then let love antedate the work of death,\n      And speak thus now.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    How does death speak of our beloved\n      When it has laid them low,\n    When it has set its hallowing touch\n      On speechless lip and brow?\n\n    It sweeps their faults with heavy hand\n    As sweeps the sea the trampled sand,\n    Till scarce the faintest print is scanned.\n\n    It shows how much the vexing deed\n    Was but a generous nature's weed\n    Or some choice virtue run to seed;\n\n    How that small fretting fretfulness\n    Was but love's overanxiousness,\n    Which had not been had love been less;\n\n    This failing at which we repined\n    But the dim shade of day declined\n    Which should have made us doubly kind.\n\n    It takes each failing on our part\n    And brands it in upon the heart\n    With caustic power and cruel art.\n\n    The small neglect that may have pained\n    A giant stature will have gained\n    When it can never be explained;\n\n    The little service which had proved\n    How tenderly we watched and loved,\n    And those mute lips to smiles had moved;\n\n    The little gift from out our store\n    Which might have cheered some cheerless hour\n    When they with earth's poor needs were poor.\n\n    It shows our faults like fires at night;\n    It sweeps their failings out of sight;\n    It clothes their good in heavenly light.\n\n    O Christ, our life, foredate the work of death\n      And do this now;\n    Thou, who art love, thus hallow our beloved;\n      Not death, but Thou!\n\n    --Elizabeth Rundle Charles.\n\n\n    God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives\n    That lamp due measure of oil: Lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide,\n    Its comfort for others to share!\n\n    --Muleykeh.\n\n\nTHE NEW ERA\n\n    It is coming! it is coming! The day is just a-dawning\n      When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother;\n    When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning,\n      Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother.\n\n    When the men who work for wages shall not toil from morn till even,\n      With no vision of the sunlight, nor flowers, nor birds a-singing;\n    When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven,\n      Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing.\n\n    The time is coming when the man who cares not for another\n      Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation;\n    Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother,\n      As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation.\n\n    The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling,\n      And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be;\n    And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are\n        spoiling\n      The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity.\n\n    It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper;\n      They are giving of their millions as they never gave before;\n    They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper,\n      And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\n    To a darning-needle once exclaimed the kitchen sieve,\n    \"You've a hole right through your body, and I wonder how you live.\"\n    But the needle (who was sharp) replied, \"I too have wondered\n    That you notice my _one_ hole, when in you there are a hundred!\"\n\n    --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\nLOOKING FOR PEARLS\n\n    The Master came one evening to the gate\n    Of a fair city; it was growing late,\n    And sending his disciples to buy food,\n    He wandered forth intent on doing good,\n    As was his wont. And in the market-place\n    He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space,\n    Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground,\n    Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found\n    A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck--\n    A dead dog with a halter round his neck,\n    And those who stood by mocked the object there,\n    And one said, scoffing, \"It pollutes the air!\"\n    Another, jeering, asked, \"How long to-night\n    Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?\"\n    \"Look at his torn hide,\" sneered a Jewish wit,\n    \"You could not cut even a shoe from it,\"\n    And turned away. \"Behold his ears that bleed,\"\n    A fourth chimed in, \"an unclean wretch indeed!\"\n    \"He hath been hanged for thieving,\" they all cried.\n    And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side.\n    Then Jesus, standing by them in the street,\n    Looked on the poor, spent creature at his feet,\n    And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men,\n    \"_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._\" And then\n    The people at each other gazed, asking,\n    \"Who is this stranger pitying this vile thing?\"\n    Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath,\n    \"This surely is the Man of Nazareth;\n    This must be Jesus, for none else but he\n    Something to praise in a dead dog could see!\"\n    And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head,\n    And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled.\n\n\n    Vice is a monster of so frightful mien\n    As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;\n    Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,\n    We first endure, then pity, then embrace.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\nWHAT MIGHT BE DONE\n\n    What might be done if men were wise--\n      What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,\n          Would they unite\n          In love and right,\n      And cease their scorn of one another!\n\n    Oppression's heart might be imbued\n      With kindling drops of loving-kindness,\n          And knowledge pour\n          From shore to shore\n      Light on the eyes of mental blindness.\n\n    All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,\n      All vice and crime, might die together;\n          And wine and corn\n          To each man born\n      Be free as warmth in summer weather.\n\n    The meanest wretch that ever trod,\n      The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,\n          Might stand erect\n          In self-respect,\n      And share the teeming world to-morrow.\n\n    What might be done? This might be done.\n      And more than this, my suffering brother;\n          More than the tongue\n          E'er said or sung\n      If men were wise and loved each other.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\n          If I could see\n    A brother languishing in sore distress,\n    And I should turn and leave him comfortless,\n          When I might be\n    A messenger of hope and happiness--\n    How could I ask to have that I denied\n    In my own hour of bitterness supplied?\n\n          If I might share\n    A brother's load along the dusty way,\n    And I should turn and walk alone that day,\n          How could I dare--\n    When in the evening watch I kneel to pray--\n    To ask for help to bear my pain and loss,\n    If I had heeded not my brother's cross?\n\n\nSHARED\n\n    I said it in the meadow path,\n      I say it on the mountain-stairs:\n    The best things any mortal hath\n      Are those which every mortal shares.\n\n    The air we breathe--the sky--the breeze--\n      The light without us and within--\n    Life with its unlocked treasuries--\n      God's riches, are for all to win.\n\n    The grass is softer to my tread\n      For rest it yields unnumbered feet;\n    Sweeter to me the wild-rose red\n      Because she makes the whole world sweet.\n\n    Into your heavenly loneliness\n      Ye welcomed me, O solemn peaks!\n    And me in every guest you bless\n      Who reverently your mystery seeks.\n\n    And up the radiant peopled way\n      That opens into worlds unknown\n    It will be life's delight to say,\n      \"Heaven is not heaven for me alone.\"\n\n    Rich through my brethren's poverty!\n      Such wealth were hideous! I am blest\n    Only in what they share with me,\n      In what I share with all the rest.\n\n    --Lucy Larcom.\n\n\nUNCHARITABLENESS NOT CHRISTIAN\n\n    I know not if 'twas wise or well\n    To give all heathens up to hell--\n    Hadrian--Aurelius--Socrates--\n    And others wise and good as these;\n    I know not if it is forbid,\n    But this I know--Christ never did.\n\n\n    May every soul that touches mine--\n    Be it the slightest contact--get therefrom some good,\n    Some little grace, one kindly thought,\n    One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage\n    For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith\n    To brave the thickening ills of life,\n    One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists,\n    To make this life worth while,\n    And heaven a surer heritage.\n\n\nSOCIAL CHRISTIANITY\n\n    O for a closer walk with man!\n      Sweet fellowship of soul,\n    Where each is to the other bound,\n      Parts of one living whole.\n\n    Our Father, God, help us to see\n      That all in thee are one;\n    O warm our hearts with thy pure love,\n      Strong as your glorious sun.\n\n    Pride, envy, selfishness will melt\n      Beneath that kindling fire;\n    Our brother's faults we scarce shall see,\n      But good in all admire.\n\n    No bitter cry of misery\n      Shall ever pass unheard;\n    But gentle sympathy spring forth\n      In smile and strengthening word.\n\n    And when our brother's voice shall call\n      From lands beyond the sea,\n    Our hearts in glad response will say,\n      \"Here, Lord, am I, send me.\"\n\n    O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man,\n      Grant us thy face to see;\n    In thy light shall we understand\n      What human life may be.\n\n    Then daily with thy Spirit filled,\n      According to thy word,\n    New power shall flow through us to all,\n      And draw men near our Lord.\n\n    Thus will the deep desire be met\n      With which our prayer began;\n    A closer walk with Thee will mean\n      A closer walk with man.\n\n\n    If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter,\n    If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter,\n    God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing,\n    And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing.\n    If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter,\n    If any little care of mine make other life completer,\n    If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another,\n    God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother.\n\n\nCHARITY NOT JUSTICE\n\n    Outwearied with the littleness and spite,\n      The falsehood and the treachery of men,\n      I cried, \"Give me but justice!\" thinking then\n    I meekly craved a common boon which might\n    Most easily be granted; soon the light\n      Of deeper truth grew on my wondering ken,\n      (Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen),\n    And then I saw that in my pride bedight\n    I claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven--\n      God's own great vested right; and I grew calm,\n    With folded hands, like stone, to patience given,\n      And pitying, of pure love distilling balm;\n    And now I wait in quiet trust to be\n    All known to God--and ask of men sweet charity.\n\n    --Elizabeth Oakes Smith.\n\n\nGOD SAVE THE PEOPLE\n\n    When wilt thou save the people,\n      O God of mercy, when?\n    Not kings alone, but nations?\n      Not thrones and crowns, but men?\n    Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they:\n    Let them not pass, like weeds, away--\n    Their heritage a sunless day.\n          God save the people!\n\n    Shall crime bring crime forever,\n      Strength aiding still the strong?\n    Is it thy will, O Father,\n      That man shall toil for wrong?\n    \"No,\" say thy mountains, \"No,\" thy skies;\n    Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,\n    And songs ascend instead of sighs.\n          God save the people!\n\n    When wilt thou save the people?\n      O God of mercy, when?\n    The people, Lord, the people,\n      Not thrones and crowns, but men?\n    God save the people; thine they are,\n    Thy children, as thine angels fair;\n    From vice, oppression, and despair,\n          God save the people!\n\n    --Ebenezer Elliott.\n\n\nHYMN OF THE CITY\n\n      Not in the solitude\n    Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see\n      Only in savage wood\n    And sunny vale the present Deity;\n      Or only hear his voice\n    Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.\n\n      Even here do I behold\n    Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd\n      Through the great city rolled\n    With everlasting murmurs deep and loud--\n      Choking the ways that wind\n    'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.\n\n      The golden sunshine comes\n    From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies\n      And lights their inner homes;\n    For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies\n      And givest them the stores\n    Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores.\n\n      Thy spirit is around,\n    Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;\n      And this eternal sound--\n    Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng--\n      Like the resounding sea,\n    Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.\n\n      And when the hour of rest\n    Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,\n      Hushing its billowy breast--\n    The quiet of that moment too is Thine\n    It breathes of Him who keeps\n    The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.\n\n    --William Cullen Bryant.\n\n\n    No one is so accursed by fate,\n    No one so utterly desolate,\n      But some heart, though unknown,\n      Responds unto his own.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    Believe not each accusing tongue,\n      As most weak people do;\n    But still believe that story wrong\n      Which ought not to be true.\n\n    --Richard Brinsley Sheridan.\n\n\nCHRIST IN THE CITY\n\n    Where cross the crowded ways of life\n      Where sound the cries of race and clan,\n    Above the noise of selfish strife,\n      We hear thy voice, O Son of man.\n\n    In haunts of wretchedness and need,\n      On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,\n    From paths where hide the lures of greed\n      We catch the vision of thy tears.\n\n    From tender childhood's helplessness,\n      From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,\n    From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,\n      Thy heart has never known recoil.\n\n    The cup of water given for Thee\n      Still holds the freshness of thy grace;\n    Yet long these multitudes to see\n      The sweet compassion of thy face.\n\n    O Master, from the mountain side\n      Make haste to heal these hearts of pain,\n    Among these restless throngs abide,\n      O tread the city's streets again,\n\n    Till sons of men shall learn thy love\n      And follow where thy feet have trod;\n    Till glorious from thy heaven above\n      Shall come the city of our God.\n\n    --Frank Mason North.\n\n\n    Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul\n    May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;\n    While he who walks in love may wander far,\n    But God will bring him where the blessed are.\n\n    --Henry van Dyke.\n\n\n    Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,\n      Hard study never made the matter clearer;\n    'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart\n      Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.\n\n    --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.\n\n\nSPEAK OUT\n\n    If you have a friend worth loving,\n      Love him. Yes, and let him know\n    That you love him, ere life's evening\n      Tinge his brow with sunset glow.\n    Why should good words ne'er be said\n    Of a friend--till he is dead?\n\n    If you hear a song that thrills you,\n      Sung by any child of song,\n    Praise it. Do not let the singer\n      Wait deserved praises long.\n    Why should one who thrills your heart\n    Lack the joy you may impart?\n\n    If you hear a prayer that moves you\n      By its humble, pleading tone,\n    Join it. Do not let the seeker\n      Bow before his God alone.\n    Why should not thy brother share\n    The strength of \"two or three\" in prayer?\n\n    If your work is made more easy\n      By a friendly, helping hand,\n    Say so. Speak out brave and truly,\n      Ere the darkness veil the land.\n    Should a brother workman dear\n    Falter for a word of cheer?\n\n    Scatter thus your seeds of kindness\n      All enriching as you go--\n    Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver;\n      He will make each seed to grow.\n    So, until the happy end,\n    Your life shall never lack a friend.\n\n\nINFLUENCE\n\n    The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean\n      Will leave a track behind forevermore;\n    The lightest wave of influence, once in motion,\n      Extends and widens to the eternal shore.\n      We should be wary, then, who go before\n    A myriad yet to be, and we should take\n      Our bearings carefully where breakers roar\n    And fearful tempests gather: one mistake\n    May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nTELL HIM SO\n\n    If you have a word of cheer\n    That may light the pathway drear,\n    Of a brother pilgrim here,\n      Let him know.\n    Show him you appreciate\n    What he does, and do not wait\n    Till the heavy hand of fate\n      Lays him low.\n    If your heart contains a thought\n    That will brighter make his lot,\n    Then, in mercy, hide it not;\n      Tell him so.\n\n    Bide not till the end of all\n    Carries him beyond recall\n    When beside his sable pall,\n      To avow\n    Your affection and acclaim\n    To do honor to his name\n    And to place the wreath of fame\n      On his brow.\n    Rather speak to him to-day;\n    For the things you have to say\n    May assist him on his way:\n      Tell him now.\n\n    Life is hard enough, at best:\n    But the love that is expressed\n    Makes it seem a pathway blest\n      To our feet;\n    And the troubles that we share\n    Seem the easier to bear,\n    Smile upon your neighbor's care,\n      As you greet.\n    Rough and stony are our ways,\n    Dark and dreary are our days;\n    But another's love and praise\n      Make them sweet.\n\n    Wait not till your friend is dead\n    Ere your compliments are said;\n    For the spirit that has fled,\n      If it know,\n    Does not need to speed it on\n    Our poor praise; where it has gone\n    Love's eternal, golden dawn\n      Is aglow.\n    But unto our brother here\n    That poor praise is very dear;\n    If you've any word of cheer\n    Tell him so.\n\n    --J. A. Egerton.\n\n\n    So when a great man dies,\n      For years beyond our ken\n    The light he leaves behind him lies\n      Upon the paths of men.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nTHE MAN WITH A GRUDGE\n\n    There once was a man who bore a grudge.\n      Stoutly he bore it many a year.\n    \"Beware!\" said the parson. He answered, \"Fudge!\n      Well it becomes me, never fear.\n\n    \"Men for this world, and saints for heaven;\n      Too much of meekness shows a fool;\n    My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven;\n      'Give as you get,' is a good old rule.\"\n\n    The longer he bore it, the more it grew,\n      Grew his grudge, as he trudged along;\n    Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew,\n      And he heard within it a wondrous song.\n\n    The shining porter said, \"Walk in.\"\n      He sought to do so; the gate was strait:\n    Hard he struggled his way to win,\n      The way was narrow, the grudge was great.\n\n    He turned in haste to lay it down;\n      He strove to tear it away--to cut--\n    But it had fast to his heart strings grown,\n      \"O wait,\" he cried; but the door was shut.\n\n    Through windows bright and clear he saw\n      The blessed going with their Lord to sup.\n    But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw;\n      Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up.\n\n    --Sara Hammond Palfrey.\n\n\n    Man judges from a partial view,\n      None ever yet his brother knew;\n    The Eternal Eye that sees the whole\n      May better read the darkened soul,\n    And find, to outward sense denied,\n      The flower upon its inward side.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    O brothers! are ye asking how\n      The hills of happiness to find?\n    Then know they lie beyond the vow--\n      \"God helping me, I will be kind.\"\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\nA BLESSING\n\n    Not to the man of dollars,\n      Not to the man of deeds,\n    Not unto craft and cunning,\n      Not unto human creeds;\n    Not to the one whose passion\n      Is for the world's renown,\n    Not in the form of fashion\n      Cometh a blessing down.\n\n    But to the one whose spirit\n      Yearns for the great and good;\n    Unto the one whose storehouse\n      Yieldeth the hungry food;\n    Unto the one who labors\n      Fearless of foe or frown;\n    Unto the kindly-hearted,\n      Cometh a blessing down.\n\n    --Mary Frances Tucker.\n\n\nWEAPONS\n\n    Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,\n      And so are tongue and pen,\n    And so are sheaves of good bank notes,\n      To sway the souls of men.\n    But guns and swords and piles of gold,\n      Though mighty in their sphere,\n    Are sometimes feebler than a smile,\n      And poorer than a tear.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\n    Enough to know that, through the winter's frost\n    And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,\n    And every duty pays at last its cost.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    A kindly act is a kernel sown\n      That will grow to a goodly tree,\n    Shedding its fruit when time is flown\n      Down the gulf of Eternity.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n    The kindly word unspoken is a sin--\n      A sin that wraps itself in purest guise,\n    And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within,\n      That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n\n\nCONSECRATION\n\nSUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY\n\n\nTHE CHARIOTEER\n\n      O God, take the reins of my life!\n    I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,\n    In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,\n      Where the brambles were rife,\n    In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.\n      O God, take the reins of my life!\n\n      For I am so weary and weak.\n    My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,\n    And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,\n      And the worn horses reek\n    With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,\n      While I am all weary and weak.\n\n      But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.\n    Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way\n    Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,\n      And my life in that hour\n    Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;\n      For thou wilt be peace and all power.\n\n      Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!\n    While eyes can look up and while reason remains,\n    And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,\n      Ere death stamp my brow\n    And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my\n        veins--\n      Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!\n\n      I yield Thee my place, which is thine.\n    Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor;\n    Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more,\n      While the glad axles shine,\n    And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,--\n      Now thou hast my place, which is thine.\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\nWHOLLY THE LORD'S\n\n    My whole though broken heart, O Lord,\n      From henceforth shall be thine;\n    And here I do my vow record--\n      This hand, these words are mine:\n    All that I have, without reserve,\n      I offer here to thee:\n    Thy will and honor all shall serve\n      That thou bestow'st on me.\n\n    All that exceptions save I lose;\n      All that I lose I save;\n    The treasures of thy love I choose,\n      And Thou art all I crave.\n    My God, thou hast my heart and hand;\n      I all to thee resign;\n    I'll ever to this covenant stand,\n      Though flesh hereat repine.\n\n    I know that Thou wast willing first,\n      And then drew my consent;\n    Having thus loved me at the worst\n      Thou wilt not now repent.\n    Now I have quit all self-pretense,\n      Take charge of what's thine own:\n    My life, my health, and my defense,\n      Now lie on thee alone.\n\n    --Richard Baxter.\n\n\nTHE LAST WISH\n\n    To do or not to do; to have\n      Or not to have, I leave to thee;\n    To be or not to be I leave;\n      Thy only will be done in me.\n    All my requests are lost in one:\n    Father, thy only will be done.\n\n    Suffice that, for the season past,\n      Myself in things divine I sought,\n    For comforts cried with eager haste,\n      And murmured that I found them not.\n    I leave it now to Thee alone:\n    Father, thy only will be done.\n\n    Thy gifts I clamor for no more,\n      Or selfishly thy grace require\n    An evil heart to varnish o'er;\n      Jesus, the Giver, I desire,\n    After the flesh no longer known:\n      Father, thy only will be done.\n\n    Welcome alike the crown or cross;\n      Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace,\n    Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss,\n      Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease,\n    Nor life, nor death, but ever groan,\n      Father, thy only will be done.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\nMORNING HYMN\n\n    O God! I thank thee for each sight\n      Of beauty that thy hand doth give;\n    For sunny skies and air and light;\n      O God, I thank thee that I live!\n\n    That life I consecrate to Thee;\n      And ever as the day is born,\n    On wings of joy my soul would flee\n      And thank thee for another morn;\n\n    Another day in which to cast\n      Some silent deed of love abroad,\n    That, greatening as it journeys past,\n      May do some earnest work for God;\n\n    Another day to do and dare;\n      To tax anew my growing strength;\n    To arm my soul with faith and prayer,\n      And so reach heaven and Thee at length.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\n\"INTO THY HANDS\"\n\n    Into Thy guiding hands;\n    Along a way thy love and care forefend\n    Gladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bend\n    The longest road that leads at life's far end\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    Into thy chastening hands:\n    If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin,\n    Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win,\n    Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline,\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    Into Thy healing hands;\n    No hurt of soul or body long enthralls,\n    The bruised heart that for thy succor calls\n    When, far from doubting as from fear, it falls\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    Into thy saving hands:\n    Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake,\n    My life a perfect whole thy power can make,\n    If Thou my shards of broken purpose take\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    Into Thy keeping hands;\n    As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail--\n    So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail--\n    The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale,\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    Into thy loving hands;\n    Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest;\n    Who made the world to tire made thee my rest;\n    My joyful heart I give, at thy behest,\n      Into thy hands.\n\n    --Louise Manning Hodgkins.\n\n\nHERE AM I\n\n    My will would like a life of ease,\n      And power to do, and time to rest,\n    And health and strength my will would please,\n      But, Lord, I know thy will is best.\n\n    If I have strength to do thy will\n      That should be power enough for me,\n    Whether to work or to sit still\n      The appointment of the day may be.\n\n    And if by sickness I may grow\n      More patient, holy and resigned,\n    Strong health I need not wish to know,\n      And greater ease I cannot find.\n\n    And rest--I need not seek it here;\n      For perfect rest remaineth still;\n    When in thy presence we appear\n      Rest shall be given by thy will.\n\n    Lord I have given my life to thee,\n      And every day and hour is thine;\n    What thou appointest let them be:\n      Thy will is better, Lord, than mine.\n\n    --Anna B. Warner.\n\n\nTHE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL\n\n    Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,\n      Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;\n    I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine--\n      Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;\n    But here I bring within my trembling hand,\n      This will of mine--a thing that seemeth small,\n    And Thou alone, O God, canst understand\n      How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.\n    Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see\n      Struggles of passion--visions of delight--\n    All that I love, and am, and fain would be,\n      Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.\n    It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,\n      Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none--\n    Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,\n      The prayer ascendeth, \"May thy will be done.\"\n    Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,\n      And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en\n    If, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,\n      And thou give back my will, it may have been\n    So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,\n      So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,\n    I may not see nor know it as my own,\n      But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.\n\n\n    Manlike is it to fall into sin,\n    Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,\n    Christlike is it for sin to grieve,\n    Godlike is it all sin to leave.\n\n    --Friedrich von Logau.\n\n\nO GOD OF TRUTH\n\n    O God of Truth, whose living word\n      Upholds whate'er hath breath,\n    Look down on thy creation, Lord,\n      Enslaved by sin and death.\n\n    Set up thy standard, Lord, that they\n      Who claim a heavenly birth\n    May march with thee to smite the lies\n      That vex thy ransomed earth.\n\n    Ah! would we join that blest array,\n      And follow in the might\n    Of Him, the Faithful and the True,\n      In raiment clean and white.\n\n    _We_ fight for truth, _we_ fight for God--\n      Poor slaves of lies and sin!\n    He who would fight for thee on earth\n      Must first be true within.\n\n    Thou God of Truth for whom we long--\n      Thou who wilt hear our prayer--\n    Do thine own battle in our hearts;\n      And slay the falsehood there.\n\n    Still smite! still burn! till naught is left\n      But God's own truth and love;\n    Then, Lord, as morning dew come down,\n      Rest on us from above.\n\n    Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire,\n      From every lie set free,\n    Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us,\n      And we shall live in Thee.\n\n    --Thomas Hughes.\n\n\nGOD ONLY\n\n    Lord, in the strength of grace,\n      With a glad heart and free,\n    Myself, my residue of days,\n      I consecrate to Thee.\n\n    Thy ransomed servant, I\n      Restore to thee thine own;\n    And from this moment live or die\n      To serve my God alone.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\n    In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee,\n    Thine utterly and only and evermore to be!\n    O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone,\n    And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nGOD IS EVERYWHERE\n\n    A little bird I am,\n      Shut from the fields of air;\n    And in my cage I sit and sing\n      To him who placed me there;\n    Well pleased a prisoner to be,\n    Because, my God, it pleaseth thee.\n\n    Naught have I else to do;\n      I sing the whole day long;\n    And He whom most I love to please\n      Doth listen to my song;\n    He caught and bound my wandering wing,\n    But still he bends to hear me sing.\n\n    My cage confines me round,\n      Abroad I cannot fly;\n    But though my wings are closely bound\n      My heart's at liberty.\n    My prison walls cannot control\n    The flight, the freedom of my soul.\n\n    Oh, it is grand to soar\n      These bolts and bars above\n    To Him whose purpose I adore,\n      Whose providence I love!\n    And in thy mighty will to find\n    The joy, the freedom of the mind.\n\n    --Madame Guyon.\n\n\nA CONSECRATED LIFE\n\n    Take my life and let it be\n    Consecrated, Lord, to thee.\n    Take my moments and my days;\n    Let them flow in ceaseless praise.\n\n    Take my hands, and let them move\n    At the impulse of thy love.\n    Take my feet and let them be\n    Swift and \"beautiful\" for Thee.\n\n    Take my voice, and let me sing\n    Always, only, for my King.\n    Take my lips, and let them be\n    Filled with messages from Thee.\n\n    Take my silver and my gold;\n    Not a mite would I withhold.\n    Take my intellect, and use\n    Every power as Thou shalt choose.\n\n    Take my will and make it Thine;\n    It shall be no longer mine.\n    Take my heart; it _is_ thine own;\n    It shall be thy royal throne.\n\n    Take my love; my Lord, I pour\n    At thy feet its treasure-store.\n    Take myself, and I will be\n    Ever, _only_, ALL for Thee.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nUNION WITH GOD\n\n    Strong are the walls around me,\n      That hold me all the day;\n    But they who thus have bound me\n      Cannot keep God away:\n    My very dungeon walls are dear,\n    Because the God I love is here.\n\n    They know, who thus oppress me,\n      'Tis hard to be alone;\n    But know not One can bless me\n      Who comes through bars and stone.\n    He makes my dungeon's darkness bright\n    And fills my bosom with delight.\n\n    Thy love, O God! restores me\n      From sighs and tears to praise;\n    And deep my soul adores thee\n      Nor thinks of time or place:\n    I ask no more, in good or ill,\n    But union with thy holy will.\n\n    'Tis that which makes my treasure,\n      'Tis that which brings my gain;\n    Converting woe to pleasure.\n      And reaping joy from pain.\n    Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall,\n    To know that God is All in All.\n\n    --Madame Guyon.\n\n\nDEDICATED\n\n    O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,\n    And fix my frail, inconstant heart;\n    Henceforth my chief desire shall be\n    To dedicate myself to thee.\n\n    Whate'er pursuits my time employ,\n    One thought shall fill my soul with joy:\n    That silent, secret thought shall be\n    That all my hopes are fixed on thee.\n\n    Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;\n    Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;\n    And wheresoe'er my lot may be\n    Still shall my spirit cleave to thee.\n\n    Renouncing every worldly thing,\n    And safe beneath thy spreading wing,\n    My sweetest thought henceforth shall be\n    That all I want I find in thee.\n\n    --Jean F. Oberlin.\n\n\nLEAVING ALL\n\n    Jesus, I my cross have taken,\n      All to leave and follow thee;\n    Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,\n      Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:\n    Perish every fond ambition,\n      All I've sought, and hoped, and known;\n    Yet how rich is my condition,\n      God and heaven are still my own!\n\n    Let the world despise and leave me,\n      They have left my Saviour too;\n    Human hearts and looks deceive me;\n      Thou art not, like man, untrue;\n    And while thou shalt smile upon me,\n      God of wisdom, love, and might,\n    Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;\n      Show thy face, and all is bright.\n\n    Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!\n      Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!\n    In Thy service, pain is pleasure;\n      With thy favor, loss is gain.\n    I have called thee, \"Abba, Father\";\n      I have stayed my heart on thee:\n    Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,\n      All must work for good to me.\n\n    Man may trouble and distress me,\n      'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;\n    Life with trials hard may press me,\n      Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.\n    O 'tis not in grief to harm me,\n      While thy love is left to me;\n    O 'twere not in joy to charm me,\n      Were that joy unmixed with thee.\n\n    Know, my soul, thy full salvation;\n      Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;\n    Joy to find in every station\n      Something still to do or bear.\n    Think what Spirit dwells within thee;\n      What a Father's smile is thine;\n    What a Saviour died to win thee:\n      Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?\n\n    Haste thee on from grace to glory,\n      Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;\n    Heaven's eternal day's before thee,\n      God's own hand shall guide thee there.\n    Soon shall close thy earthly mission,\n      Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,\n    Hope shall change to glad fruition,\n      Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.\n\n    --Henry F. Lyte.\n\n\nCHOOSE THOU\n\n    Thy way, not mine, O Lord!\n      However dark it be;\n    Lead me by Thine own hand,\n      Choose out the path for me.\n\n    Smooth let it be, or rough,\n      It will be still the best;\n    Winding or straight it matters not,\n      It leads me to Thy rest.\n\n    I dare not choose my lot,\n      I would not if I might;\n    Choose Thou for me, O God!\n      So shall I walk aright.\n\n    The kingdom that I seek\n      Is Thine; so let the way\n    That leads to it be thine\n      Else I must surely stray.\n\n    Take Thou my cup, and it\n      With joy or sorrow fill;\n    As best to Thee may seem;\n      Choose Thou my good or ill.\n\n    Choose Thou for me my friends\n      My sickness or my health;\n    Choose thou my cares for me,\n      My poverty or wealth.\n\n    Not mine, not mine the choice\n      In things or great or small;\n    Be Thou my guide, my strength,\n      My wisdom and my all.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nONLY TO-DAY\n\n    Only to-day is mine,\n      And that I owe to Thee;\n    Help me to make it thine;\n      As pure as it may be;\n    Let it see something done,\n    Let it see something won,\n    Then at the setting sun\n      I'll give it back to thee.\n\n    What if I cannot tell\n      The cares the day may bring?\n    I know that I shall dwell\n      Beneath Thy sheltering wing;\n    And there the load is light;\n    And there the dark is bright,\n    And weakness turns to might,\n      And so I trust and sing.\n\n    What shall I ask to-day?\n      Naught but Thine own sweet will;\n    The windings of the way\n      Lead to thy holy hill;\n    And whether here or there\n    Why should I fear or care?\n    Thy heavens are everywhere,\n      And they are o'er me still.\n\n    Give me Thyself to-day,\n      I dare not walk alone;\n    Speak to me by the way,\n      And \"all things are my own\";\n    The treasures of thy grace,\n    The secret hiding place,\n    The vision of thy face,\n      The shadow of thy throne!\n\n    --Henry Burton.\n\n\nTHE OFFERING\n\n    No more my own, Lord Jesus,\n      Bought with thy precious blood,\n    I give thee but thine own, Lord,\n      That long thy love withstood.\n\n    I give the life thou gavest,\n      My present, future, past;\n    My joys, my fears, my sorrows,\n      My first hope and my last.\n\n    I give thee up my weakness\n      That oft distrust hath bred,\n    That thy indwelling power\n      May thus be perfected.\n\n    I give the love the sweetest\n      Thy goodness grants to me;\n    Take it, and make it meet, Lord,\n      For offering to thee.\n\n    Smile, and the very shadows\n      In thy blest light shall shine;\n    Take thou my heart, Lord Jesus,\n      For thou hast made it thine.\n\n    Thou knowest my soul's ambition,\n      For thou hast changed its aim\n    (The world's reproach I fear not)\n      To share a Saviour's shame.\n\n    Outside the camp to suffer;\n      Within the veil to meet,\n    And hear Thy softest whisper\n      From out the mercy-seat.\n\n    Thou bear'st me in thy bosom,\n      Amidst thy jewels worn,\n    Upon thy hands deep graven\n      By arms of love upborne.\n\n    Rescued from sin's destruction,\n      Ransomed from death and hell;\n    Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus:\n      Thou hast done all things well.\n\n    Oh, deathless love that bought me!\n      Oh, price beyond my ken!\n    Oh, Life that hides my own life\n      E'en from my fellow-men!\n\n    Now fashion, form and fill me\n      With light and love divine;\n    So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus,\n      I'm thine--forever thine!\n\n\nI IN THEE AND THOU IN ME\n\n    I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist;\n      Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I strive\n    So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest,\n      That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive.\n\n    Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration,\n      Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine,\n    So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation,\n      That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine.\n\n    Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures;\n      Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee;\n    Working with thee in thy work to model humanity's features\n      Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I would free.\n\n    One with all human existence, no one above or below me;\n      Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the morn;\n    Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me\n      Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn.\n\n    So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later\n      Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from\n        Thee.\n    Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving Creator!\n      Thine the invisible future, born of the present, must be.\n\n    --Christopher Pearse Cranch.\n\n\nON THEE MY HEART IS RESTING\n\n    On Thee my heart is resting:\n      Ah! this is rest indeed!\n    What else, Almighty Saviour,\n      Can a poor sinner need?\n    Thy light is all my wisdom,\n      Thy love is all my stay;\n    Our Father's home in glory\n      Draws nearer every day.\n\n    Great is my guilt, but greater\n      The mercy Thou dost give;\n    Thyself, a spotless offering,\n      Hast died that I should live.\n    With Thee my soul unfettered\n      Has risen from the dust;\n    Thy blood is all my treasure;\n      Thy word is all my trust.\n\n    Through me, thou gentle Master,\n      Thy purposes fulfill:\n    I yield myself forever\n      To thy most holy will.\n    What though I be but weakness\n      My strength is not in me;\n    The poorest of thy people\n      Has all things, having Thee.\n\n    When clouds are darkest round me,\n      Thou, Lord, art then most near,\n    My drooping faith to quicken,\n      My weary soul to cheer.\n    Safe nestling in thy bosom,\n      I gaze upon thy face.\n    In vain my foes would drive me\n      From Thee, my hiding-place.\n\n    'Tis Thou hast made me happy;\n      'Tis thou hast set me free.\n    To whom shall I give glory\n      Forever but to Thee!\n    Of earthly love and blessing\n      Should every stream run dry,\n    Thy grace shall still be with me--\n      Thy grace to live and die!\n\n    --Theodore Monod.\n\n\nWHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?\n\n    I love, and have some cause to love, the earth;\n      She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;\n    She is my mother, for she gave me birth;\n      She is my tender nurse, she gives me food;\n    But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?\n    Or what's my mother or my nurse to me?\n\n    The highest honors that the world can boast\n      Are subjects far too low for my desire;\n    The brightest beams of glory are, at most,\n      But dying sparkles of thy living fire;\n    The proudest flames that earth can kindle be\n    But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.\n\n    Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares;\n      Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;\n    Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;\n      Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:\n    Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,\n    Nor have their being when compared with Thee.\n\n    In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?\n      Not having Thee, what have my labors got?\n    Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?\n      And having Thee alone, what have I not?\n    I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be\n    Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee.\n\n    --Francis Quarles.\n\n\n    Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever\n      Sealed on the heart, and engraved on the life;\n    Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of endeavor,\n      Secret of rest and the strength of our strife.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nSINCE FIRST THY WORD AWAKED MY HEART\n\n    Since first thy word awaked my heart,\n      Like new life dawning o'er me,\n    Where'er I turn my eyes, Thou art\n      All light and love before me.\n    Nought else I feel or hear or see,\n      All bonds of earth I sever,\n    Thee, O God, and only thee,\n      I live for now and ever.\n\n    Like him whose fetters dropped away\n      When light shone o'er his prison,\n    My spirit, touched by mercy's ray,\n      Hath from her chains arisen.\n    And shall a soul Thou bid'st be free\n      Return to bondage? Never!\n    Thee, O God, and only thee,\n      I live for now and ever.\n\n    --Thomas Moore.\n\n\nWE GIVE ALL\n\n    And now we only ask to serve,\n      We do not ask to rest;\n    We would give all without reserve,\n      Our life, our love, our best.\n\n    We only ask to see His face,\n      It is enough for us;\n    We only ask the lowest place,\n      So he may smile on us.\n\n    --Mary E. Townsend.\n\n\nTHE TWO WORLDS\n\n    Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine\n      In glory and in grace;\n    The gaudy world grows pale before\n      The beauty of thy face.\n\n    Till Thou art seen, it seems to be\n      A sort of fairy ground,\n    Where suns unsetting light the sky,\n      And flowers and fruits abound,\n\n    But when Thy keener, purer beam\n      Is poured upon our sight,\n    It loses all its power to charm,\n      And what was day is night.\n\n    Its noblest toils are then the scourge\n      Which made Thy blood to flow;\n    Its joys are but the treacherous thorns\n      Which circled round thy brow.\n\n    And thus, when we renounce for Thee\n      Its restless aims and fears,\n    The tender memories of the past,\n      The hopes of coming years,\n\n    Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes\n      Are lighted from above;\n    We offer what we cannot keep,\n      What we have ceased to love.\n\n    --John Henry Newman.\n\n\nSELF-SURRENDER\n\n    Saviour, who died for me,\n    I give myself to thee;\n    Thy love, so full, so free,\n      Claims all my powers.\n    Be this my purpose high,\n    To serve Thee till I die,\n    Whether my path shall lie\n      'Mid thorns or flowers.\n\n    But, Lord, the flesh is weak;\n    Thy gracious aid I seek,\n    For thou the word must speak\n      That makes me strong.\n    Then let me hear thy voice,\n    Thou art my only choice;\n    O bid my heart rejoice;\n      Be thou my song.\n\n    May it be joy to me\n    To follow only Thee;\n    Thy faithful servant be,\n      Thine to the end.\n    For Thee I'll do and dare,\n    For thee the cross I'll bear,\n    To thee direct my prayer,\n      On thee depend.\n\n    Saviour, with me abide;\n    Be ever near my side;\n    Support, defend, and guide.\n      I look to thee.\n    I lay my hand in thine,\n    And fleeting joys resign,\n    If I may call thee mine\n      Eternally.\n\n    --Mary J. Mason.\n\n\n    For all the sins that cling to thee\n    Let wide the gates of pardon be;\n    But hope not thou shalt smuggle through\n    The little sin thou clingest to.\n\n    --F. Langbridge.\n\n\nGOD ALONE LOVED\n\n    Do I not love thee, Lord most high,\n      In answer to thy love for me!\n    I seek no other liberty\n      But that of being bound to Thee.\n\n    May memory no thought suggest\n      But shall to thy pure glory tend;\n    May understanding find no rest\n      Except in Thee, its only end.\n\n    My God, I here protest to Thee\n      No other will I have than thine;\n    Whatever thou hast given me\n      I here again to Thee resign.\n\n    All mine is thine, say but the word;\n      Whate'er Thou willest--be it done;\n    I know thy love, all-gracious Lord--\n      I know it seeks my good alone.\n\n    Apart from Thee all things are naught;\n      Then grant, O my supremest bliss!\n    Grant me to love Thee as I ought;\n      Thou givest all in giving this.\n\n    --Ignatius Loyola, tr. by Edward Caswall.\n\n\nTHE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE\n\n    To me 'tis equal whether love ordain\n      My life or death, appoint me pain or ease\n    My soul perceives no real ill in pain,\n      In ease or health no real good she sees.\n\n    One good she covets, and that good alone,\n      To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;\n    And to prefer a cottage to a throne,\n      And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.\n\n    That we should bear the cross is Thy command,\n      Die to the world and live to self no more;\n    Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand\n      When shipwrecked pleased as when upon the shore.\n\n    --Madame Guyon, tr. by William Cowper.\n\n\n    I preached as never sure to preach again,\n    And as a dying man to dying men.\n\n    --Richard Baxter.\n\n\nPRESSING TOWARD THE MARK\n\n    Thee will I love, my strength and tower,\n      Thee will I love, my joy and crown,\n    Thee will I love with all my power,\n      In all my works, and Thee alone.\n    Thee will I love, till that pure fire\n    Fills my whole soul with strong desire.\n\n    Give to mine eyes refreshing tears;\n      Give to my heart chaste, hallowed fires;\n    Give to my soul, with filial fears\n      The love that all heaven's host inspires;\n    That all my powers, with all their might,\n    In thy sole glory may unite.\n\n    Thee will I love, my joy, my crown,\n      Thee will I love, my Lord, my God;\n    Thee will I love beneath thy frown\n      Or smile, thy scepter or thy rod;\n    What though my head and flesh decay?\n    Thee shall I love in endless day.\n\n    --Johann A. Scheffler, tr. by John Wesley.\n\n\nDWELL DEEP\n\n    Dwell deep! The little things that chafe and fret,\n      O waste not golden hours to give them heed!\n    The slight, the thoughtless wrong, do thou forget,\n      Be self-forgot in serving others' need.\n    Thou faith in God through love for man shalt keep.\n          Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.\n\n    Dwell deep! Forego the pleasure if it bring\n      Neglect of duty; consecrate each thought;\n    Believe thou in the good of everything,\n      And trust that all unto the wisest end is wrought.\n    Bring thou this comfort unto all who weep:\n          Dwell deep, my soul, dwell deep.\n\n    --James Buckham.\n\n\n    Out from thyself, thyself depart;\n    God then shall fill thine empty heart;\n    Cast from thy soul life's selfish dream--\n    In flows the Godhead's living stream.\n\n    --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n\n\nPEACE\n\nREST, CALM, STILLNESS\n\n\nTHE PEACE OF GOD\n\n    When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,\n      And billows wild contend with angry roar,\n    'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,\n      That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.\n\n    Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth,\n      And silver waves chime ever peacefully;\n    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,\n      Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.\n\n    So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,\n      There is a temple peaceful evermore.\n    And all the babble of life's angry voices\n      Dies hushed in stillness at its sacred door.\n\n    Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,\n      And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;\n    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,\n      Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.\n\n    O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal!\n      Thou ever livest, and thou changest never;\n    And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth\n      Fullness of joy, forever and forever.\n\n    --Harriet Beecher Stowe.\n\n\n    Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,\n    I lapse into the glad release\n    Of Nature's own exceeding peace.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nBE STILL\n\n    Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,\n    Or too regretful;\n      Be still.\n    What God hath ordered must be right;\n    Then find in it thy own delight,\n      My will!\n\n    Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow\n    About to-morrow,\n      My heart?\n    God watcheth all with care most true;\n    Doubt not that he will give thee too\n      Thy part.\n\n    --Paul Fleming.\n\n\nSIT STILL\n\n(Ruth 3. 18.)\n\n    Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask,\n    No glorious deed, no mighty task;\n    But just to sit and patiently abide.\n    Wait in my presence, in my word confide,\n\n    \"But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield,\n    Forward to go, and in the battle field\n    To fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow,\n    And in thy strength to vanquish every foe.\n\n    \"The harvest-fields spread out before me lie,\n    The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry--\n    'The field is white, the laborers are few;\n    Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'\"\n\n    My child, it is a sweet and blessed thing\n    To rest beneath the shadow of my wing;\n    To feel thy doings and thy words are naught,\n    To trust to me each restless, longing thought.\n\n    \"Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn,\n    To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearn\n    To love thee better, Lord, and feel that still\n    Waiting is working, if it be thy will.\"\n\n\nTHE QUIET MIND\n\n    I have a treasure which I prize;\n      The like I cannot find;\n    There's nothing like it in the earth:\n      It is a quiet mind.\n\n    But 'tis not that I'm stupefied,\n      Or senseless, dull, or blind:\n    'Tis God's own peace within my soul\n      Which forms my quiet mind.\n\n    I found this treasure at the Cross.\n      'Tis there to every kind\n    Of heavy-laden, weary souls\n      Christ gives a quiet mind.\n\n    My Saviour's death and risen life\n      To give this were designed;\n    And that's the root and that's the branch,\n      Of this my quiet mind.\n\n    The love of God within my heart\n      My heart to his doth bind;\n    This is the mind of heaven on earth;\n      This is my quiet mind.\n\n    I've many a cross to take up now,\n      And many left behind;\n    But present trials move me not,\n      Nor shake my quiet mind.\n\n    And what may be to-morrow's cross\n      I never seek to find;\n    My Saviour says, Leave that to Me,\n      And keep a quiet mind.\n\n    And well I know the Lord hath said,\n      To make my heart resigned,\n    That mercy still shall follow such\n      As have this quiet mind.\n\n    I meet with pride of wit and wealth,\n      And scorn and looks unkind,\n    It matters naught: I envy not,\n      For I've a quiet mind.\n\n    I'm waiting now to see the Lord,\n      Who's been to me so kind:\n    I want to thank him face to face\n      For this my quiet mind.\n\n\nMY HEART IS RESTING\n\n    My heart is resting, O my God;\n      I will give thanks and sing:\n    My heart is at the secret source\n      Of every precious thing.\n\n    Now the frail vessel Thou hast made\n      No hand but thine shall fill--\n    The waters of the earth have failed,\n      And I am thirsty still.\n\n    I thirst for springs of heavenly life,\n      And here all day they rise;\n    I seek the treasure of Thy love,\n      And close at hand it lies.\n\n    And a \"new song\" is in my mouth,\n      To long-loved music set--\n    Glory to Thee for all the grace\n      I have not tasted yet.\n\n    I have a heritage of joy\n      That yet I must not see;\n    The hand that bled to make it mine\n      Is keeping it for me.\n\n    There is a certainty of love\n      That sets my heart at rest;\n    A calm assurance for to-day\n      That to be poor is best!\n\n    A prayer reposing on His truth,\n      Who hath made all things mine;\n    That draws my captive will to him,\n      And makes it one with thine.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nKEPT IN PERFECT PEACE\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin?\n    The voice of Jesus whispers Peace within.\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed?\n    To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, with sorrow surging round?\n    On Jesus' bosom naught but rest is found.\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away?\n    In Jesus' keeping we are safe, and they.\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?\n    Jesus we know, and he is on the throne.\n\n    Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours?\n    Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers.\n\n    It is enough: earth's struggles now do cease,\n    And Jesus calls us to heaven's perfect peace.\n\n    --Edward Henry Bickersteth.\n\n\nPERFECT PEACE\n\n    Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace;\n    Over all victorious in its bright increase;\n    Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,\n    Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.\n\n    Hidden in the hollow of His blessed hand,\n    Never foe can follow, never traitor stand;\n    Not a surge of worry, not a shade of care,\n    Not a blast of hurry touch the spirit there.\n\n    Every joy or trial falleth from above,\n    Traced upon our dial by the Sun of Love,\n    We may trust him fully, all for us to do;\n    They who trust him wholly find him wholly true.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nABIDING\n\n    In heavenly love abiding,\n      No change my heart shall fear\n    And safe is such confiding,\n      For nothing changes here.\n    The storm may roar without me,\n      My heart may low be laid,\n    But God is round about me,\n      And can I be dismayed?\n\n    Whenever he may guide me,\n      No want shall turn me back;\n    My Shepherd is beside me,\n      And nothing can I lack.\n    His wisdom ever waketh,\n      His sight is never dim,\n    He knows the way he taketh,\n      And I will walk with him.\n\n    Green pastures are before me,\n      Which yet I have not seen;\n    Bright skies will soon be o'er me\n      Where darkest clouds have been.\n    My hope I cannot measure,\n      My path to life is free,\n    My Saviour has my treasure,\n      And he will walk with me.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nCALM\n\n    I stand upon the Mount of God\n      With sunlight in my soul;\n    I hear the storms in vales beneath,\n      I hear the thunders roll.\n\n    But I am calm with thee, my God,\n      Beneath these glorious skies;\n    And to the height on which I stand,\n      No storms, nor clouds, can rise.\n\n    O, THIS is life! O, this is joy!\n      My God, to find thee so;\n    Thy face to see, thy voice to hear,\n      And all thy love to know.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nDIVINE PEACE\n\n    Peace upon peace, like wave upon wave,\n    This the portion that I crave;\n    The peace of God which passeth thought,\n    The peace of Christ which changeth not.\n\n    Peace like the river's gentle flow,\n    Peace like the morning's silent glow,\n    From day to day, in love supplied,\n    An endless and unebbing tide.\n\n    Peace flowing on without decrease,\n    From him who is our joy and peace,\n    Who, by his reconciling blood,\n    Hath made the sinner's peace with God.\n\n    Peace through the night and through the day,\n    Peace through the windings of our way;\n    In pain, and toil, and weariness,\n    A deep and everlasting peace.\n\n    O King of peace, this peace bestow\n    Upon a stranger here below;\n    O God of peace, thy peace impart,\n    To every sad and troubled heart.\n\n    Peace from the Father and the Son,\n    Peace from the Spirit, all his own;\n    Peace that shall never more be lost,\n    Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nA QUIET HEART\n\n    Quiet, Lord, my froward heart:\n      Make me teachable and mild;\n    Upright, simple, free from art;\n      Make me as a weaned child,\n    From distrust and envy free,\n      Pleased with all that pleaseth thee.\n\n    What thou shalt to-day provide\n      Let me as a child receive;\n    What to-morrow may betide\n      Calmly to thy wisdom leave.\n    'Tis enough that thou wilt care:\n      Why should I the burthen bear?\n\n    As a little child relies\n      On a care beyond his own;\n    Knows he's neither strong nor wise,\n      Fears to stir a step alone;\n    Let me thus with thee abide,\n      As my Father, Guard and Guide.\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\nREST WHERE YOU ARE\n\n    When, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone,\n      You would seek rest afar,\n    And can not, though repose be rightly won--\n      Rest where you are.\n\n    Neglect the needless; sanctify the rest;\n      Move without stress or jar;\n    With quiet of a spirit self-possessed\n      Rest where you are.\n\n    Not in event, restriction, or release,\n      Not in scenes near or far,\n    But in ourselves are restlessness or peace,\n      Rest where you are.\n\n    Where lives the soul lives God; his day, his world,\n      No phantom mists need mar;\n    His starry nights are tents of peace unfurled:\n      Rest where you are.\n\n\nBE ALL AT REST\n\n     Be all at rest, my soul toward God; from him comes my salvation.\n     Psa. 62. 1.\n\n    \"Be all at rest, my soul.\" Oh! blessed secret\n    Of the true life that glorifies thy Lord:\n    Not always doth the busiest soul best serve him,\n    But he who resteth on his faithful word.\n\n    \"Be all at rest.\"--\"let not your heart be rippled,\"\n    For tiny wavelets mar the image fair\n    Which the still pool reflects of heaven's glory--\n    And thus the Image he would have you bear.\n\n    \"Be all at rest,\"--for rest is highest service;\n    To the still heart God doth his secrets tell:\n    Thus shall thou learn to wait, and watch, and labor,\n    Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.\n\n    For what is service but the life of Jesus\n      Lived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay;\n    Loving and giving; poured forth for others;\n      \"A living sacrifice\" from day to day?\n\n    And what shall meet the deep unrest around thee\n      But the calm peace of God that filled his breast?\n    For still a living voice must call the weary\n      To him who said, \"Come unto me and rest.\"\n\n    Therefore \"be all at rest, my soul,\" toward him,\n      If thou a revelation of the Lord would'st be;\n    For in the quiet confidence that never doubts him,\n      Others his truth and faithfulness shall see.\n\n    \"Be all at rest,\" for rest alone becometh\n      The soul that casts on him its every care;\n    \"Be all at rest\"--so shall thy life proclaim him\n      A God who worketh and who heareth prayer.\n\n    \"Be all at rest\"--so shalt thou be an answer\n      To those who question, \"Who is God, and where?\"\n    For God is rest, and where he dwells is stillness,\n      And they who dwell in him that rest shall share.\n\n    --Freda Hanbury Allen.\n\n\nREST\n\n    Sweet is the pleasure\n      Itself cannot spoil!\n    Is not true leisure\n      One with true toil?\n\n    Thou that wouldst taste it,\n      Still do thy best;\n    Use it, not waste it,\n      Else 'tis no rest.\n\n    Wouldst behold beauty\n      Near thee all round?\n    Only hath duty\n      Such a sight found.\n\n    Rest is not quitting\n      The busy career;\n    Rest is the fitting\n      Of self to its sphere.\n\n    'Tis the brook's motion,\n      Clear without strife,\n    Fleeing to ocean\n      After its life.\n\n    Deeper devotion\n      Nowhere hath knelt;\n    Fuller emotion\n      Heart never felt.\n\n    'Tis loving and serving\n      The Highest and Best!\n    'Tis onwards, unswerving,\n      And that is true rest.\n\n    --John Sullivan Dwight.\n\n\n    There is peace in power; the men who speak\n      With the loudest tongues do least;\n    And the surest sign of a mind that is weak\n      Is its want of the power to rest.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\nEQUANIMITY\n\n    Tost on a sea of troubles, Soul, my Soul,\n        Thyself do thou control;\n    And to the weapons of advancing foes\n        A stubborn breast oppose:\n    Undaunted 'mid the hostile might\n    Of squadrons burning for the fight\n    Thine be no boasting when the victor's crown\n        Wins thee deserved renown;\n    Thine no dejected sorrow, when defeat\n        Would urge a base retreat;\n    Rejoice in joyous things--nor overmuch\n        Let grief thy bosom touch\n    'Midst evil, and still bear in mind\n    How changeful are the ways of humankind.\n\n    --Archilochos, tr. by William Hay.\n\n\nGOD'S PEACE\n\n    Grant us Thy peace, down from thy presence falling,\n      As on the thirsty earth cool night-dews sweet;\n    Grant us thy peace, to thy pure paths recalling,\n      From devious ways, our worn and wandering feet.\n\n    Grant us Thy peace, through winning and through losing,\n      Through gloom and gladness of our pilgrim way;\n    Grant us thy peace, safe in thy love's enclosing,\n      Thou who all things in heaven and earth dost sway.\n\n    Give us Thy peace, not as the world has given,\n      In momentary rays that fitful gleamed,\n    But calm, deep, sure, the peace of spirits shriven,\n      Of hearts surrendered and of souls redeemed.\n\n    Grant us thy peace, that like a deepening river\n      Swells ever outward to the sea of praise.\n    O thou of peace the only Lord and Giver,\n      Grant us thy peace, O Saviour, all our days.\n\n    --Eliza Scudder.\n\n\nTHE INNER CALM\n\n    Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,\n      While these hot breezes blow;\n    Be like the night-dew's cooling balm\n      Upon earth's fevered brow.\n\n    Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,\n      Soft resting on thy breast;\n    Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm\n      And bid my spirit rest.\n\n    Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude\n      The sounds my ear that greet;\n    Calm in the closet's solitude,\n      Calm in the bustling street;\n\n    Calm in the hour of buoyant health,\n      Calm in my hour of pain,\n    Calm in my poverty or wealth,\n      Calm in my loss or gain;\n\n    Calm when the great world's news with power\n      My listening spirit stir;\n    Let not the tidings of the hour\n      E'er find too fond an ear;\n\n    Calm as the ray of sun or star\n      Which storms assail in vain;\n    Moving unruffled through earth's war,\n      The eternal calm to gain.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\n    Father, take not away\n    The burden of the day,\n      But help me that I bear it\n    As Christ his burden bore\n    When cross and thorn he wore\n      And none with him could share it;\n    In his name help I pray!\n\n    I only ask for grace\n    To see that patient face\n      And my impatient one;\n    Ask that mine grow like His--\n    Sign of an inward peace\n      From trust in thee alone,\n    Unchanged by time or place.\n\n\n    And they who do their souls no wrong,\n      But keep at eve the faith of morn,\n    Shall daily hear the angel-song,\n      To-day the Prince of Peace is born.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    Drop thy still dews of quietness,\n      Till all our strivings cease;\n    Take from our souls the strain and stress,\n    And let our ordered lives confess\n      The beauty of thy peace.\n\n    Breathe through the heats of our desire\n      Thy coolness and thy balm;\n    Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;\n    Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,\n      O still, small voice of calm!\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    As flows the river calm and deep.\n      In silence toward the sea,\n    So floweth ever, and ceaseth never,\n      The love of God to me.\n\n    What peace He bringeth to my heart,\n      Deep as the soundless sea;\n    How sweetly singeth the soul that clingeth,\n      My loving Lord, to thee.\n\n\n                  He fails never.\n    If He cannot work by us He will work through us.\n      Let our souls be calm.\n    We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars,\n    Impatient that we're nothing.\n    Get work, get work; be sure 'tis better\n    Than what you work to get.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    Calm Soul of all things, make it mine\n      To feel amid the city's jar,\n    That there abides a peace of thine\n      Man did not make and cannot mar.\n    The will to neither strive nor cry,\n      The power to feel with others give;\n    Calm, calm me more, nor let me die\n      Before I have begun to live.\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\n    What secret trouble stirs thy heart?\n      Why all this fret and flurry?\n    Dost thou not know that what is best\n    In this too restless world is rest\n      From over-work and hurry?\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    We bless thee for thy peace, O God,\n      Deep as the boundless sea,\n    It falls like sunshine on the road,\n      Of those who trust in thee;\n    That peace which suffers and is strong,\n      Trusts where it cannot see:\n    Deems not the trial way too long,\n      But leaves the end with thee.\n\n\n    Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes\n      Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.\n    Why should I feel another man's mistakes\n      More than his sicknesses or poverty?\n    In love I should; but anger is not love,\n    Nor wisdom, neither; therefore gently move.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\n            Why fret thee, soul,\n    For things beyond thy small control?\n    But do thy part, and thou shalt see\n    Heaven will have charge of them and thee.\n    Sow then thy seed, and wait in peace\n    The Lord's increase.\n\n\n    What is the use of worrying\n    And flurrying and scurrying\n      And breaking up one's rest;\n    When all the world is teaching us\n    And praying and beseeching us\n      That quiet ways are best.\n\n\n              I feel within me\n    A peace above all earthly dignities\n    A still and quiet conscience.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    The stormy blast is strong, but mightier still\n    The calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\n    As running water cleanseth bodies dropped therein\n    So heavenly truth doth cleanse the secret heart from sin.\n\n    --From the Sanskrit, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam,\n    As men go forth who find unquietness at home.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    A mind from every evil thought set free\n    I count the noblest gift of Deity.\n\n    --Aeschylus, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    A stone makes not great rivers turbid grow;\n    When saints are vexed their shallowness they show.\n\n    --Saadi.\n\n\n    Yes, Lord, one great eternal yes\n      To all my Lord shall say;\n    To what I know, or yet shall know,\n      In all the untried way.\n\n\n        Good striving\n        Brings thriving.\n    Better a dog who works\n    Than a lion who shirks.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n\n\nHUMILITY\n\nMEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS\n\n\nA LAST PRAYER\n\n    Father, I scarcely dare to pray,\n      So clear I see, now it is done,\n    That I have wasted half my day\n      And left my work but just begun.\n\n    So clear I see that things I thought\n      Were right, or harmless, were a sin;\n    So clear I see that I have sought\n      Unconscious, selfish aims to win;\n\n    So clear I see that I have hurt\n      The souls I might have helped to save;\n    That I have slothful been, inert,\n      Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave.\n\n    In outskirts of thy kingdom vast,\n      Father, the humblest spot give me;\n    Set me the lowliest task thou hast;\n      Let me, repentant, work for thee.\n\n    --Helen Hunt Jackson.\n\n\nA LOWLY HEART\n\n    Thy home is with the humble, Lord!\n      The simplest are the best,\n    Thy lodging is in childlike hearts:\n      Thou makest there thy rest.\n\n    Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!\n      If thou wilt stay with me,\n    Of lowly thoughts and simple ways\n      I'll build a house for thee.\n\n    Who made this beating heart of mine\n      But Thou, my heavenly guest?\n    Let no one have it, then, but thee,\n      And let it be thy rest.\n\n    --Lyra Catholica.\n\n\n    Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light,\n    But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nKNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM\n\nI.\n\n    The Man who Loved the Names of Things\n      Went forth beneath the skies\n    And named all things that he beheld,\n      And people called him wise.\n    An unseen presence walked with him\n      Forever by his side,\n    The wedded mistress of his soul--\n      For Knowledge was his bride;\n    She named the flowers, the weeds, the trees,\n    And all the growths of all the seas.\n\n    She told him all the rocks by name,\n      The winds and whence they blew;\n    She told him how the seas were formed,\n      And how the mountains grew.\n    She numbered all the stars for him;\n      And all the rounded skies\n    Were mapped and charted for the gaze\n      Of his devouring eyes.\n    Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;\n    They praised--and he was very proud.\n\nII.\n\n    The Man who Loved the Soul of Things\n      Went forth serene and glad,\n    And mused upon the mighty world,\n      And people called him mad.\n    An unseen presence walked with him\n      Forever by his side,\n    The wedded mistress of his soul--\n      For Wisdom was his bride.\n    She showed him all this mighty frame,\n    And bade him feel--but named no name.\n\n    She stood with him upon the hills\n      Ringed by the azure sky,\n    And shamed his lowly thought with stars\n      And bade it climb as high.\n    And all the birds he could not name,\n      The nameless stars that roll,\n    The unnamed blossoms at his feet\n      Talked with him soul to soul;\n    He heard the Nameless Glory speak\n    In silence--and was very meek.\n\n    --Sam Walter Foss.\n\n\nTHE INQUIRY\n\n    I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!\n    I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter!\n    I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his\n      ardent thought!\n    Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost\n      heart portrayed!\n\n    I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!\n    Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!\n    Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land\n      of rest,\n    And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of\n      shining gold.\n\n\nA SONG OF LOW DEGREE\n\n    He that is down need fear no fall;\n      He that is low, no pride;\n    He that is humble ever shall\n      Have God to be his guide.\n\n    I am content with what I have,\n      Little be it, or much;\n    And, Lord, contentment still I crave,\n      Because thou savest such.\n\n    Fullness to such a burden is\n      That go on pilgrimage;\n    Here little, and hereafter bliss,\n      Is best from age to age.\n\n    --John Bunyan.\n\n\nNOT YET PREPARED\n\n    O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?\n      O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?\n    Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?\n      Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.\n\n    Submit thyself to God for preparation,\n      Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord;\n    Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.\n      Satan is pleased when man dictates to God.\n\n    Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample\n      On each self-flattering fancy that appears;\n    Did not the Lord himself, for our example,\n      Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?\n\n\nRECESSIONAL\n\n    God of our fathers, known of old--\n      Lord of our far-flung battle-line--\n    Beneath whose awful hand we hold\n      Dominion over palm and pine--\n    Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,\n    Lest we forget--lest we forget.\n\n    The tumult and the shouting dies--\n      The Captains and the Kings depart--\n    Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,\n      An humble and a contrite heart.\n    Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,\n    Lest we forget--lest we forget.\n\n    Far-called our navies melt away--\n      On dune and headland sinks the fire--\n    Lo, all our pomp of yesterday\n      Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.\n    Judge of the nations, spare us yet,\n    Lest we forget--lest we forget.\n\n    If, drunk with sight of power, we loose\n      Wild tongues that have not thee in awe--\n    Such boastings as the Gentiles use,\n      Or lesser breeds without the Law--\n    Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,\n    Lest we forget--lest we forget.\n\n    For heathen heart that puts her trust\n      In reeking tube and iron shard--\n    All valiant dust that builds on dust,\n      And guarding calls not Thee to guard.\n    For frantic boast and foolish word,\n    Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.\n\n    --Rudyard Kipling.\n\n\n    In humbleness, O Lord, I ask\n      That thou bestow on me\n    The will and strength to do some task\n      For growth of love for thee;\n    Some task, not of my chosen will--\n      For wisdom is not mine--\n    But let my frailsome life fulfill\n      Some perfect thought of thine.\n\n\nI WILL NOT SEEK\n\n    I cannot think but God must know\n    About the thing I long for so;\n    I know he is so good, so kind,\n    I cannot think but he will find\n    Some way to help, some way to show\n    Me to the thing I long for so.\n\n    I stretch my hand; it lies so near,\n    It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,\n    \"Dear Lord,\" I pray, \"O let me know\n    If it is wrong to want it so!\"\n    He only smiles, he does not speak;\n    My heart grows weaker and more weak\n    With looking at the thing so dear,\n    Which lies so far, and yet so near.\n\n    Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet\n    This thing which looks so near, so sweet;\n    I will not seek, I will not long;\n    I almost fear I have been wrong;\n    I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,\n    And wait, till by some loud, clear word\n    Thou callest me to thy loved feet\n    To take this thing so dear, so sweet.\n\n    --Saxe Holm.\n\n\nTRIUMPHING IN OTHERS\n\n    Others shall sing the song,\n    Others shall right the wrong,\n    Finish what I begin,\n    And all I fail of win.\n\n    What matter, I or they,\n    Mine or another's day,\n    So the right word be said,\n    And life the sweeter made?\n\n    Ring, bells in unreared steeples,\n    The joy of unborn peoples!\n    Sound, trumpets far-off blown,\n    Your triumph is my own.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;\n      So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be;\n    Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky\n      Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.\n    A grain of glory mixed with humbleness\n    Cures both a fever and lethargickness.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nFOR DIVINE STRENGTH\n\n    Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,\n      Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;\n    For we are weak and need some deep revealing\n      Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.\n\n    Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,\n      And thou hast made each step an onward one;\n    And we will ever trust each unknown morrow--\n      Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.\n\n    In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy\n      Abides; and when pain seems to have its will,\n    Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly\n      Stronger than agony, and we be still!\n\n    Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,\n      Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;\n    Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,\n      Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.\n\n    --Samuel Johnson.\n\n\nWHEN I AM WEAK THEN AM I STRONG\n\n    Half feeling our own weakness,\n      We place our hands in Thine--\n    Knowing but half our darkness\n      We ask for light divine.\n    Then, when Thy strong arm holds us,\n      Our weakness most we feel,\n    And thy love and light around us\n      Our darkness must reveal.\n\n    Too oft, when faithless doubtings\n      Around our spirits press,\n    We cry, \"Can hands so feeble\n      Grasp such almightiness?\"\n    While thus we doubt and tremble\n      Our hold still looser grows;\n    While on our darkness gazing\n      Vainly thy radiance glows.\n\n    Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,\n      And guide us by thy hand,\n    In thy light teach us light to see,\n      In thy strength strong to stand.\n    Then though our hands be feeble,\n      If they but touch thine arm,\n    Thy light and power shall lead us,\n      And keep us strong and calm.\n\n\nA HUMBLE HEART\n\n    I would not ask Thee that my days\n      Should flow quite smoothly on and on,\n    Lest I should learn to love the world\n      Too well, ere all my time was done.\n\n    I would not ask Thee that my work\n      Should never bring me pain nor fear;\n    Lest I should learn to work alone,\n      And never wish thy presence near.\n\n    I would not ask Thee that my friends\n      Should always kind and constant be;\n    Lest I should learn to lay my faith\n      In them alone, and not in thee.\n\n    But I would ask a humble heart,\n      A changeless will to work and wake,\n    A firm faith in Thy providence,\n      The rest--'tis thine to give or take.\n\n    --Alfred Norris.\n\n\n    Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,\n    Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells\n    In heads replete with thoughts of other men;\n    Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.\n    Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,\n    The mere material with which Wisdom builds,\n    Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,\n    Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.\n    Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,\n    Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\n    Humble we must be if to heaven we go;\n    High is the roof there; but the gate is low.\n\n    --Robert Herrick.\n\n\nNOT MINE\n\n    It is not mine to run, with eager feet,\n    Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.\n\n    It is not mine to pour the oil and wine\n    Or bring the purple robe and linen fine.\n\n    It is not mine to break at his dear feet\n    The alabaster box of ointment sweet.\n\n    It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,\n    Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.\n\n    It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,\n    Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.\n\n    He hath no need of me in grand affairs,\n    Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.\n\n    Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flower\n    Bloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;\n\n    If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,\n    May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;\n\n    May speak one quiet word when all is still,\n    Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;\n\n    Or sing some high, clear song on which may soar\n    Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.\n\n    --Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.\n\n\n    Christ wants the best. He in the far-off ages\n      Once claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat;\n    And still he asks his own with gentlest pleading\n      To lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet.\n    He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love;\n      He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have.\n\n\nPRAISE DEPRECATED\n\n    My sins and follies, Lord, by thee\n      From others hidden are,\n    That such good words are spoke of me\n      As now and then I hear;\n    For sure if others know me such,\n      Such as myself I know,\n    I should have been dispraised as much\n      As I am praised now.\n\n    The praise, therefore, which I have heard,\n      Delights not so my mind,\n    As those things make my heart afeard\n      Which in myself I find;\n    And I had rather to be blamed,\n      So I were blameless made,\n    Than for much virtue to be famed\n      When I no virtues had.\n\n    Though slanders to an innocent\n      Sometimes do bitter grow,\n    Their bitterness procures content,\n      If clear himself he know.\n    And when a virtuous man hath erred\n      If praised himself he hear,\n    It makes him grieve and more afeard\n      Than if he slandered were.\n\n    Lord, therefore make my heart upright,\n      Whate'er my deeds do seem;\n    And righteous rather in thy sight,\n      Than in the world's esteem.\n    And if aught good appears to be\n      In any act of mine,\n    Let thankfulness be found in me,\n      And all the praise be thine.\n\n    --George Wither (1588-1667).\n\n\n    One part, one little part, we dimly scan,\n      Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;\n    Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,\n      If but that little part incongruous seem.\n    Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem,\n    Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.\n      O then renounce that impious self-esteem\n    That aims to trace the secrets of the skies;\n    For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.\n\n    --James Beattie.\n\n\nHUMILITY\n\n    O humble me! I cannot bide the joy\n      That in my Saviour's presence ever flows;\n    May I be lowly, lest it may destroy\n      The peace his childlike spirit ever knows.\n    I would not speak thy word, but by thee stand\n      While thou dost to thine erring children speak;\n    O help me but to keep his own command,\n      And in my strength to feel me ever weak;\n    Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay,\n      Nor lose the life of love he came to give;\n    And find at last the life, the truth, the way\n      To where with him thy blessed servants live;\n    And walk forever in the path of truth--\n    A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth.\n\n    --Jones Very.\n\n\nTURN FROM SELF\n\n    This is the highest learning,\n      The hardest and the best--\n    From self to keep still turning,\n      And honor all the rest.\n\n    If one should break the letter,\n      Yea, spirit of command,\n    Think not that thou art better;\n      Thou may'st not always stand!\n\n    We all are weak--but weaker\n      Hold no one than thou art;\n    Then, as thou growest meeker,\n      Higher will go thy heart.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    In proud humility a pious man went through the field;\n    The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;\n    He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,\n    \"Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay.\"\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nMEEKNESS OF MOSES\n\n    Moses, the patriot fierce, became\n      The meekest man on earth,\n    To show us how love's quickening flame\n      Can give our souls new birth.\n\n    Moses, the man of meekest heart,\n      Lost Canaan by self-will,\n    To show, where grace has done its part,\n      How sin defiles us still.\n\n    Thou who hast taught me in thy fear,\n      Yet seest me frail at best,\n    Oh, grant me loss with Moses here,\n      To gain his future rest.\n\n    --John Henry Newman.\n\n\nLAUS DEO\n\n    Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ\n    Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy.\n    Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thought\n    Humility, that thy best done is naught.\n    Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small,\n    Save to praise God; but that hath saved all.\n    For God requires no more than thou hast done,\n    And takes thy work to bless it for his own.\n\n    --Robert Bridges.\n\n\n    \"A commonplace life,\" we say, and we sigh;\n      But why should we sigh as we say?\n    The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky\n      Makes up the commonplace day.\n    The moon and the stars are commonplace things,\n    And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings,\n    But dark were the world and sad our lot\n    If the flowers failed and the sun shone not;\n    And God, who studies each separate soul\n    Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.\n\n\n    Humility, that low, sweet root\n    From which all heavenly virtues shoot.\n\n    --Thomas Moore.\n\n\nTHE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL\n\n    Up and away, like the dew of the morning\n      That soars from the earth to its home in the sun,\n    So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,\n      Only remembered by what I have done.\n\n    My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,\n      The brief race of time well and patiently run,\n    So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,\n      Only remembered by what I have done.\n\n    Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,\n      Up to the crown that for me has been won;\n    Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises;\n      Only remembered by what I have done.\n\n    Up and away, like the odors of sunset,\n      That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on,\n    So be my life--a thing felt but not noticed,--\n      And I but remembered by what I have done.\n\n    Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness\n      When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone.\n    So would I be to this world's weary dwellers\n      Only remembered by what I have done.\n\n    I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing\n      (As its summer and autumn move silently on)\n    The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;\n      I shall still be remembered by what I have done.\n\n    Needs there the praise of the love-written record,\n      The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?\n    The things we have lived for--let them be our story--\n      We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.\n\n    I need not be missed if another succeed me,\n      To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown;\n    He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,\n      He is only remembered by what he has done.\n\n    Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,\n      Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,\n    Shall pass on to ages--all about me forgotten,\n      Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.\n\n    So let my living be, so be my dying;\n      So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown;\n    Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered;\n      Yes, but remembered for what I have done.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nSELF\n\n    O I could go through all life's troubles singing,\n      Turning earth's night to day,\n    If self were not so fast around me clinging,\n      To all I do or say.\n\n    O Lord! that I could waste my life for others,\n      With no ends of my own,\n    That I could pour myself into my brothers\n      And live for them alone!\n\n    Such was the life thou livedst; self-abjuring,\n      Thine own pains never easing,\n    Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring;\n      A life without self-pleasing.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nBRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US\n\n    The time for toil is past, and night has come--\n      The last and saddest of the harvest eves;\n    Worn out with labor, long and wearisome,\n    Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,\n      Each laden with his sheaves.\n\n    Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,\n      Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves\n    That I am burdened not so much with grain\n    As with a heaviness of heart and brain;\n      Master, behold my sheaves.\n\n    Few, light, and worthless--yet their trifling weight\n      Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;\n    For long I struggled with my hapless fate,\n    And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late--\n      Yet these are all my sheaves.\n\n    Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,\n      Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;\n    Wherefore I blush and weep as at thy feet\n    I kneel down reverently and repeat,\n      \"Master, behold my sheaves!\"\n\n    I know these blossoms clustering heavily,\n    With evening dew upon their folded leaves,\n    Can claim no value or utility--\n    Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be\n      The glory of my sheaves.\n\n    So do I gather strength and hope anew;\n      For well I know thy patient love perceives\n    Not what I did, but what I strove to do,\n    And though the full ripe ears be sadly few\n      Thou wilt accept my sheaves.\n\n    --Elizabeth Akers.\n\n\n    I pray not that\n    Men tremble at\n    My power of place,\n      And lordly sway;\n    I only pray for simple grace\n    To look my neighbor in the face\n      Full honestly from day to day.\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\n    If thou art blest,\n    Then let the sunshine of thy gladness rest\n    On the dark edges of each cloud that lies\n    Black in thy brother's skies.\n    If thou art sad,\n    Still be in thy brother's gladness glad.\n\n    --Hamilton.\n\n\n    Flower in the crannied wall,\n    I pluck you out of the crannies,\n    I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,\n    Little flower--but if I could understand\n    What you are, root and all, and all in all,\n    I should know what God and man is.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    Praise not thy work, but let thy work praise thee;\n      For deeds, not words, make each man's memory stable.\n    If what thou dost is good, its good all men will see;\n      Musk by its smell is known, not by its label.\n\n\n    When thou art fain to trace a map of thine own heart,\n    An undiscovered land set down the largest part.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    Patient, resigned and humble wills\n    Impregnably resist all ills.\n\n    --Thomas Ken.\n\n\n      He is one to whom\n    Long patience hath such mild composure given,\n    That patience now doth seem a thing of which\n    He hath no need.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n    Be not too ready to condemn\n      The wrong thy brothers may have done:\n    Ere ye too harshly censure them\n      For human faults, ask, \"Have I none?\"\n\n    --Eliza Cook.\n\n\n    Search thine own heart. What paineth thee\n    In others in thyself may be;\n    All dust is frail, all flesh is weak;\n    Be thou the true man thou dost seek.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Through wish, resolve, and act, our will\n    Is moved by undreamed forces still;\n    And no man measures in advance\n    His strength with untried circumstance.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Labor with what zeal we will,\n      Something still remains undone.\n    Something uncompleted still\n      Waits the rising of the sun.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    In the deed that no man knoweth,\n    Where no praiseful trumpet bloweth,\n    Where he may not reap who soweth,\n      There, Lord, let my heart serve thee.\n\n\n    O wad some power the giftie gie us\n    To see oursels as ithers see us!\n    It wad frae mony a blunder free us,\n      An' foolish notion.\n\n    --Robert Burns.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTMENT\n\nRESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION\n\n\nCONTENTMENT\n\n    Father, I know that all my life\n      Is portioned out for me,\n    And the changes that are sure to come\n      I do not fear to see;\n    I ask Thee for a patient mind,\n      Intent on pleasing thee.\n\n    I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,\n      Through constant watching wise,\n    To meet the glad with joyful smiles,\n      And wipe the weeping eyes,\n    And a heart, at leisure from itself,\n      To soothe and sympathize.\n\n    I would not have the restless will\n      That hurries to and fro,\n    Seeking for some great thing to do,\n      Or secret thing to know;\n    I would be treated as a child,\n      And _guided_ where I go.\n\n    Wherever in this world I am,\n      In whatsoe'er estate,\n    I have a fellowship with hearts\n      To keep and cultivate,\n    And a work of lowly love to do\n      For the Lord on whom I wait.\n\n    So I ask Thee for the daily strength--\n      To none that ask denied--\n    And a mind to blend with outward life,\n      While keeping at thy side,\n    Content to fill a _little_ space,\n      If thou be glorified.\n\n    And if some things I do not ask\n      In my cup of blessing be,\n    I would have my spirit filled the more\n      With grateful love to thee;\n    More careful not to serve thee much,\n      But to please thee perfectly.\n\n    There are briers besetting every path,\n      Which call for constant care;\n    There is a cross in every lot,\n      And an earnest need for prayer;\n    But a lowly heart, that leans on Thee,\n      Is happy everywhere.\n\n    In a service which Thy love appoints\n      There are no bonds for me,\n    For my secret heart has learned the truth\n      Which makes thy children free,\n    And a life of self-renouncing love\n      Is a life of liberty.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nTWO PICTURES\n\n    An old farm house with meadows wide,\n    And sweet with clover on each side;\n    A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out\n    The door with woodbine wreathed about,\n    And wishes his one thought all day:\n    \"O if I could but fly away!\n    From this dull spot the world to see,\n      How happy, happy, happy,\n      How happy I should be!\"\n\n    Amid the city's constant din,\n    A man who round the world has been,\n    Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng,\n    Is thinking, thinking all day long:\n    \"O could I only tread once more\n    The field-path to the farm-house door,\n    The old green meadow could I see,\n      How happy, happy, happy,\n      How happy I should be!\"\n\n    --Annie Douglas Robinson.\n\n\n    Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,\n    Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free;\n    Whom neither hopes deceive nor fears torment,\n    But lives in peace, within himself content;\n    In thought, or act, accountable to none\n    But to himself, and unto God alone.\n\n    --Henry P. F. Lansdowne.\n\n\nCONTENT I LIVE\n\n    My mind to me a kingdom is;\n      Such perfect joy therein I find\n    As far exceeds all earthly bliss\n      That God or nature hath assigned:\n    Though much I want that most would have,\n    Yet still my mind forbids to crave.\n\n    Content I live; this is my stay--\n      I seek no more than may suffice.\n    I press to bear no haughty sway;\n      Look, what I lack my mind supplies.\n    Lo, thus I triumph like a king,\n    Content with what my mind doth bring.\n\n    I laugh not at another's loss,\n      I grudge not at another's gain;\n    No worldly wave my mind can toss;\n      I brook that as another's bane.\n    I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend.\n    I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.\n\n    My wealth is health and perfect ease;\n      My conscience clear my chief defense;\n    I never seek by bribes to please\n      Nor by desert to give offense.\n    Thus do I live, thus will I die;\n    Would all did so, as well as I.\n\n    --Edward Dyer. Alt. by William Byrd (1540-1625).\n\n\nJUST AS GOD LEADS\n\n    Just as God leads me I would go;\n      I would not ask to choose my way;\n    Content with what he will bestow,\n      Assured he will not let me stray.\n    So, as he leads, my path I make,\n    And step by step I gladly take--\n      A child, in him confiding.\n\n    Just as God leads I am content;\n      I rest me calmly in his hands;\n    That which he has decreed and sent--\n      That which his will for me commands--\n    I would that he should all fulfill,\n    That I should do his gracious will\n      In living or in dying.\n\n    Just as God leads, I all resign;\n      I trust me to my Father's will;\n    When reason's rays deceptive shine,\n      His counsel would I yet fulfill;\n    That which his love ordained as right\n    Before he brought me to the right\n      My all to him resigning.\n\n    Just as God leads me, I abide\n      In faith, in hope, in suffering true;\n    His strength is ever by my side--\n      Can aught my hold on him undo?\n    I hold me firm in patience, knowing\n    That God my life is still bestowing--\n      The best in kindness sending.\n\n    Just as God leads I onward go,\n      Out amid thorns and briers keen;\n    God does not yet his guidance show--\n      But in the end it shall be seen.\n    How, by a loving Father's will,\n    Faithful and true, he leads me still.\n      And so my heart is resting.\n\n    --From the German.\n\n\nSWEET CONTENT\n\n    O Thou, by long experience tried,\n    Near whom no grief can long abide;\n    My Lord, how full of sweet content\n    I pass my years of banishment!\n\n    All scenes alike engaging prove\n    To souls impressed with sacred love!\n    Where'er they dwell they dwell in Thee\n    In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.\n\n    To me remains nor place nor time,\n    My country is in every clime;\n    I can be calm and free from care\n    On any shore, since God is there.\n\n    While place we seek, or place we shun,\n    The soul finds happiness in none;\n    But with a God to guide our way\n    'Tis equal joy to go or stay.\n\n    Could I be cast where Thou art not,\n    That were indeed a dreadful lot;\n    But regions none remote I call,\n    Secure of finding God in all.\n\n    --Madame Guyon.\n\n\nCONTENT AND RICH\n\n    My conscience is my crown,\n      Contented thoughts my rest;\n    My heart is happy in itself,\n      My bliss is in my breast.\n\n    Enough I reckon wealth;\n      A mean, the surest lot;\n    That lies too high for base contempt,\n      Too low for envy's shot.\n\n    My wishes are but few,\n      All easy to fulfill;\n    I make the limits of my power\n      The bounds unto my will.\n\n    I feel no care of coin;\n      Well doing is my wealth;\n    My mind to me an empire is,\n      While grace affordeth health.\n\n    I clip high-climbing thoughts,\n      The wings of swelling pride;\n    Their fall is worst that from the height\n      Of greatest honor slide.\n\n    Since sails of largest size\n      The storm doth soonest tear,\n    I bear so low and small a sail\n      As freeth me from fear.\n\n    I wrestle not with rage\n      While fury's flame doth burn;\n    It is in vain to stop the stream\n      Until the tide doth turn.\n\n    But when the flame is out,\n      And ebbing wrath doth end,\n    I turn a late enraged foe\n      Into a quiet friend.\n\n    And, taught with often proof,\n      A tempered calm I find\n    To be most solace to itself,\n      Best cure for angry mind.\n\n    No change of fortune's calms\n      Can cast my comforts down;\n    When Fortune smiles I smile to think\n      How quickly she will frown.\n\n    And when in froward mood\n      She proves an angry foe,\n    Small gain I found to let her come,\n      Less loss to let her go.\n\n    --Robert Southwell, 1561-95. (One of the Jesuit Fathers who were\n    cruelly executed by Queen Elizabeth.)\n\n\n    Don't lose Courage! Spirit brave\n    Carry with you to the grave.\n\n    Don't lose Time in vain distress!\n    Work, not worry, brings success.\n\n    Don't lose Hope! who lets her stray\n    Goes forlornly all the way.\n\n    Don't lose Patience, come what will!\n    Patience ofttimes outruns skill.\n\n    Don't lose Gladness! every hour\n    Blooms for you some happy flower.\n\n    Though be foiled your dearest plan,\n    Don't lose Faith in God and man!\n\n\nA CONTRAST\n\n    Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun,\n      And both were poor;\n    Both sat with children, when the day was done,\n      About their door.\n    One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud\n      And shining moon;\n    The other, with his head in sadness bowed,\n      Made night of noon.\n    One loved each tree and flower and singing bird,\n      On mount or plain;\n    No music in the soul of one was stirred\n      By leaf or rain.\n    One saw the good in every fellow-man\n      And hoped the best;\n    The other marvelled at his Master's plan,\n      And doubt confessed.\n    One, having heaven above and heaven below,\n      Was satisfied;\n    The other, discontented, lived in woe,\n      And hopeless died.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nWHO BIDES HIS TIME\n\n    Who bides his time, and day by day\n      Faces defeat full patiently,\n    And lifts a mirthful roundelay\n      However poor his fortunes be--\n    He will not fail in any qualm\n      Of poverty; the paltry dime--\n    It will grow golden in his palm\n      Who bides his time.\n\n    Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet\n      Of honey in the saltest tear;\n    And though he fares with slowest feet\n      Joy runs to meet him drawing near;\n    The birds are heralds of his cause,\n      And like a never-ending rhyme\n    The roadsides bloom in his applause\n      Who bides his time.\n\n    Who bides his time, and fevers not\n      In a hot race that none achieves,\n    Shall wear cool wreathen laurel, wrought\n      With crimson berries in the leaves;\n    And he shall reign a goodly king\n      And sway his hand o'er every clime,\n    With peace writ on his signet ring,\n      Who bides his time.\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nCARELESS CONTENT\n\n    I am content; I do not care;\n      Wag as it will the world for me;\n    When Fuss and Fret was all my fare\n      It got no ground, as I could see.\n    So when away my caring went\n    I counted cost and was content.\n\n    With more of thanks and less of thought\n      I strive to make my matters meet;\n    To seek, what ancient sages sought,\n      Physic and food in sour and sweet.\n    To take what passes in good part,\n    And keep the hiccups from the heart.\n\n    With good and gentle-humored hearts\n      I choose to chat, whene'er I come,\n    Whate'er the subject be that starts;\n      But if I get among the glum\n    I hold my tongue, to tell the truth,\n    And keep my breath to cool my broth.\n\n    For chance or change of peace or pain;\n      For fortune's favor or her frown;\n    For luck or glut, for loss or gain,\n      I never dodge, nor up nor down:\n    But swing what way the ship shall swim,\n    Or tack about with equal trim.\n\n    I suit not where I shall not speed,\n      Nor trace the turn of every tide;\n    If simple sense will not succeed,\n      I make no bustling, but abide;\n    For shining wealth, or scoring woe,\n    I force no friend, I fear no foe.\n\n    I love my neighbor as myself;\n      Myself like him too, by his leave;\n    Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf\n      Came I to crouch, as I conceive;\n    Dame Nature doubtless has designed\n    A man the monarch of his mind.\n\n    Now taste and try this temper, sirs;\n      Mood it and brood it in your breast;\n    Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,\n      That man does right to mar his rest,\n    Let me be left, and debonair;\n    I am content; I do not care.\n\n    --John Byrom (1692-1763).\n\n\n    Some of your hurts you have cured,\n      And the sharpest you still have survived,\n    But what torments of grief you endured\n      From the evils which never arrived.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nHAPPY ANY WAY\n\n    Lord, it belongs not to my care\n      Whether I die or live;\n    To love and serve thee is my share,\n      And this thy grace must give.\n\n    If life be long, I will be glad\n      That I may long obey;\n    If short, yet why should I be sad\n      To soar to endless day?\n\n    Christ leads me through no darker rooms\n      Than he went through before;\n    He that into God's kingdom comes\n      Must enter by his door.\n\n    Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet\n      Thy blessed face to see;\n    For, if thy work on earth be sweet,\n      What will thy glory be?\n\n    Then I shall end my sad complaints,\n      And weary, sinful days,\n    And join with the triumphant saints\n      Who sing Jehovah's praise.\n\n    My knowledge of that life is small;\n      The eye of faith is dim;\n    But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,\n      And I shall be with him.\n\n    --Richard Baxter.\n\n\nTHE THINGS I MISS\n\n    An easy thing, O Power Divine,\n    To thank thee for these gifts of thine!\n    For summer's sunshine, winter's snow,\n    For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow;\n    But when shall I attain to this:\n    To thank thee for the things I miss?\n\n    For all young fancy's early gleams,\n    The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams.\n    Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known\n    Through others' fortunes, not my own,\n    And blessings seen that are not given,\n    And ne'er will be, this side of heaven.\n\n    Had I, too, shared the joys I see,\n    Would there have been a heaven for me?\n    Could I have felt thy presence near\n    Had I possessed what I held dear?\n    My deepest fortune, highest bliss,\n    Have grown, perchance, from things I miss.\n\n    Sometimes there comes an hour of calm;\n    Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm;\n    A Power that works above my will\n    Still leads me onward, upward still;\n    And then my heart attains to this:\n    To thank thee for the things I miss.\n\n    --Thomas Wentworth Higginson.\n\n\nTHE HERITAGE\n\n    The rich man's son inherits lands,\n      And piles of brick and stone and gold,\n    And he inherits soft, white hands,\n      And tender flesh that fears the cold,\n      Nor dares to wear a garment old;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    One scarce would wish to hold in fee.\n\n    The rich man's son inherits cares;\n      The bank may break, the factory burn,\n    A breath may burst his bubble shares,\n      And soft white hands could hardly earn\n      A living that would serve his turn;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    One scarce would wish to hold in fee.\n\n    The rich man's son inherits wants,\n      His stomach craves for dainty fare;\n    With sated heart he hears the pants\n      Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,\n      And wearies in his easy-chair;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    One scarce would wish to hold in fee.\n\n    What doth the poor man's son inherit?\n      Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;\n    A hardy frame, a hardier spirit,\n      King of two hands, he does his part\n      In every useful toil and art;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    A king might wish to hold in fee.\n\n    What doth the poor man's son inherit?\n      Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,\n    A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,\n      Content that from employment springs,\n      A heart that in his labor sings;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    A king might wish to hold in fee.\n\n    What doth the poor man's son inherit?\n      A patience learned of being poor,\n    Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,\n      A fellow-feeling that is sure\n      To make the outcast bless his door;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    A king might wish to hold in fee.\n\n    O rich man's son! there is a toil\n      That with all others level stands;\n    Large charity doth never soil,\n      But only whiten soft, white hands;\n      This is the best crop from thy lands,\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    Worth being rich to hold in fee.\n\n    O poor man's son! scorn not thy state;\n      There is worse weariness than thine\n    In merely being rich and great;\n      Toil only gives the soul to shine,\n      And makes rest fragrant and benign;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    Worth being poor to hold in fee.\n\n    Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,\n      Are equal in the earth at last;\n    Both, children of the same dear God,\n      Prove title to your heirship vast\n      By record of a well-filled past;\n    A heritage, it seems to me,\n    Well worth a life to hold in fee.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nI AM CONTENT\n\n    I am content. In trumpet tones\n      My song let people know;\n    And many a mighty man with thrones\n      And scepter is not so.\n    And if he is I joyful cry,\n    Why, then he's just the same as I.\n\n    My motto is--Content with this;\n      Gold--place--I prize not such.\n    That which I have my measure is:\n      Wise men desire not much.\n    Men wish and wish, and have their will,\n    And wish again as hungry still.\n\n    And gold and honor are besides\n      A very brittle glass;\n    And time, in his unresting tides\n      Makes all things change and pass:\n    Turns riches to a beggar's dole;\n    Sets glory's race an infant's goal.\n\n    Be noble--that is more than wealth;\n      Do right--that's more than place;\n    Then in the spirit there is health\n      And gladness in the face:\n    Then thou art with thyself at one\n    And, no man hating, fearest none.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nMADAME LOFTY\n\n    Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage,\n            So do I;\n    She has dappled grays to draw it,\n            None have I.\n    She's no prouder of her coachman\n            Than am I\n    With my blue-eyed laughing baby\n            Trundling by.\n    I hide his face, lest she should see\n    The cherub boy and envy me.\n\n    Her fine husband has white fingers,\n            Mine has not;\n    He can give his bride a palace,\n            Mine a cot.\n    Hers comes home beneath the starlight,\n            Ne'er cares she;\n    Mine comes in the purple twilight,\n            Kisses me,\n    And prays that He who turns life's sands\n    Will hold his loved ones in his hands.\n\n    Mrs. Lofty has her jewels,\n            So have I;\n    She wears hers upon her bosom,\n            Inside I.\n    She will leave hers at Death's portals,\n            By and by;\n    I shall bear the treasures with me\n            When I die--\n    For I have love, and she has gold;\n    She counts her wealth, mine can't be told.\n\n    She has those who love her station,\n            None have I,\n    But I've one true heart beside me;\n            Glad am I;\n    I'd not change it for a kingdom,\n            No, not I;\n    God will weigh it in a balance,\n            By and by;\n    And then the difference he'll define\n    'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine.\n\n\n    So long as life's hope-sparkle glows, 'tis good;\n    When death delivers from life's woes, 'tis good.\n    Oh praise the Lord who makes all good, and will;\n    Whether he life or death bestows, 'tis good.\n\n\nTHE WIND THAT BLOWS, THAT WIND IS BEST\n\n    Whichever way the wind doth blow,\n    Some heart is glad to have it so;\n    Then blow it east or blow it west,\n    The wind that blows, that wind is best.\n\n    My little craft sails not alone;\n    A thousand fleet from every zone\n    Are out upon a thousand seas;\n    And what for me were favoring breeze\n    Might dash another with the shock\n    Of doom upon some hidden rock.\n    And so I do not dare to pray\n    For winds to waft me on my way;\n    But leave it to a Higher Will\n    To stay or speed me, trusting still\n    That ill is well, and sure that He\n    Who launched my bark will sail with me\n    Through storm and calm, and will not fail,\n    Whatever breezes may prevail,\n    To land me, every peril past,\n    Within his sheltering heaven at last.\n\n    Then, whatsoever wind doth blow,\n    My heart is glad to have it so;\n    And, blow it east or blow it west,\n    The wind that blows, that wind is best.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\nTHE DIFFERENCE\n\n    Some murmur, when their sky is clear\n      And wholly bright to view,\n    If one small speck of dark appear\n      In their great heaven of blue.\n    And some with thankful love are filled\n      If but one streak of light,\n    One ray of God's good mercy, gild\n      The darkness of their night.\n\n    In palaces are hearts that ask,\n      In discontent and pride,\n    Why life is such a dreary task\n      And all things good denied.\n    Yet hearts in poorest huts admire\n      How love has in their aid\n    (Love that not ever seems to tire)\n      Such rich provision made.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    Give what Thou canst; without thee we are poor;\n    And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nRICHES AND POWER\n\n    Cleon has a million acres,\n      Ne'er a one have I;\n    Cleon dwelleth in a palace,\n      In a cottage I.\n    Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,\n      Not a penny I;\n    Yet the poorer of the twain is\n      Cleon, and not I.\n\n    Cleon, true, possesseth acres,\n      But the landscape I;\n    Half the charms to me it yieldeth,\n      Money cannot buy.\n    Cleon harbors sloth and dullness,\n      Freshening vigor I;\n    He in velvet, I in fustian,\n      Richer man am I.\n\n    Cleon is a slave to grandeur,\n      Free as thought am I;\n    Cleon fees a score of doctors,\n      Need of none have I.\n    Wealth-surrounded, care-environed,\n      Cleon fears to die.\n    Death may come, he'll find me ready.\n      Happier man am I.\n\n    Cleon sees no charm in nature,\n      In a daisy I;\n    Cleon hears no anthem ringing\n      In the sea and sky;\n    Nature sings to me forever,\n      Earnest listener I!\n    State for state, with all attendants,\n      Who would change? Not I.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\nENOUGH\n\n    I am so weak, dear Lord, I cannot stand\n      One moment without thee;\n    But oh, the tenderness of thine enfolding,\n    And oh, the faithfulness of thine upholding,\n    And oh, the strength of thy right hand!\n      _That strength_ is enough for me.\n\n    I am so needy, Lord, and yet I know\n      All fullness dwells in thee;\n    And hour by hour that never-failing treasure\n    Supplies and fills in overflowing measure,\n    My last, my greatest need. And so\n      _Thy grace_ is enough for me.\n\n    It is so sweet to trust THY WORD alone!\n      I do not ask to see\n    The unveiling of thy purpose, or the shining\n    Of future light or mysteries untwining;\n    The promise-roll is all my own,\n      _Thy word_ is enough for me.\n\n    The human heart asks love. But now I know\n      That my heart hath from Thee\n    All real, and full, and marvelous affection\n    So near, so human! yet Divine perfection\n    Thrills gloriously the mighty glow!\n      _Thy love_ is enough for me.\n\n    There were strange soul depths, restless, vast and broad\n      Unfathomed as the sea.\n    An infinite craving for some infinite stilling;\n    But now Thy perfect love is perfect filling!\n    Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my God,\n      Thou, thou art enough for me!\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nFULLY CONTENT\n\n    I know not, and I would not know,\n      Content, I leave it all with Thee;\n    'Tis ever best it should be so;\n      As thou wilt have it let it be.\n\n    But this I know: that every day\n      And every step for me is planned;\n    I surely cannot lose the Way\n      While He is holding fast my hand.\n\n    And surely, whatsoe'er betide,\n      I never shall be left alone:\n    Thou standest ever by my side;\n      To thee my future all is known.\n\n    And wheresoe'er my lot may fall\n      The way before is marked by Thee;\n    The windings of my life are all\n      Unfoldings of thy Love to me.\n\n\n    What matter will it be, O mortal man, when thou art dying,\n    Whether upon a throne or on the bare earth thou art lying?\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nCONTENT WITH ALL\n\n    Content that God's decree\n    Should order all for thee.\n    Content with sickness or with health--\n    Content with poverty or wealth--\n    Content to walk in humble guise,\n    And as He wills it sink or rise.\n\n    Content to live alone\n    And call no place thine own.\n    No sweet reunions day by day.\n    Thy kindred spirits far away.\n    And, since God wills to have it so,\n    Thou wouldst not change for weal or woe.\n\n    Content that others rise\n    Before thy very eyes.\n    How bright their lot and portion here!\n    Wealth fills their coffers--friends are near.\n    Behold their mansions tall and fair!\n    The timbrel and the dance are there.\n\n    Content to toil or rest--\n    God's peace within thy breast--\n    To feel thy times are in His hand\n    Who holds all worlds in his command--\n    Thy time to laugh--thy time to sigh--\n    Thy time to live--thy time to die.\n\n    And is it so indeed\n    Thou art with God agreed?\n    Content 'mid all the ills of life?\n    Farewell, then, sorrow, pain and strife!\n    Such high content is heaven begun.\n    The battle's fought, the victory won!\n\n    --Mary Ann W. Cook.\n\n\nA BLESSED LESSON\n\n    Have I learned, in whatsoever\n      State to be content?\n    Have I learned this blessed lesson\n      By my Master sent--\n    And with joyous acquiescence\n      Do I greet His will\n    Even when my own is thwarted\n      And my hands lie still?\n\n    Surely it is best and sweetest\n      Thus to have Him choose,\n    Even though some work I've taken\n      By this choice I lose.\n    Folded hands need not be idle--\n      Fold them but in prayer;\n    Other souls may toil far better\n      For God's answer there.\n\n    They that \"reap\" receive their \"wages,\"\n      Those who \"work\" their \"crown,\"\n    Those who pray throughout the ages\n      Bring blest answers down;\n    In \"whatever state\" abiding\n      Till the Master call,\n    They at eventide will find Him\n      Glorified in all.\n\n    What though I can do so little\n      For my Lord and King,\n    At His feet I sit and listen,\n      At His feet I sing.\n    And, whatever my condition,\n      All in love is meant;\n    Sing, my soul, thy recognition,\n      Sing, and be content!\n\n\nIT MIGHT HAVE BEEN\n\n    Led by kindlier hand than ours,\n      We journey through this earthly scene,\n    And should not, in our weary hours,\n      Turn to regret what might have been.\n\n    And yet these hearts, when torn by pain,\n      Or wrung by disappointment keen,\n    Will seek relief from present cares\n      In thoughts of joys that might have been.\n\n    But let us still these wishes vain;\n      We know not that of which we dream.\n    Our lives might have been sadder yet\n      God only knows what might have been.\n\n    Forgive us, Lord, our little faith;\n      And help us all, from morn to e'en,\n    Still to believe that lot were best\n      Which is--not that which might have been.\n\n    And grant we may so pass the days\n      The cradle and the grave between,\n    That death's dark hour not darker be\n      For thoughts of what life might have been.\n\n    --George Z. Gray.\n\n\n    Hushing every muttered murmur,\n    Let your fortitude the firmer\n      Gird your soul with strength.\n    While, no treason near her lurking,\n    Patience in her perfect working,\n      Shall be Queen at length.\n\n\nBE CONTENT\n\n    Be thou content; be still before\n      His face at whose right hand doth reign\n    Fullness of joy for evermore,\n      Without whom all thy toil is vain;\n    He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays\n    Make glad with life and light thy dreary days.\n      Be thou content.\n\n    In him is comfort, light, and grace,\n      And changeless love beyond our thought;\n    The sorest pang, the worst disgrace,\n      If he is there, shall harm thee not.\n    He can lift off thy cross and loose thy bands,\n    And calm thy fears; nay, death is in His hands.\n      Be thou content.\n\n    Or art thou friendless and alone--\n      Hast none in whom thou canst confide?\n    God careth for thee, lonely one--\n      Comfort and help he will provide.\n    He sees thy sorrows, and thy hidden grief,\n    He knoweth when to send thee quick relief;\n      Be thou content.\n\n    Thy heart's unspoken pain he knows,\n      Thy secret sighs he hears full well;\n    What to none else thou darest disclose\n      To him thou mayest with boldness tell.\n    He is not far away, but ever nigh,\n    And answereth willingly the poor man's cry:\n      Be thou content.\n\n\nMANNA\n\n    'Twas in the night the manna fell\n    That fed the hosts of Israel.\n\n    Enough for each day's fullest store\n    And largest need; enough, no more.\n\n    For willful waste, for prideful show,\n    God sent not angels' food below.\n\n    Still in our nights of deep distress\n    The manna falls our heart to bless.\n\n    And, famished, as we cry for bread,\n    With heavenly food our lives are fed,\n\n    And each day's need finds each day's store\n    Enough. Dear Lord, what want we more!\n\n    --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.\n\n\nBLESSINGS NEAR AT HAND\n\n    We look too far for blessings;\n      We seek too far for joys;\n    We ought to be like children\n      Who find their chiefest toys\n\n    Ofttimes in nearest attic,\n      Or in some dingy lane--\n    Their aprons full of weeds or flowers\n      Gathered in sun or rain.\n\n    Within the plainest cottage\n      Unselfish love may grow;\n    The sweetest, the divinest gift,\n      Which mortals ever know.\n\n    We ought to count our joys, not woes;\n      Meet care with winsome grace;\n    For discontent plows furrows\n      Upon the loveliest face.\n\n    Hope, freedom, sunlight, knowledge,\n      Come not to wealth alone;\n    He who looks far for blessings\n      Will overlook his own.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nI WOULDN'T\n\n    A sprig of mint by the wayward brook,\n      A nibble of birch in the wood,\n    A summer day, and love, and a book,\n      And I wouldn't be a king if I could.\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\n    The way to make thy son rich is to fill\n      His mind with rest before his trunk with riches:\n    For wealth without contentment climbs a hill\n    To feel those tempests which fly over ditches.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nTHE JEWEL\n\n    There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy,\n      No chemic art can counterfeit;\n    It makes men rich in greatest poverty,\n    Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,\n    The homely whistle to sweet music's strain;\n    Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,\n    That much in little, all in naught--Content.\n\n\nFINDING CONTENT\n\n    I could not find the little maid Content,\n      So out I rushed, and sought her far and wide;\n      But not where Pleasure each new fancy tried,\n    Heading the maze of rioting merriment,\n    Nor where, with restless eyes and bow half bent,\n      Love in the brake of sweetbriar smiled and sighed,\n      Nor yet where Fame towered, crowned and glorified,\n    Found I her face, nor wheresoe'er I went.\n    So homeward back I crawled, like wounded bird,\n      When lo! Content sate spinning at my door;\n      And when I asked her where she was before--\n    \"Here all the time,\" she said; \"I never stirred;\n      Too eager in thy search, you passed me o'er,\n    And, though I called you, neither saw nor heard.\"\n\n    --Alfred Austin.\n\n\nDAILY STRENGTH\n\n    Day by day the manna fell;\n    O to learn this lesson well;\n    Still by constant mercy fed,\n    Give me, Lord, my daily bread.\n\n    \"Day by day,\" the promise reads;\n    Daily strength for daily needs;\n    Cast foreboding fears away;\n    Take the manna of to-day.\n\n    Lord, my times are in thy hand.\n    All my sanguine hopes have planned\n    To thy wisdom I resign,\n    And would make thy purpose thine.\n\n    Thou my daily task shalt give;\n    Day by day to Thee I live;\n    So shall added years fulfill\n    Not my own--my Father's will.\n\n    Fond ambition, whisper not;\n    Happy is my humble lot;\n    Anxious, busy cares away;\n    I'm provided for to-day.\n\n    O to live exempt from care\n    By the energy of prayer;\n    Strong in faith, with mind subdued,\n    Yet elate with gratitude.\n\n    --Josiah Conder.\n\n\nGOD IS ENOUGH\n\n    God is enough! thou, who in hope and fear\n      Toilest through desert sands of life, sore tried,\n    Climb, trustful, over death's black ridge, for near\n      The bright wells shine; thou wilt be satisfied.\n\n    God doth suffice! O thou, the patient one,\n      Who puttest faith in him, and none beside,\n    Bear yet thy load; under the setting sun\n      The glad tents gleam; thou wilt be satisfied\n\n    By God's gold Afternoon! peace ye shall have;\n      Man is in loss except he live aright,\n    And help his fellow to be firm and brave,\n      Faithful and patient; then the restful night.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold, from the Arabian.\n\n\nTHE TRULY RICH\n\n    They're richer who diminish their desires,\n      Though their possessions be not amplified,\n    Than monarchs, who in owning large empires,\n      Have minds that never will be satisfied.\n    For he is poor who wants what he would have,\n    And rich who, having naught, doth nothing crave.\n\n    --T. Urchard.\n\n\nTHY ALLOTMENT\n\n    Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident,\n    It is the very place God meant for thee;\n    And shouldst thou there small scope for action see\n    Do not for this give room to discontent,\n    Nor let the time thou owest God be spent\n    In idle dreaming how thou mightest be,\n    In what concerns thy spiritual life, more free\n    From outward hindrance or impediment.\n    For presently this hindrance thou shalt find\n    That without which all goodness were a task\n    So slight that virtue never could grow strong;\n    And wouldst thou do one duty to His mind--\n    The Imposer's--over-burdened thou shalt ask,\n    And own thy need of, grace to help ere long.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nTHE HAPPIEST HEART\n\n    Who drives the horses of the sun\n      Shall lord it but a day;\n    Better the lowly deed were done,\n      And kept the humble way.\n\n    The rust will find the sword of fame,\n      The dust will hide the crown;\n    Aye, none shall nail so high his name\n      Time will not tear it down.\n\n    The happiest heart that ever beat\n      Was in some quiet breast\n    That found the common daylight sweet,\n      And left to Heaven the rest.\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\nWELCOME THE SHADOWS\n\n    Welcome the shadows; where they blackest are\n      Burns through the bright supernal hour;\n    From blindness of wide dark looks out the star,\n      From all death's night the April flower.\n\n    For beauty and for gladness of the days\n      Bring but the meed of trust;\n    The April grass looks up from barren ways,\n      The daisy from the dust.\n\n    When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill,\n      The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee then:\n    The heavens repeat themselves in waters still\n      And in the faces of contented men.\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\nTHE DAILY COURSE\n\n    New every morning is the love\n    Our wakening and uprising prove;\n    Through sleep and darkness safely brought,\n    Restored to life, and power, and thought.\n\n    New mercies each returning day\n    Hover around us while we pray;\n    New perils past, new sins forgiven,\n    New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.\n\n    If on our daily course our mind\n    Be set to hallow all we find,\n    New treasures still, of countless price,\n    God will provide for sacrifice.\n\n    Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be\n    As more of heaven in each we see;\n    Some softening gleam of love and prayer\n    Shall dawn on every cross and care.\n\n    We need not bid, for cloistered cell,\n    Our neighbor and our work farewell,\n    Nor strive to wind ourselves too high\n    For sinful man beneath the sky.\n\n    The trivial round, the common task,\n    Will furnish all we ought to ask:\n    Room to deny ourselves a road\n    To bring us daily nearer God.\n\n    Seek we no more; content with these,\n    Let present rapture, comfort, ease,\n    As Heaven shall bid them, come and go;\n    The secret, this, of rest below.\n\n    Only, O Lord, in thy dear love\n    Fit us for perfect rest above;\n    And help us this and every day,\n    To live more nearly as we pray.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\nGOD ENOUGH\n\n    Let nothing disturb thee,\n    Nothing affright thee;\n    All things are passing;\n    God never changeth;\n    Patient endurance\n    Attaineth to all things;\n    Who God possesseth\n    In nothing is wanting;\n    Alone God sufficeth.\n\n    --St. Teresa, tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN MEAN\n\n    He that holds fast the golden mean\n    And lives contentedly between\n      The little and the great,\n    Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,\n    Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,\n      Embittering all his state.\n\n\nWITHOUT AND WITHIN\n\n    If every man's internal care\n      Were written on his brow,\n    How many would our pity share\n      Who raise our envy now?\n\n    The fatal secret, when revealed,\n      Of every aching breast,\n    Would prove that only while concealed\n      Their lot appeared the best.\n\n    --Pietro Metastasio.\n\n\n    Let us be content in work\n    To do the thing we can, and not presume\n    To fret because it's little.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    If none were sick and none were sad,\n      What service could we render?\n    I think if _we_ were always glad,\n      We scarcely could be tender.\n    If sorrow never claimed our heart,\n      And every wish were granted,\n    Patience would die and hope depart--\n      Life would be disenchanted.\n\n\n    A pilgrim, bound to Mecca, quite away his sandals wore,\n    And on the desert's blistering sand his feet grew very sore.\n    \"To let me suffer thus, great Allah, is not kind nor just,\n    While in thine service I confront the painful heat and dust.\"\n    He murmured in complaining tone; and in this temper came\n    To where, around the Kaaba, pilgrims knelt of every name;\n    And there he saw, while pity and remorse his bosom beat,\n    A pilgrim who not only wanted shoes, but _feet_.\n\n    --From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.\n\n\n    Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;\n    Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;\n    Thy fate is the common fate of all,\n    Into each life some rain must fall,\n      Some days must be dark and dreary.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    Strength for to-day is all that we need,\n      As there never will be a to-morrow;\n    For to-morrow will prove but another to-day\n      With its measure of joy or of sorrow.\n\n\n    Don't think your lot the worst because\n      Some griefs your joy assail;\n    There aren't so very many saws\n      That never strike a nail.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    When it drizzles and drizzles,\n      If we cheerfully smile,\n    We can make the weather,\n    By working together,\n      As fair as we choose in a little while.\n    For who will notice that clouds are drear\n    If pleasant faces are always near,\n    And who will remember that skies are gray\n    If he carries a happy heart all day?\n\n\n\n\nASPIRATION\n\nDESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH\n\n\nGRADATIM\n\n    Heaven is not reached by a single bound;\n    But we build the ladder by which we rise\n    From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,\n    And we mount to its summit round by round.\n\n    I count this thing to be grandly true:\n    That the noble deed is a step toward God,\n    Lifting the soul from the common clod\n    To a purer air and a broader view.\n\n    We rise by the things that are under feet;\n    By what we have mastered of good and gain,\n    By the pride deposed and the passion slain,\n    And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.\n\n    We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,\n    When the morning calls us to life and light;\n    But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night\n    Our lives are treading the sordid dust.\n\n    We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,\n    And we think that we mount the air on wings,\n    Beyond the recall of sensual things,\n    While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.\n\n    Wings for the angels, but feet for men!\n    We may borrow the wings to find the way;\n    We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;\n    But our feet must rise, or we fall again.\n\n    Only in dreams is a ladder thrown\n    From the weary earth to the sapphire walls,\n    But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,\n    And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.\n\n    Heaven is not reached at a single bound;\n    But we build the ladder by which we rise\n    From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,\n    And we mount to its summit round by round.\n\n    --Josiah Gilbert Holland.\n\n\nMORE AND MORE\n\n    Purer yet and purer\n      I would be in mind,\n    Dearer yet and dearer\n      Every duty find;\n    Hoping still and trusting\n      God without a fear,\n    Patiently believing\n      He will make it clear.\n\n    Calmer yet and calmer\n      Trials bear and pain,\n    Surer yet and surer\n      Peace at last to gain;\n    Suffering still and doing,\n      To his will resigned,\n    And to God subduing\n      Heart and will and mind.\n\n    Higher yet and higher\n      Out of clouds and night,\n    Nearer yet and nearer\n      Rising to the light--\n    Light serene and holy--\n      Where my soul may rest,\n    Purified and lowly,\n      Sanctified and blest.\n\n    --Johann W. von Goethe.\n\n\nTHE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS\n\n    This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign,\n            Sails the unshadowed main,--\n            The venturous bark that flings\n    On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings\n    In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings\n            And coral reefs lie bare,\n    Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair.\n\n    Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;\n            Wrecked is the ship of pearl!\n            And every chambered cell,\n    Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,\n    As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,\n            Before thee lies revealed--\n    Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed.\n\n    Year after year beheld the silent toil\n            That spread his lustrous coil;\n            Still, as the spiral grew,\n    He left the last year's dwelling for the new,\n    Stole with soft step its shining archway through,\n            Built up its idle door,\n    Stretched in its last-found home, and knew the old no more.\n\n    Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,\n            Child of the wandering sea,\n            Cast from her lap, forlorn!\n    From thy dead lips a clearer note is born\n    Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn;\n            While on my ear it rings,\n    Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:\n\n    Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!\n            As the swift seasons roll!\n            Leave thy low-vaulted past!\n    Let each new temple, nobler than the last,\n    Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast\n            Till thou at length art free,\n    Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!\n\n    --Oliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n\nWALKING WITH JESUS\n\n    My Saviour, on the Word of Truth\n      In earnest hope I live,\n    I ask for all the precious things\n      Thy boundless love can give.\n    I look for many a lesser light\n      About my path to shine;\n    But chiefly long to walk with thee,\n      And only trust in thine.\n\n    Thou knowest that I am not blest\n      As Thou would'st have me be\n    Till all the peace and joy of faith\n      Possess my soul in thee;\n    And still I seek 'mid many fears,\n      With yearnings unexpressed,\n    The comfort of thy strengthening love,\n      Thy soothing, settling rest.\n\n    It is not as Thou wilt with me\n      Till, humbled in the dust,\n    I know no place in all my heart\n      Wherein to put my trust:\n    Until I find, O Lord! in thee--\n      The lowly and the meek--\n    That fullness which thy own redeemed\n      Go nowhere else to seek.\n\n    Then, O my Saviour! on my soul,\n      Cast down but not dismayed,\n    Still be thy chastening healing hand\n      In tender mercy laid:\n    And while I wait for all thy joys\n      My yearning heart to fill,\n    Teach me to walk and work with thee,\n      And at thy feet sit still.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nA PRAYER TO THE GOD OF NATURE\n\n    God of the roadside weed,\n    Grant I may humbly serve the humblest need.\n\n    God of the scarlet rose,\n    Give me the beauty that Thy love bestows.\n\n    God of the hairy bee,\n    Help me to suck deep joys from all I see.\n\n    God of the spider's lace,\n    Let me, from mine own heart, unwind such grace.\n\n    God of the lily's cup,\n    Fill me! I hold this empty chalice up.\n\n    God of the sea-gull's wing,\n    Bear me above each dark and turbulent thing.\n\n    God of the watchful owl,\n    Help me to see at midnight, like this fowl.\n\n    God of the antelope,\n    Teach me to scale the highest crags of Hope.\n\n    God of the eagle's nest,\n    Oh, let me make my eyrie near thy breast!\n\n    God of the burrowing mole,\n    Let cold earth have no terrors for my soul.\n\n    God of the chrysalis,\n    Grant that my grave may be a cell of bliss.\n\n    God of the butterfly,\n    Help me to vanquish Death, although I die.\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nO JESUS CHRIST, GROW THOU IN ME\n\n    O Jesus Christ, grow thou in me,\n      And all things else recede!\n    My heart be daily nearer thee,\n      From sin be daily freed.\n\n    Each day let Thy supporting might\n      My weakness still embrace;\n    My darkness vanish in thy light,\n      Thy life my death efface.\n\n    In thy bright beams which on me fall\n      Fade every evil thought;\n    That I am nothing, Thou art all,\n      I would be daily taught.\n\n    More of thy glory let me see,\n      Thou holy, wise and true,\n    I would thy living image be,\n      In joy and sorrow too.\n\n    Fill me with gladness from above,\n      Hold me by strength divine;\n    Lord, let the glow of thy great love\n      Through my whole being shine.\n\n    Make this poor self grow less and less;\n      Be Thou my life and aim;\n    Oh, make me daily through thy grace\n      More meet to bear thy name!\n\n    Let faith in Thee and in thy might\n      My every motive move;\n    Be thou alone my soul's delight,\n      My passion and my love.\n\n    --Henry B. Smith.\n\n\nDAY BY DAY\n\n    Looking upward every day,\n      Sunshine on our faces,\n    Pressing onward every day\n      Toward the heavenly places;\n    Growing every day in awe,\n      For thy name is holy;\n    Learning every day to love\n      With a love more lowly.\n\n    Walking every day more close\n      To our Elder Brother;\n    Growing every day more true\n      Unto one another;\n    Every day more gratefully\n      Kindnesses receiving,\n    Every day more readily\n      Injuries forgiving.\n\n    Leaving every day behind\n      Something which might hinder;\n    Running swifter every day,\n      Growing purer, kinder--\n    Lord, so pray we every day;\n      Hear us in thy pity,\n    That we enter in at last\n      To the holy city.\n\n    --Mary Butler.\n\n\n    Better to have the poet's heart than brain,\n    Feeling than song; but, better far than both,\n    To be a song, a music of God's making.\n    Or but a table on which God's finger of flame,\n    In words harmonious of triumphant verse,\n    That mingles joy and sorrow, sets down clear\n    That out of darkness he hath called the light.\n    It may be voice to such is after given\n    To tell the mighty tale to other worlds.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nFREE FROM SIN\n\n    The bird let loose in eastern skies,\n      When hastening fondly home,\n    Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies\n      Where idle warblers roam;\n    But high she shoots through air and light\n      Above all low delay,\n    Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,\n      Nor shadow dims her way.\n\n    So grant me, God, from every care\n      And stain of passion free,\n    Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,\n      To hold my course to thee!\n    No sin to cloud, no lure to stay\n      My soul, as home she springs;\n    Thy sunshine on her joyful way,\n      Thy freedom in her wings!\n\n    --Thomas Moore.\n\n\nA PRAYER\n\n    O that mine eyes might closed be\n    To what concerns me not to see;\n    That deafness might possess mine ear\n    To what concerns me not to hear;\n    That truth my tongue might always tie\n    From ever speaking foolishly;\n    That no vain thought might ever rest\n    Or be conceived within my breast;\n    That by each deed and word and thought\n    Glory may to my God be brought.\n    But what are wishes! Lord, mine eye\n    On Thee is fixed; to Thee I cry!\n    Wash, Lord, and purify my heart,\n    And make it clean in every part;\n    And when 'tis clean, Lord, keep it, too,\n    For that is more than I can do.\n\n    --Thomas Elwood, A. D. 1639.\n\n\nTHE ALTERED MOTTO\n\n    O the bitter shame and sorrow,\n      That a time could ever be\n    When I let the Saviour's pity\n    Plead in vain, and proudly answered,\n      \"All of self, and none of Thee!\"\n\n    Yet He found me; I beheld him\n      Bleeding on the accursed tree,\n    Heard him pray, \"Forgive them, Father!\"\n    And my wistful heart said faintly,\n      \"Some of self and some of Thee.\"\n\n    Day by day his tender mercy,\n      Healing, helping, full and free,\n    Sweet and strong, and, ah! so patient,\n    Brought me lower, while I whispered,\n      \"Less of self, and more of Thee.\"\n\n    Higher than the highest heaven,\n      Deeper than the deepest sea,\n    Lord, thy love at last hath conquered;\n    Grant me now my supplication--\n      \"None of self, and all of Thee.\"\n\n    --Theodore Monod.\n\n\nINDWELLING\n\n    O dwell in me, my Lord,\n      That I in thee may dwell;\n    Fulfill thy tender word,\n      That thy evangels tell;\n    In me Thou, I in thee,\n    By thy sweet courtesy.\n\n    But wilt thou my guest be,\n      In this poor heart of mine?\n    Thy guest? Is this for me\n      In that pure heart of thine?\n    In me thou, I in thee,\n    By thy sweet courtesy.\n\n    My chamber, Lord, prepare\n      Whither thou deignest come;\n    I may not seek to share\n      The making of thy home;\n    In me thou, I in thee,\n    By thy sweet courtesy.\n\n    Thy gracious gifts bestow,\n      Humility and love;\n    O cause my heart to glow\n      By fire sent from above.\n    In me thou, I in thee,\n    By thy sweet courtesy.\n\n    --Alexander B. Grosart.\n\n\n    Thy name to me, thy nature grant;\n      This, only this be given;\n    Nothing besides my God I want,\n      Nothing in earth or heaven.\n\n    Come, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost\n      And seal me thine abode;\n    Let all I am in thee be lost,\n      Let all I am be God.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\nPERFECTION\n\n    O how the thought of God attracts,\n      And draws the heart from earth,\n    And sickens it of passing shows\n      And dissipating mirth!\n\n    'Tis not enough to save our souls,\n      To shun the eternal fires;\n    The thought of God will rouse the heart\n      To more sublime desires.\n\n    God only is the creature's home,\n      Though rough and strait the road;\n    Yet nothing less can satisfy\n      The love that longs for God.\n\n    Oh, utter but the name of God\n      Down in your heart of hearts,\n    And see how from the world at once\n      All tempting light departs.\n\n    A trusting heart, a yearning eye\n      Can win their way above;\n    If mountains can be moved by faith\n      Is there less power in love?\n\n    How little of that road, my soul,\n      How little hast thou gone!\n    Take heart, and let the thought of God\n      Allure thee further on.\n\n    Dole not thy duties out to God,\n      But let thy hand be free;\n    Look long at Jesus; his sweet blood--\n      How was it dealt to thee?\n\n    The perfect way is hard to flesh;\n      It is not hard to love;\n    If thou wert sick for want of God\n      How swiftly wouldst thou move.\n\n    Be docile to thine unseen Guide;\n      Love him as he loves thee;\n    Time and obedience are enough,\n      And thou a saint shalt be.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    Thou broadenest out with every year\n      Each breadth of life to meet;\n    I scarce can think thou art the same,\n      Thou art so much more sweet.\n    With gentle swiftness lead me on,\n      Dear God, to see thy face;\n    And meanwhile in my narrow heart\n      O make thyself more space!\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nLONGING\n\n    Of all the myriad moods of mind\n      That through the soul come thronging,\n    Which one was e'er so dear, so kind,\n      So beautiful, as Longing?\n    The thing we long for, _that_ we are\n      For one transcendent moment,\n    Before the Present poor and bare\n      Can make its sneering comment.\n\n    Still, through our paltry stir and strife,\n      Glows down the wished ideal,\n    And longing molds in clay what life\n      Carves on the marble real;\n    To let the new life in, we know,\n      Desire must ope the portal;\n    Perhaps the longing to be so\n      Helps make the soul immortal.\n\n    Longing is God's fresh heavenward will\n      With our poor earthward striving;\n    We quench it that we may be still\n      Content with merely living;\n    But, would we learn that heart's full scope\n      Which we are hourly wronging,\n    Our lives must climb from hope to hope,\n      And realize our longing.\n\n    Ah! let us hope that to our praise\n      Good God not only reckons\n    The moments when we tread his ways,\n      But when the spirit beckons;\n    That some slight good is also wrought,\n      Beyond self-satisfaction,\n    When we are simply good in thought\n      Howe'er we fail in action.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nMORE HOLINESS\n\n    More holiness give me;\n      More strivings within.\n    More patience in suffering,\n      More sorrow for sin.\n    More faith in my Saviour,\n      More sense of his care,\n    More joy in his service,\n      More purpose in prayer.\n\n    More gratitude give me,\n      More trust in the Lord,\n    More pride in his glory,\n      More hope in his word.\n    More tears for his sorrows,\n      More pain at his grief,\n    More meekness in trial,\n      More praise for relief.\n\n    More purity give me,\n      More strength to o'ercome,\n    More freedom from earth-stains,\n      More longings for home;\n    More fit for the kingdom,\n      More used I would be,\n    More blessed and holy--\n      More, Saviour, like thee.\n\n    --Philip Paul Bliss.\n\n\n\"MY SOUL DOTH MAGNIFY THE LORD\"\n\n    My soul shall be a telescope,\n      Searching the distant bounds of time and space,\n    That somehow I may image, as I grope,\n      Jehovah's power and grace.\n\n    My soul a microscope shall be,\n      In all minutest providences keen\n    Jehovah's patient thoughtfulness to see,\n      And read his love between.\n\n    My soul shall be a burning-glass\n      That diligence to worship may succeed,\n    That I may catch God's glories as they pass,\n      And focus to a deed.\n\n    So, even so,\n      A mote in his creation, even I\n    Seeking alone to do, to feel, to know,\n      The Lord must magnify.\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\n    Lord, let me not be too content\n    With life in trifling service spent--\n            Make me aspire!\n    When days with petty cares are filled\n    Let me with fleeting thoughts be thrilled\n            Of something higher!\n\n    Help me to long for mental grace\n    To struggle with the commonplace\n            I daily find.\n    May little deeds not bring to fruit\n    A crop of little thought to suit\n            A shriveled mind.\n\n\n    I know this earth is not my sphere,\n    For I cannot so narrow me but that\n            I still exceed it.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nA SHRINKING PRAYER\n\n    Give me, O Lord, a heart of grace,\n    A voice of joy, a smiling face,\n    That I may show, where'er I turn,\n    Thy love within my soul doth burn!\n\n    Then life be sweet, and joy be dear,\n    Be in my mind a quiet fear;\n    A patient love of pain and care,\n    An enmity to dark despair.\n\n    A tenderness for all that stray,\n    With strength to help them on their way;\n    A cheerfulness, a heavenly mirth,\n    Brightening my steps along the earth.\n\n    I ask and shrink, yet shrink and ask;\n    I know thou wilt not set a task\n    Too hard for hands that thou hast made,\n    Too hard for hands that thou canst aid.\n\n    So let me dwell all peacefully,\n    Content to live, content to die;\n    Rejoicing now, rejoicing then,\n    Rejoicing evermore. Amen.\n\n    --Rosa Mulholland.\n\n\nTHAT I MAY SOAR\n\n    Great God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf\n    Than that I may not disappoint myself;\n    That in my action I may soar as high\n    As I can now discern with this clear eye.\n\n    And next in value which thy kindness lends,\n    That I may greatly disappoint my friends,\n    Howe'er they think or hope that it may be,\n    They may not dream how thou'st distinguished me.\n\n    That my weak hand may equal my firm faith,\n    And my life practise more than my tongue saith;\n    That my low conduct may not show,\n      Nor my relenting lines,\n    That I thy purpose did not know,\n      Or overrated thy designs.\n\n    --Henry David Thoreau.\n\n\nA CRY OF THE SOUL\n\n    O God of truth, for whom alone I sigh,\n      Knit thou my heart by strong, sweet cords to thee.\n    I tire of hearing; books my patience try;\n    Untired to thee I cry;\n      Thyself my all shalt be.\n\n    Lord, be thou near and cheer my lonely way;\n      With thy sweet peace my aching bosom fill;\n    Scatter my cares and fears; my griefs allay;\n    And be it mine each day\n      To love and please thee still.\n\n    My God! Thou hearest me; but clouds obscure\n      Even yet thy perfect radiance, truth divine!\n    O for the stainless skies, the splendors pure,\n    The joys that aye endure\n      When thine own glories shine!\n\n    --Pierre Corneille.\n\n\nA PURPOSE TRUE\n\n    Lord, make me quick to see\n    Each task awaiting me,\n      And quick to do;\n    Oh, grant me strength, I pray,\n    With lowly love each day\n      And purpose true.\n\n    To go as Jesus went,\n    Spending and being spent,\n      Myself forgot;\n    Supplying human needs\n    By loving words and deeds,\n      Oh, happy lot!\n\n    --Robert M. Offord.\n\n\n    There are deep things of God. Push out from shore;\n    Hast thou found much? Give thanks, and look for more.\n    Dost fear the generous Giver to offend?\n    Then know his store of bounty hath no end.\n    He doth not need to be implored or teased;\n    The more we take the better he is pleased.\n\n    --Charles Gordon Ames.\n\n\nBREATHE ON ME\n\n    Breathe on me, Breath of God,\n      Fill me with life anew,\n    That I may love what thou dost love,\n      And do what thou wouldst do.\n\n    Breathe on me, Breath of God,\n      Until my heart is pure,\n    Until with thee I will one will,\n      To do or to endure.\n\n    Breathe on me, Breath of God,\n      Till I am wholly thine;\n    Till all this earthly part of me\n      Glows with thy fire divine.\n\n    Breathe on me, Breath of God,\n      So shall I never die,\n    But live with thee the perfect life\n      Of thine eternity.\n\n    --Edwin Hatch.\n\n\nTHE COMPARATIVE DEGREE\n\n    What weight of woe we owe to thee,\n    Accurst comparative degree!\n    Thy paltry step can never give\n    Access to the superlative;\n    For he who would the wisest be,\n    Strives to make others wise as he,\n    And never yet was man judged best\n    Who would be better than the rest;\n    So does comparison unkind\n    Dwarf and debase the haughty mind.\n\n    Make not a man your measuring-rod\n    If you would span the way to God;\n    Heed not our petty \"worse\" or \"less,\"\n    But fix your eyes on perfectness.\n    Make for the loftiest point in view,\n    And draw your friends along with you.\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\n    Thy nature be my law,\n      Thy spotless sanctity,\n    And sweetly every moment draw\n      My happy soul to thee.\n\n    Soul of my soul remain;\n      Who didst for me fulfill,\n    In me, O Lord, fulfill again\n      Thy heavenly Father's will.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\nLEAD ON, O LORD\n\n          Jesus still lead on\n          Till our rest be won;\n    And although the way be cheerless,\n    We will follow, calm and fearless;\n          Guide us by thy hand\n          To our Fatherland.\n\n          If the way be drear,\n          If the foe be near,\n    Let not faithless fears o'ertake us,\n    Let not faith and hope forsake us;\n          For, through many a foe\n          To our home we go.\n\n          When we seek relief\n          From a long-felt grief:\n    When oppressed by new temptations,\n    Lord, increase and perfect patience;\n          Show us that bright shore\n          Where we weep no more.\n\n          Jesus, still lead on\n          Till our rest be won;\n    Heavenly Leader, still direct us,\n    Still support, control, protect us,\n          Till we safely stand\n          In our Fatherland.\n\n    --Nicolaus Ludwig Zinzendorf.\n\n\n            Give me this day\n    A little work to occupy my mind;\n    A little suffering to sanctify\n    My spirit; and, dear Lord, if thou canst find\n    Some little good that I may do for thee,\n    I shall be glad, for that will comfort me.\n    Mind, spirit, hand--I lift them all to thee.\n\n\n    O make me patient, Lord,\n      Patient in daily cares;\n    Keep me from thoughtless words,\n      That slip out unawares.\n    And help me, Lord, I pray,\n      Still nearer thee to live,\n    And as I journey on,\n      More of thy presence give.\n\n\n    O square thyself for use. A stone that may\n    Fit in the wall is not left in the way.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Think, and be careful what thou art within,\n    For there is sin in the desire of sin:\n    Think and be thankful in a different case;\n    For there is grace in the desire of grace.\n\n    --George Gordon Byron.\n\n\n    A man's higher being is knowing and seeing;\n      Not having or toiling for more;\n    In the senses and soul is the joy of control,\n      Not in pride and luxurious store.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n    Be with me, Lord, where'er my path may lead;\n    Fulfill thy word, supply my every need;\n    Help me to live each day more close to thee.\n    And O, dear Lord, I pray abide with me.\n\n\n    In all I think or speak or do,\n      Whatever way my steps are bent,\n    God shape and keep me strong and true,\n      Courageous, cheerful, and content.\n\n    --W. D. Russell.\n\n\n    Make my mortal dreams come true\n    With the work I fain would do:\n    Clothe with life the weak intent,\n    Let me be the thing I meant.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    This be my prayer, from dawn to eve,\n      Working between the suns;\n    Lord, make my arm as firm as a knight's\n      My soul as white as a nun's.\n\n\n    Every hour that fleets so slowly has its task to do or bear;\n    Luminous the crown and holy, if we set each gem with care.\n\n\n    O for a man to rise in me,\n    That the man that I am\n      May cease to be.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n\n\nPRAYER\n\nWORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION\n\n\nTHE UNIVERSAL PRAYER\n\n    Father of all! in every age,\n      In ev'ry clime adored,\n    By saint, by savage, and by sage,\n      Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!\n\n    Thou great First Cause, least understood,\n      Who all my sense confined\n    To know but this, that thou art good,\n      And that myself am blind:\n\n    Yet gave me, in this dark estate,\n      To see the good from ill;\n    And binding nature fast in fate,\n      Left free the human will.\n\n    What conscience dictates to be done,\n      Or warns me not to do,\n    This, teach me more than hell to shun,\n      That, more than heaven pursue.\n\n    What blessings thy free bounty gives\n      Let me not cast away;\n    For God is paid when man receives--\n      T' enjoy is to obey.\n\n    Yet not to earth's contracted span\n      Thy goodness let me bound;\n    Or think thee Lord alone of man\n      When thousand worlds are round;\n\n    Let not this weak, unknowing hand\n      Presume thy bolts to throw,\n    And deal damnation round the land\n      On each I judge thy foe.\n\n    If I am right, thy grace impart\n      Still in the right to stay;\n    If I am wrong, O teach my heart\n      To find that better way.\n\n    Save me alike from foolish pride\n      Or impious discontent,\n    At aught thy wisdom has denied\n      Or aught thy wisdom lent.\n\n    Teach me to feel another's woe;\n      To hide the fault I see;\n    That mercy I to others show,\n      That mercy show to me.\n\n    Mean though I am, not wholly so\n      Since quicken'd by thy breath;\n    O lead me wheresoe'er I go,\n      Through this day's life or death.\n\n    This day be bread and peace my lot:\n      All else beneath the sun\n    Thou know'st if best bestowed or not;\n      And let thy will be done.\n\n    To Thee, whose temple is all space,\n      Whose altar earth, sea, skies!\n    One chorus let all Being raise,\n      All Nature's incense rise!\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\nTHE HOUR OF PRAYER\n\n    My God, is any hour so sweet,\n      From blush of morn to evening star,\n    As that which calls me to thy feet:\n      The hour of prayer?\n\n    Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,\n      And blest that solemn hour of eve,\n    When, on the wings of prayer upborne,\n      The world I leave.\n\n    Then is my strength by thee renewed;\n      Then are my sins by thee forgiven;\n    Then dost thou cheer my solitude\n      With hopes of heaven.\n\n    No words can tell what sweet relief\n      Here for my every want I find;\n    What strength for warfare, balm for grief,\n      What peace of mind.\n\n    Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;\n      My spirit seems in heaven to stay;\n    And e'en the penitential tear\n      Is wiped away.\n\n    Lord, till I reach that blissful shore,\n      No privilege so dear shall be\n    As thus my inmost soul to pour\n      In prayer to thee.\n\n    --Charlotte Elliott.\n\n\nPETITION\n\n    Be not afraid to pray--to pray is right.\n      Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray,\n      Though hope be weak or sick with long delay;\n    Pray in the darkness if there be no light.\n\n    Far is the time, remote from human sight,\n      When war and discord on the earth shall cease;\n    Yet every prayer for universal peace\n      Avails the blessed time to expedite.\n\n    Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of heaven,\n      Though it be what thou canst not hope to see.\n    Pray to be perfect, though material leaven\n      Forbid the spirit so on earth to be;\n    But if for any wish thou darest not pray,\n    Then pray to God to cast that wish away.\n\n    --Hartley Coleridge.\n\n\nSOMETIME, SOMEWHERE\n\n    Unanswered yet the prayer your lips have pleaded\n      In agony of heart these many years?\n    Does faith begin to fail? Is hope departing?\n      And think you all in vain those falling tears?\n    Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer;\n    You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere.\n\n    Unanswered yet?--though when you first presented\n      This one petition at the Father's throne\n    It seemed you could not wait the time of asking,\n      So urgent was your heart to make it known!\n    Though years have passed since then, do not despair;\n    The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere.\n\n    Unanswered yet? Nay, do not say ungranted;\n      Perhaps your work is not yet wholly done.\n    The work began when first your prayer was uttered,\n      And God will finish what he has begun.\n    If you will keep the incense burning there\n    His glory you shall see sometime, somewhere.\n\n    Unanswered yet? Faith cannot be unanswered,\n      Her feet were firmly planted on the Rock;\n    Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted,\n      Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock.\n    She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer,\n    And cries, \"It shall be done\"--sometime, somewhere.\n\n    --Miss Ophelia G. Browning.\n\n\nSECRET PRAYER\n\n    Lord, I have shut my door--\n    Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise,\n    Here in this silence they intrude no more.\n    Speak thou, and heavenly joys\n    Shall fill my heart with music sweet and calm--\n          A holy psalm.\n\n    Yes, I have shut my door,\n    Even on all the beauty of thine earth--\n    To its blue ceiling, from its emerald floor,\n    Filled with spring's bloom and mirth;\n    From these, thy works, I turn; thyself I seek;\n          To thee I speak.\n\n    And I have shut my door\n    On earthly passion--all its yearning love,\n    Its tender friendships, all the priceless store\n    Of human ties. Above\n    All these my heart aspires, O Heart divine!\n          Stoop thou to mine.\n\n    Lord, I have shut my door!\n    Come thou and visit me: I am alone!\n    Come as when doors were shut thou cam'st of yore\n    And visited thine own.\n    My Lord, I kneel with reverence, love, and fear,\n          For thou art here.\n\n    --Mary Ellen Atkinson.\n\n\nWHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?\n\n    The homely words--how often read!\n      How seldom fully known:\n    \"Which father of you, asked for bread,\n      Would give his son a stone?\"\n\n    How oft has bitter tear been shed,\n      And heaved how many a groan,\n    Because thou wouldst not give for bread\n      The thing that was a stone!\n\n    How oft the child thou wouldst have fed\n      Thy gift away has thrown;\n    He prayed, thou heardst, and gavest bread--\n      He cried, \"It is a stone!\"\n\n    Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread,\n      Lest I be left to moan,\n    Am I not he, who, asked for bread,\n      Would give his son a stone?\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nDENIAL\n\n    I want so many, many things,\n    My wishes on my prayers take wings,\n    And heavenward fly to sue for grace\n    Before the loving Father's face.\n\n    But He, well knowing all my need,\n    Kindly rebukes my foolish greed,\n    And, granting not the gift I ask,\n    Sets me instead to do some task--\n\n    Some lowly task--for love of him,\n    So lowly, and in light so dim,\n    My sorrowing soul must cease to sing,\n    And only sigh, \"'Tis for the King.\"\n\n    And scarcely can my faith repeat\n    Her sad petition at his feet:\n    \"These daily tasks Thou giv'st to me,\n    Help, Lord, to do as unto thee!\"\n\n    Yet while his bidding thus I do--\n    I know not how, or why, 'tis true--\n    My thoughts to sweet contentment glide,\n    And I forget the wish denied.\n\n    And so my prayers he hears and heeds,\n    Mindful of all my daily needs;\n    Gracious, most gracious, too, in this--\n    Denying, when I ask amiss.\n\n    --Luella Clark.\n\n\nA BLESSING IN PRAYER\n\n      If when I kneel to pray,\n      With eager lips I say:\n    \"Lord, give me all the things that I desire--\n    Health, wealth, fame, friends, brave heart, religious fire,\n    The power to sway my fellow men at will,\n    And strength for mighty works to banish ill\"--\n      In such a prayer as this\n      The blessing I must miss.\n\n      Or if I only dare\n      To raise this fainting prayer:\n    \"Thou seest, Lord, that I am poor and weak,\n    And cannot tell what things I ought to seek;\n    I therefore do not ask at all, but still\n    I trust thy bounty all my wants to fill\"--\n      My lips shall thus grow dumb,\n      The blessing shall not come.\n\n      But if I lowly fall,\n      And thus in faith I call:\n    \"Through Christ, O Lord, I pray thee give to me\n    Not what I would, but what seems best to thee\n    Of life, of health, of service, and of strength,\n    Until to thy full joy I come at length\"--\n      My prayer shall then avail;\n      The blessing shall not fail.\n\n    --Charles F. Richardson.\n\n\n    Teach me, dear Lord, what thou wouldst have me know;\n    Guide me, dear Lord, where thou wouldst have me go;\n    Help me, dear Lord, the precious seed to sow;\n    Bless thou the seed that it may surely grow.\n\n\nTHE TIME FOR PRAYER\n\n      When is the time for prayer?\n    With the first beams that light the morning sky,\n    Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare,\n      Lift up thy thoughts on high;\n    Commend thy loved ones to his watchful care:\n      Morn is the time for prayer!\n\n      And in the noontide hour,\n    If worn by toil or by sad care oppressed,\n    Then unto God thy spirit's sorrows pour,\n      And he will give thee rest:\n    Thy voice shall reach him through the fields of air:\n      Noon is the time for prayer!\n\n      When the bright sun hath set,\n    Whilst yet eve's glowing colors deck the skies,\n    When with the loved, at home, again thou'st met,\n      Then let thy prayers arise\n    For those who in thy joys and sorrows share:\n      Eve is the time for prayer!\n\n      And when the stars come forth--\n    When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given\n    And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth\n      To pure bright dreams of heaven--\n    Kneel to thy God; ask strength life's ills to bear:\n      Night is the time for prayer.\n\n      When is the time for prayer?\n    In every hour, while life is spared to thee--\n    In crowds or solitude--in joy or care--\n      Thy thoughts should heavenward flee.\n    At home--at morn and eve--with loved ones there,\n      Bend thou the knee in prayer!\n\n\nNOT A SOUND INVADES THE STILLNESS\n\n    Not a sound invades the stillness,\n      Not a form invades the scene,\n    Save the voice of my Beloved,\n      And the person of my King.\n\n    And within those heavenly places,\n      Calmly hushed in sweet repose,\n    There I drink, with joy absorbing,\n      All the love thou wouldst disclose.\n\n    Wrapt in deep adoring silence,\n      Jesus, Lord, I dare not move,\n    Lest I lose the smallest saying\n      Meant to catch the ear of love.\n\n    Rest, then, O my soul, contented:\n      Thou hast reached thy happy place\n    In the bosom of thy Saviour,\n      Gazing up in his dear face.\n\n\nFORMAL PRAYER\n\n    I often say my prayers,\n    But do I ever pray;\n    And do the wishes of my heart\n    Go with the words I say?\n\n    I may as well kneel down\n    And worship gods of stone,\n    As offer to the living God\n    A prayer of words alone.\n\n    For words without the heart\n    The Lord will never hear:\n    Nor will he to those lips attend\n    Whose prayers are not sincere.\n\n    --John Burton.\n\n\nBLESSINGS OF PRAYER\n\n    What various hindrances we meet\n    In coming to a mercy-seat!\n    Yet who that knows the worth of prayer\n    But wishes to be often there!\n\n    Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw;\n    Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw;\n    Gives exercise to faith and love;\n    Brings every blessing from above.\n\n    Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;\n    Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright;\n    And Satan trembles when he sees\n    The weakest saint upon his knees.\n\n    Were half the breath that's vainly spent\n    To heaven in supplication sent,\n    Our cheerful song would oftener be\n    \"Hear what the Lord has done for me.\"\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nWHAT IS PRAYER?\n\n    Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,\n      Uttered or unexpressed;\n    The motion of a hidden fire\n      That trembles in the breast.\n\n    Prayer is the burden of a sigh,\n      The falling of a tear,\n    The upward glancing of an eye,\n      When none but God is near.\n\n    Prayer is the simplest form of speech\n      That infant lips can try;\n    Prayer the sublimest strains that reach\n      The Majesty on high.\n\n    Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,\n      Returning from his ways;\n    While angels in their songs rejoice\n      And cry, \"Behold, he prays!\"\n\n    Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,\n      The Christian's native air,\n    His watchword at the gates of death;\n      He enters heaven with prayer.\n\n    O Thou, by whom we come to God,\n      The Life, the Truth, the Way;\n    The path of prayer thyself hast trod:\n      Lord, teach us how to pray!\n\n    --James Montgomery.\n\n\nSPIRITUAL DEVOTION\n\n    The woman singeth at her spinning wheel\n    A pleasant chant, ballad, or baracolle;\n    She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,\n    Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel\n    Is full, and artfully her fingers feel,\n    With quick adjustment, provident control,\n    The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll,\n    Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal\n    To the dear Christian Church, that we may do\n    Our Father's business in these temples mirk\n    Thus, swift and steadfast; thus, intent and strong;\n    While, thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue\n    Some high, calm, spheric tune and prove our work\n    The better for the sweetness of our song.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\nPRAYER OF DEEDS\n\n    The deed ye do is the prayer ye pray;\n      \"Lead us into temptation, Lord;\n    Withhold the bread from our babes this day;\n      To evil we turn us, give evil's reward!\"\n\n    Over to-day the to-morrow bends\n      With an answer for each acted prayer;\n    And woe to him who makes not friends\n      With the pale hereafter hovering there.\n\n    --George S. Burleigh.\n\n\nSUNDAY\n\n    Not a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould,\n    Where I must creep and in the dark and cold\n    Offer some awful incense at a shrine\n    That hath no more divine\n    Than that 'tis far from life, and stern, and old;\n\n    But a bright hilltop, in the breezy air\n    Full of the morning freshness, high and clear,\n    Where I may climb and drink the pure new day\n    And see where winds away\n    The path that God would send me, shining fair.\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nPRAYER\n\n    When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say,\n    Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray:\n\n    Crooked and warped I am, and I would fain\n    Straighten myself by thy right line again.\n\n    Oh, come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits;\n    Pierce, genial showers, down to my parched roots.\n\n    My well is bitter, cast therein the tree,\n    That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be.\n\n    Say, what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed?\n    The mighty utterance of a mighty need.\n\n    The man is praying who doth press with might\n    Out of his darkness into God's own light.\n\n    White heat the iron in the furnace won,\n    Withdrawn from thence 'twas cold and hard anon.\n\n    Flowers, from their stalk divided, presently\n    Droop, fall, and wither in the gazer's eye.\n\n    The greenest leaf, divided from its stem,\n    To speedy withering doth itself condemn.\n\n    The largest river, from its fountain-head\n    Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed.\n\n    All things that live from God their sustenance wait,\n    And sun and moon are beggars at his gate.\n\n    All skirts extended of thy mantle hold\n    When angel hands from heaven are scattering gold.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nMEANING OF PRAYER\n\n    One thing, alone, dear Lord, I dread--\n      To have a secret spot\n    That separates my soul from thee,\n      And yet to know it not.\n\n    Prayer was not meant for luxury,\n      Or selfish pastime sweet;\n    It is the prostrate creature's place\n      At his Creator's feet.\n\n    But if this waiting long hath come\n      A present from on high,\n    Teach me to find the hidden wealth\n      That in its depths may lie.\n\n    So in the darkness I can learn\n      To tremble and adore;\n    To sound my own vile nothingness,\n      And thus to love thee more.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nTALKING WITH GOD\n\n    To stretch my hand and touch Him\n      Though he be far away;\n    To raise my eyes and see him\n      Through darkness as through day;\n    To lift my voice and call him--\n      This is to pray!\n\n    To feel a hand extended\n      By One who standeth near;\n    To view the love that shineth\n      In eyes serene and clear;\n    To know that he is calling--\n      This is to hear!\n\n    --Samuel W. Duffield.\n\n\nMY PRAYER\n\n    Being perplexed, I say,\n      \"Lord, make it right!\n    Night is as day to thee,\n      Darkness is light.\n    I am afraid to touch\n    Things that involve so much;\n    My trembling hand may shake--\n    My skillful hand may break;\n    Thine can make no mistake.\"\n\n    Being in doubt, I say,\n      \"Lord, make it plain!\n    Which is the true, safe way?\n    Which would be vain?\n    I am not wise to know,\n    Nor sure of foot to go;\n    My blind eyes cannot see\n    What is so clear to thee.\n    Lord, make it clear to me.\"\n\n\nTHE SOURCE OF POWER\n\n    There is an eye that never sleeps\n      Beneath the wing of night;\n    There is an ear that never shuts\n      When sink the beams of light.\n\n    There is an arm that never tires\n      When human strength gives way;\n    There is a love that never fails\n      When earthly loves decay.\n\n    That eye is fixed on seraph throngs;\n      That arm upholds the sky;\n    That ear is filled with angel songs,\n      That love is throned on high.\n\n    But there's a power which man can wield\n      When mortal aid is vain,\n    That eye, that arm, that love to reach,\n      That listening ear to gain.\n\n    That power is prayer, which soars on high,\n      Through Jesus, to the throne,\n    And moves the hand which moves the world,\n      To bring salvation down.\n\n    --James Cowden Wallace.\n\n\nDIFFERENT PRAYERS\n\n    Three doors there are in the temple\n      Where men go up to pray,\n    And they that wait at the outer gate\n      May enter by either way.\n\n    There are some that pray by asking;\n      They lie on the Master's breast,\n    And, shunning the strife of the lower life,\n      They utter their cry for rest.\n\n    There are some that pray by seeking;\n      They doubt where their reason fails;\n    But their mind's despair is the ancient prayer\n      To touch the print of the nails.\n\n    There are some that pray by knocking;\n      They put their strength to the wheel\n    For they have not time for thoughts sublime;\n      They can only act what they feel.\n\n    Father, give each his answer,\n      Each in his kindred way;\n    Adapt thy light to his form of night\n      And grant him his needed day.\n\n    --William Watson.\n\n\nTRUE PRAYER\n\nI.\n\n            It is not prayer,\n    This clamor of our eager wants\n            That fills the air\n    With wearying, selfish plaints.\n\n            It is not faith\n    To boldly count all gifts as ours--\n            The pride that saith,\n    \"For me his wealth he ever showers.\"\n\n            It is not praise\n    To call to mind our happier lot,\n            And boast bright days,\n    God-favored, with all else forgot.\n\nII.\n\n            It is true prayer\n    To seek the giver more than gift\n            God's life to share\n    And love--for this our cry to lift.\n\n            It is true faith\n    To simply trust his loving will,\n            Whiche'er he saith--\n    \"Thy lot be glad\" or \"ill.\"\n\n            It is true praise\n    To bless alike the bright and dark;\n            To sing, all days\n    Alike, with nightingale and lark.\n\n    --James W. White.\n\n\nTHE POWER OF PRAYER\n\n    Lord, what a change within us one short hour\n    Spent in thy presence will prevail to make;\n    What heavy burdens from our bosoms take;\n    What parched grounds refresh as with a shower!\n    We kneel--and all about us seems to lower;\n    We rise--and all, the distant and the near,\n    Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear.\n    We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power!\n    Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong,\n    Or others, that we are not always strong;\n    That we are ever overborne with care,\n    Anxious and troubled, when with us is prayer,\n    And joy and strength and courage are with thee?\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    Asked and unasked, thy heavenly gifts unfold,\n    And evil, though we ask it, Lord, withhold.\n\n    --Homer, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\nMARY OF BETHANY\n\n    Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,\n      Nor other thought her mind admits\n      But, he was dead, and there he sits.\n    And he that brought him back is there.\n\n    Then one deep love doth supersede\n      All other, when her ardent gaze\n      Roves from the living brother's face\n    And rests upon the Life indeed.\n\n    All subtle thought, all curious fears.\n      Borne down by gladness so complete,\n      She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet\n    With costly spikenard and with tears.\n\n    Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,\n      Whose loves in higher love endure;\n      What souls possess themselves so pure,\n    Or is there blessedness like theirs?\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nPRAYER ITS OWN ANSWER\n\n    \"Allah, Allah!\" cried the sick man, racked with pain the long night\n      through;\n    Till with prayer his heart was tender, till his lips like honey grew.\n\n    But at morning came the Tempter; said, \"Call louder, child of pain!\n    See if Allah ever hear, or answer 'Here am I' again.\"\n\n    Like a stab the cruel cavil through his brain and pulses went;\n    To his heart an icy coldness, to his brain a darkness, sent.\n\n    Then before him stands Elias; says \"My child! why thus dismayed?\n    Dost repent thy former fervor? Is thy soul of prayer afraid?\"\n\n    \"Ah!\" he cried, \"I've called so often; never heard the 'Here am I';\n    And I thought, God will not pity, will not turn on me his eye.\"\n\n    Then the grave Elias answered, \"God said, 'Rise, Elias, go,\n    Speak to him, the sorely tempted; lift him from his gulf of woe.\n\n    \"'Tell him that his very longing is itself an answering cry;\n    That his prayer, \"Come, gracious Allah,\" is my answer, \"Here am I\"'.\n\n    \"Every inmost aspiration is God's angel undefiled;\n    And in every 'O my Father!' slumbers deep a 'Here, my child!'\"\n\n    --Jelal-ed-Deen, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\nTHE CONTENTS OF PIETY\n\n    \"Allah!\" was all night long the cry of one oppressed with care,\n    Till softened was his heart, and sweet became his lips with prayer.\n    Then near the subtle tempter stole, and spake:\n        \"Fond babbler, cease!\n    For not one 'Here am I' has God e'er sent to give thee peace.\"\n    With sorrow sank the suppliant's soul and all his senses fled.\n    But lo! at midnight, the good angel, Chiser, came, and said:\n    \"What ails thee now, my child, and why art thou afraid to pray?\n    And why thy former love dost thou repent? declare and say.\"\n    \"Ah!\" cries he, \"never once spake God to me, 'Here am I, son.'\n    Cast off methinks I am, and warned far from his gracious throne.\"\n    To whom the angel answered, \"Hear the word from God I bear:\n    'Go tell,' he said, 'yon mourner, sunk in sorrow and despair,\n    Each \"Lord, appear!\" thy lips pronounce contains my \"Here am I\";\n    A special messenger I send beneath thine every sigh;\n    Thy love is but a guerdon of the love I bear to thee.\n    And sleeping in thy \"Come, O Lord!\" there lies \"Here, son!\" from me.'\"\n\n    --Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.\n\n\n    He prayeth well who loveth well\n    Both man and bird and beast.\n    He prayeth best who loveth best\n    All things, both great and small;\n    For the dear God who loveth us\n    He made and loveth all.\n\n    --Samuel Taylor Coleridge.\n\n\nADORATION\n\n    I love my God, but with no love of mine,\n      For I have none to give;\n    I love thee, Lord, but all the love is thine\n      For by thy love I live.\n    I am as nothing, and rejoice to be\n    Emptied and lost and swallowed up in thee.\n\n    Thou, Lord, alone art all thy children need,\n      And there is none beside;\n    From thee the streams of blessedness proceed,\n      In thee the blest abide--\n    Fountain of life and all-abounding grace,\n    Our source, our center, and our dwelling place.\n\n    --Madame Guyon.\n\n\nWALKING WITH GOD\n\n    O Master, let me walk with thee\n    In lowly paths of service free;\n    Tell me thy secret; help me bear\n    The strain of toil, the fret of care.\n\n    Help me the slow of heart to move\n    By some clear, winning word of love;\n    Teach me the wayward feet to stay,\n    And guide them in the homeward way.\n\n    Teach me thy patience! still with Thee\n    In closer, dearer company:\n    In work that keeps faith sweet and strong,\n    In trust that triumphs over wrong.\n\n    In hope that sends a shining ray\n    Far down the future's broadening way;\n    In peace that only thou canst give,\n    With thee, O Master, let me live.\n\n    --Washington Gladden.\n\n\n    There was a man who prayed\n      For wisdom that he might\n    Sway men from sinful ways\n      And lead them into light.\n    Each night he knelt and asked the Lord\n    To let him guide the sinful horde.\n    And every day he rose again,\n      To idly drift along,\n    One of the many common men\n      Who form the common throng.\n\n\nGRANTED OR DENIED\n\n    To long with all our longing powers,\n      And have the wish denied;\n    To urge and strain our force in vain\n      Against the unresting tide\n    Of fate and circumstance, which still\n    Baffles and beats and thwarts our will;\n\n    To reach the goal toward which we strove\n      All the long way and hard;\n    To win the prize which, to our eyes,\n      Seemed life's one best reward--\n    Love's rose, Fame's laurel, olived Peace,\n    The gold-fruit of Hesperides--\n\n    And then to find the prize all vain,\n      The joys all empty made--\n    To taste the sting in each sweet thing,\n      To watch Love's roses fade,\n    The fruit to ashes turn, the gold\n    To worthless dross within our hold!\n\n    Now which has most of grief and pain,\n      Which is the worse to bear:\n    The joy we crave and never have,\n      Or the curse of the granted prayer?\n    The baffled wish or the bitter rue--\n    Could our hearts choose between the two?\n\n    O will of God, thou blessed will!\n      Which, like a balmed air,\n    The breath of souls about us rolls,\n      Touching us everywhere,\n    Imparting, like a soft caress,\n    Healing, and help, and tenderness,\n\n    O will of God, be thou our will!\n      Then, come or joy or pain,\n    Made one with thee it cannot be\n      That we shall wish in vain,\n    And, whether granted or denied,\n    Our hearts shall be all satisfied.\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\nOUT OF TOUCH\n\n      Only a smile, yes, only a smile\n    That a woman o'erburdened with grief\n    Expected from you; 'twould have given relief,\n      For her heart ached sore the while;\n    But weary and cheerless she went away,\n    Because, as it happened, that very day\n      You were \"out of touch\" with your Lord.\n\n      Only a word, yes, only a word,\n    That the Spirit's small voice whispered \"Speak\";\n    But the worker passed onward unblessed and weak\n      Whom you were meant to have stirred\n    To courage, devotion, and love anew,\n    Because when the message came to you\n      You were \"out of touch\" with your Lord.\n\n      Only a note, yes, only a note\n    To a friend in a distant land.\n    The Spirit said \"Write,\" but then you had planned\n      Some different work, and you thought\n    It mattered little. You did not know\n    'Twould have saved a soul from sin and woe;\n      You were \"out of touch\" with your Lord.\n\n      Only a song, yes, only a song\n    That the Spirit said \"Sing to-night;\n    Thy voice is thy Master's by purchased right\";\n      But you thought, \"'Mid this motley throng\n    I care not to sing of the city of gold\"--\n    And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold;\n      You were \"out of touch\" with your Lord.\n\n      Only a day, yes, only a day!\n    But oh, can you guess, my friend,\n    Where the influence reaches, and where it will end\n      Of the hours that you frittered away?\n    The Master's command is \"Abide in me\"\n    And fruitless and vain will your service be\n      If \"out of touch\" with your Lord.\n\n    --Jean H. Watson.\n\n\n    Prayer is Innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant\n    'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    We may question with wand of science,\n      Explain, decide, and discuss;\n    But only in meditation\n      The Mystery speaks to us.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF SILENCE\n\n    I walk down the Valley of Silence,\n      Down the dim, voiceless valley alone!\n    And I hear not the fall of a footstep\n      Around me--save God's and my own!\n    And the hush of my heart is as holy\n      As hovers where angels have flown.\n\n    Long ago was I weary of voices\n      Whose music my heart could not win;\n    Long ago was I weary of noises\n      That fretted my soul with their din;\n    Long ago was I weary of places\n      Where I met but the human and sin.\n\n    And still did I pine for the perfect,\n      And still found the false with the true;\n    I sought 'mid the human for heaven,\n      But caught a mere glimpse of the blue;\n    And I wept when the clouds of the world veiled\n      Even _that_ glimpse from my view.\n\n    And I toiled on, heart-tired of the human,\n      And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men,\n    Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar,\n      And heard a Voice call me. Since then\n    I walk down the Valley of Silence\n      That lies far beyond mortal ken.\n\n    Do you ask what I found in the Valley?\n      'Tis my trysting place with the Divine.\n    When I fell at the feet of the Holy,\n      And about me a voice said, \"Be mine,\"\n    There arose from the depths of my spirit\n      An echo: \"My heart shall be thine.\"\n\n    Do you ask how I live in the Valley?\n      I weep, and I dream, and I pray;\n    But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops\n      That fall on the roses in May;\n    And my prayer, like a perfume from censer,\n      Ascendeth to God night and day.\n\n    In the hush of the Valley of Silence,\n      I dream all the songs that I sing;\n    And the music floats down the dim valley\n      Till each finds a word for a wing,\n    That to men, like the doves of the deluge\n      The message of peace they may bring.\n\n    But far out on the deep there are billows\n      That never shall break on the beach;\n    And I have heard songs in the silence\n      That never shall float into speech;\n    And I have had dreams in the valley\n      Too lofty for language to reach.\n\n    And I have seen thoughts in the valley--\n      Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred!\n    And they wear holy veils on their faces--\n      Their footsteps can scarcely be heard;\n    They pass through the valley like virgins\n      Too pure for the touch of a word.\n\n    Do you ask me the place of the Valley,\n      Ye hearts that are harrowed by care?\n    It lieth afar, between mountains,\n      And God and his angels are there;\n    And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow,\n      The other, the bright Mount of Prayer.\n\n    --Abram Joseph Ryan.\n\n\nHELP THOU MY UNBELIEF\n\n    Because I seek thee not O seek thou me!\n      Because my lips are dumb O hear the cry\n      I do not utter as thou passest by,\n    And from my lifelong bondage set me free!\n    Because, content, I perish far from thee,\n      O seize me, snatch me from my fate and try\n      My soul in thy consuming fire! Draw nigh\n    And let me, blinded, thy salvation see.\n\n    If I were pouring at thy feet my tears,\n      If I were clamoring to see thy face,\n      I should not need thee, Lord, as now I need,\n    Whose dumb, dead soul knows neither hopes nor fears,\n      Nor dreads the outer darkness of this place.\n    _Because_ I seek not, pray not, give thou heed.\n\n\nPHARISEE AND PUBLICAN\n\n    Two went to pray? O, rather say\n    One went to brag, the other to pray;\n    One stands up close and treads on high,\n    Where the other dares not lend his eye;\n    One nearer to God's altar trod,\n    The other to the altar's God.\n\n    --Richard Crashaw.\n\n\nA MOMENT IN THE MORNING\n\n    A moment in the morning, ere the cares of the day begin,\n    Ere the heart's wide door is open for the world to enter in,\n    Ah, then, alone with Jesus, in the silence of the morn,\n    In heavenly sweet communion, let your duty-day be born.\n    In the quietude that blesses with a prelude of repose\n    Let your soul be smoothed and softened, as the dew revives the rose.\n\n    A moment in the morning take your Bible in your hand,\n    And catch a glimpse of glory from the peaceful promised land:\n    It will linger still before you when you seek the busy mart,\n    And like flowers of hope will blossom into beauty in your heart.\n    The precious words, like jewels, will glisten all the day\n    With a rare effulgent glory that will brighten all the way;\n    When comes a sore temptation, and your feet are near a snare,\n    You may count them like a rosary and make each one a prayer.\n\n    A moment in the morning--a moment, if no more--\n    Is better than an hour when the trying day is o'er.\n    'Tis the gentle dew from heaven, the manna for the day;\n    If you fail to gather early--alas! it melts away.\n    So, in the blush of morning, take the offered hand of love,\n    And walk in heaven's pathway and the peacefulness thereof.\n\n    --Arthur Lewis Tubbs.\n\n\nAN INVITATION TO PRAYER\n\n    Come to the morning prayer,\n      Come, let us kneel and pray;\n    Prayer is the Christian pilgrim's staff\n      To walk with God all day.\n\n    At noon, beneath the Rock\n      Of Ages rest and pray;\n    Sweet is the shadow from the heat\n      When the sun smites by day.\n\n    At eve, shut to the door,\n      Round the home altar pray;\n    And finding there \"the house of God\"\n      At \"heaven's gate\" close the day.\n\n    When midnight seals our eyes,\n      Let each in spirit say,\n    \"I sleep, but my heart waketh, Lord,\n      With thee to watch and pray.\"\n\n    --James Montgomery.\n\n\nSELFISH PRAYER\n\n    How we, poor players on life's little stage,\n    Thrust blindly at each other in our rage,\n    Quarrel and fret, yet rashly dare to pray\n    To God to keep us on our selfish way.\n\n    We think to move him with our prayer and praise\n    To serve our needs, as in the old Greek days\n    Their gods came down and mingled in the fight\n    With mightier arms the flying foe to smite.\n\n    The laughter of those gods pealed down to man;\n    For heaven was but earth's upper story then,\n    Where goddesses about an apple strove\n    And the high gods fell humanly in love.\n\n    _We_ own a God whose presence fills the sky;\n    Whose sleepless eyes behold the worlds roll by;\n    Whose faithful memory numbers, one by one,\n    The sons of man, and calls them each his son.\n\n    --Louise Chandler Moulton.\n\n\n    To make rough places plain, and crooked straight;\n    To help the weak; to envy not the strong;\n    To make the earth a sweeter dwelling place,\n    In little ways, or if we may, in great,\n    And in the world to help the heavenly song,\n    We pray, Lord Jesus, grant to us thy grace!\n\n\nTHE TWO RELIGIONS\n\n    A woman sat by a hearthside place\n    Reading a book, with a pleasant face,\n    Till a child came up, with a childish frown,\n    And pushed the book, saying, \"Put it down.\"\n    Then the mother, slapping his curly head,\n    Said, \"Troublesome child, go off to bed;\n    A great deal of Christ's life I must know\n    To train you up as a child should go.\"\n    And the child went off to bed to cry,\n    And denounce religion--by and by.\n\n    Another woman bent over a book\n    With a smile of joy and an intent look,\n    Till a child came up and jogged her knee,\n    And said of the book, \"Put it down--take me.\"\n    Then the mother sighed as she stroked his head,\n    Saying softly, \"I never shall get it read:\n    But I'll try by loving to learn His will,\n    And his love into my child instill.\"\n    That child went to bed without a sigh,\n    And will love religion--by and by.\n\n\nA LIFE HID WITH CHRIST\n\n    I have a life with Christ to live;\n      But ere I live it must I wait\n    Till learning can clear answer give\n      Of this or that book's date?\n\n    I have a life in Christ to live,\n      I have a death in Christ to die;\n    And must I wait till science give\n      All doubts a full reply?\n\n    Nay, rather, while the sea of doubt\n    Is raging wildly round about,\n    Questioning of life and death and sin,\n    Let me but creep within\n    Thy fold, O Christ, and at thy feet\n    Take but the lowest seat,\n    And hear thine awful voice repeat\n    In gentlest accents, heavenly sweet,\n    \"Come unto me and rest;\n    Believe me, and be blest.\"\n\n    --John Campbell Shairp.\n\n\n    Still raise for good the supplicating voice,\n    But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice.\n\n    --Dr. Samuel Johnson.\n\n\nPRAY ALWAYS\n\n    Go when the morning shineth,\n      Go when the noon is bright,\n    Go when the eve declineth,\n      Go in the hush of night;\n    Go with pure mind and feeling,\n      Fling earthly thoughts away,\n    And, in thy chamber kneeling,\n      Do thou in secret pray.\n\n    Remember all who love thee,\n      All who are loved by thee;\n    Pray, too, for those who hate thee,\n      If any such there be.\n    Then for thyself in meekness\n      A blessing humbly claim,\n    And link with thy petition\n      The great Redeemer's name.\n\n    Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee\n      In solitude to pray,\n    Should holy thoughts come o'er thee\n      When friends are round thy way,\n    E'en then the silent breathing\n      Of thy spirit, raised above,\n    May reach His throne of glory\n      Who is mercy, truth and love.\n\n    Oh! not a joy or blessing\n      With this can we compare:\n    The power that he hath given us\n      To pour our hearts in prayer.\n    Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness\n      Before His footstool fall,\n    And remember in thy gladness\n      His grace who gave thee all.\n\n    --Jane C. Simpson.\n\n\n    More things are wrought by prayer\n    Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice\n    Rise like a fountain for me night and day.\n    For what are men better than sheep or goats,\n    That nourish a blind life within the brain,\n    If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer,\n    Both for themselves and those who call them friend.\n    For so the whole round earth is every way\n    Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nENOCH\n\n    He walked with God, by faith, in solitude,\n      At early dawn or tranquil eventide;\n      In some lone leafy place he would abide\n    Till his whole being was with God imbued.\n    He walked with God amid the multitude;\n      No threats or smiles could his firm soul divide\n      From that beloved presence at his side\n    Whose still small voice silenced earth's noises rude.\n    Boldly abroad to men he testified\n    How \"the Lord cometh\" and the judgment brings;\n    Gently at home he trained his \"sons and daughters\";\n    Till, praying, a bright chariot he espied\n    Sent to translate him, as on angels' wings,\n    To walk with God beside heaven's \"living waters.\"\n\n    --R. Wilton.\n\n\nA WORKER'S PRAYER\n\n    Lord, speak to me, that I may speak\n      In living echoes of thy tone;\n    As thou hast sought, so let me seek\n      Thy erring children, lost and lone.\n\n    Oh, teach me, Lord, that I may teach\n      The precious things thou dost impart;\n    And wing my words that they may reach\n      The hidden depths of many a heart.\n\n    Oh, give thine own sweet rest to me,\n      That I may speak with soothing power\n    A word in season, as from thee,\n      To weary ones in needful hour.\n\n    Oh, use me, Lord, use even me,\n      Just as thou wilt, and when and where;\n    Until thy blessed face I see,\n      Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share.\n\n\n    God answers prayer--\n    Answers always, everywhere,\n    I may cast my anxious care,\n    Burdens I could never bear,\n    On the God who heareth prayer.\n\n\nSUBMISSION AND REST\n\n    The camel, at the close of day\n    Kneels down upon the sandy plain\n    To have his burden lifted off\n            And rest again.\n\n    My soul, thou too should to thy knees\n    When daylight draweth to a close,\n    And let thy Master lift the load\n            And grant repose.\n\n    Else how couldst thou to-morrow meet,\n    With all to-morrow's work to do,\n    If thou thy burden all the night\n            Dost carry through?\n\n    The camel kneels at break of day\n    To have his guide replace his load;\n    Then rises up anew to take\n            The desert road.\n\n    So thou shouldst kneel at morning's dawn\n    That God may give thee daily care;\n    Assured that he no load too great\n            Will make thee bear.\n\n\nTAKE TIME TO BE HOLY\n\n    Take time to be holy;\n      Speak oft with thy Lord;\n    Abide in him always,\n      And feed on his word;\n    Make friends of God's children,\n      Help those who are weak,\n    Forgetting in nothing\n      His blessing to seek.\n\n    Take time to be holy;\n      The world rushes on;\n    Spend much time in secret\n      With Jesus alone;\n    By looking at Jesus\n      Like him thou shalt be;\n    Thy friends in thy conduct\n      His likeness shall see.\n\n    Take time to be holy;\n      Let him be thy Guide,\n    And run not before him\n      Whatever betide;\n    In joy or in sorrow\n      Still follow thy Lord,\n    And, looking to Jesus,\n      Still trust in his word.\n\n    Take time to be holy;\n      Be calm in thy soul;\n    Each thought and each motive\n      Beneath his control;\n    Thus led by his Spirit\n      To fountains of love,\n    Thou soon shalt be fitted\n      For service above.\n\n    --W. D. Longstaff.\n\n\nPRAYER FOR STRENGTH\n\n    Father, before thy footstool kneeling,\n      Once more my heart goes up to thee,\n    For aid, for strength, to thee appealing,\n      Thou who alone canst succor me.\n\n    Hear me! for heart and flesh are failing,\n      My spirit yielding in the strife;\n    And anguish wild as unavailing\n      Sweeps in a flood across my life.\n\n    Help me to stem the tide of sorrow;\n      Help me to bear thy chastening rod;\n    Give me endurance; let me borrow\n      Strength from thy promise, O my God!\n\n    Not mine the grief which words may lighten;\n      Not mine the tears of common woes;\n    The pang with which my heart-strings tighten\n      Only the All-seeing One may know.\n\n    And I am weak, my feeble spirit\n      Shrinks from life's task in wild dismay;\n    Yet not that thou that task wouldst spare it,\n      My Father, do I dare to pray.\n\n    Into my soul thy might infusing,\n      Strengthening my spirit by thine own;\n    Help me, all other aid refusing,\n      To cling to thee, and thee alone.\n\n    And O in my exceeding weakness\n      Make thy strength perfect; thou art strong:\n    Aid me to do thy will with meekness,\n      Thou to whom all my powers belong.\n\n    O let me feel that thou art near me;\n      Close to thy side, I shall not fear;\n    Hear me, O Strength of Israel, hear me,\n      Sustain and aid! in mercy hear.\n\n\nLIGHT\n\n    Lord, send thy light,\n    Not only in the darkest night,\n    But in the shadowy, dim twilight,\n    Wherein my strained and aching sight\n    Can scarce distinguish wrong from right,\n          Then send thy light.\n\n    Teach me to pray.\n    Not only in the morning gray,\n    Or when the moonbeam's silver ray\n    Falls on me, but at high noonday,\n    When pleasure beckons me away,\n          Teach me to pray.\n\n    --Constance Milman.\n\n\nOUR BURDEN BEARER\n\n    The little sharp vexations\n      And the briars that cut the feet,\n    Why not take all to the Helper\n      Who has never failed us yet?\n    Tell him about the heartache,\n      And tell him the longings too,\n    Tell him the baffled purpose\n      When we scarce know what to do.\n    Then, leaving all our weakness\n      With the One divinely strong,\n    Forget that we bore the burden\n      And carry away the song.\n\n    --Phillips Brooks.\n\n\n    My proud foe at my hands to take no boon will choose.\n    Thy prayers are that one gift which he cannot refuse.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nANSWER TO PRAYER\n\n    Man's plea to man is, that he nevermore\n    Will beg, and that he never begged before;\n    Man's plea to God is, that he did obtain\n    A former suit, and therefore sues again.\n    How good a God we serve, that, when we sue,\n    Makes his old gifts examples of his new.\n\n    --Francis Quarles.\n\n\nTALHAIRN'S PRAYER\n\n    Grant me, O God, thy merciful protection;\n    And, in protection, give me strength, I pray;\n    And, in my strength, O grant me wise discretion;\n    And, in discretion, make me ever just;\n    And, with my justice, may I mingle love,\n    And, with my love, O God, the love of thee;\n    And, with the love of thee, the love of all.\n\n    --From the Welsh.\n\n\n                  O sad estate\n    Of human wretchedness! so weak is man,\n    So ignorant and blind, that did not God\n    Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,\n    We should be ruined at our own request.\n\n    --Hannah More.\n\n\n    Why win we not at once what we in prayer require?\n    That we may learn great things as greatly to desire.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n\n\nJOY\n\nPRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS\n\n\nTHE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY\n\n    Just to let thy Father do\n          What he will;\n    Just to know that he is true\n          And be still.\n    Just to follow hour by hour\n          As He leadeth;\n    Just to draw the moment's power\n          As it needeth.\n    Just to trust Him, this is all!\n      Then the day will surely be\n    Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall,\n      Bright and blessed, calm and free.\n\n    Just to let Him speak to thee\n          Through his word,\n    Watching that his voice may be\n          Clearly heard.\n    Just to tell Him every thing\n          As it rises,\n    And at once to him to bring\n          All surprises.\n    Just to listen, and to stay\n      Where you cannot miss His voice,\n    This is all! and thus to-day,\n      Communing, you shall rejoice.\n\n    Just to ask Him what to do\n          All the day,\n    And to make you quick and true\n          To obey.\n    Just to know the needed grace\n          He bestoweth,\n    Every bar of time and place\n          Overfloweth.\n    Just to take thy orders straight\n      From the Master's own command.\n    Blessed day! when thus we wait\n      Always at our Sovereign's hand.\n\n    Just to recollect his love,\n          Always true;\n    Always shining from above,\n          Always new.\n    Just to recognize its light,\n          All-enfolding;\n    Just to claim its present might,\n          All-upholding.\n    Just to know it as thine own,\n      That no power can take away;\n    Is not this enough alone\n      For the gladness of the day?\n\n    Just to trust, and yet to ask\n          Guidance still;\n    Take the training or the task\n          As He will.\n    Just to take the joy or pain\n          As He lends it;\n    Just to take the loss or gain\n          As he sends it\n    He who formed thee for his praise\n      Will not miss the gracious aim;\n    So to-day, and all thy days,\n      Shall be molded for the same.\n\n    Just to leave in His dear hand\n          _Little_ things;\n    All we cannot understand,\n          All that stings.\n    Just to let Him take the care\n          Sorely pressing,\n    Finding all we let him bear\n          Changed to blessing.\n    This is all! and yet the way\n      Marked by Him who loves thee best;\n    Secret of a happy day,\n      Secret of his promised rest.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nGOD MEANS US TO BE HAPPY\n\n    God means us to be happy;\n      He fills the short-lived years\n    With loving, tender mercies--\n      With smiles as well as tears.\n    Flowers blossom by the pathway,\n      Or, withering, they shed\n    Their sweetest fragrance over\n      The bosoms of our dead.\n\n    God filled the earth with beauty;\n      He touched the hills with light;\n    He crowned the waving forest\n      With living verdure bright;\n    He taught the bird its carol,\n      He gave the wind its voice,\n    And to the smallest insect\n      Its moment to rejoice.\n\n    What life hath not its blessing?\n      Who hath not songs to sing,\n    Or grateful words to utter,\n      Or wealth of love to bring?\n    Tried in affliction's furnace\n      The gold becomes more pure--\n    So strong doth sorrow make us,\n      So patient to endure.\n\n    No way is dark and dreary\n      If God be with us there;\n    No danger can befall us\n      When sheltered by his care.\n    Why should our eyes be blinded\n      To all earth's glorious bloom?\n    Why sit we in the shadow\n      That falls upon the tomb?\n\n    Look up and catch the sunbeams!\n      See how the day doth dawn!\n    Gather the scented roses\n      That grow beside the thorn!\n    God's pitying love doth seek us;\n      He leads us to his rest;\n    And from a thousand pathways\n      He chooses what is best.\n\n\nTHE PICTURE OF A HAPPY MAN\n\n    How blest is he, though ever crossed,\n      That can all crosses blessings make;\n    That finds himself ere he be lost,\n      And lose that found for virtue's sake.\n\n    Yea, blest is he, in life and death,\n      That fears not death nor loves this life;\n    That sets his will his wit beneath;\n      And hath continual peace in strife.\n\n    That naught observes but what preserves\n      His mind and body from offense;\n    That neither courts nor seasons serves,\n      And learns without experience.\n\n    That loves his body for his soul,\n      Soul for his mind, his mind for God,\n    God for himself, and doth control\n      Content, if it with him be odd.\n\n    That rests in action, acting naught\n      But what is good in deed and show;\n    That seeks but God within his thought,\n      And thinks but God to love and know.\n\n    That lives too low for envy's looks,\n      And yet too high for loathed contempt;\n    That makes his friends good men and books\n      And naught without them doth attempt.\n\n    That ever lives a light to all,\n      Though oft obscured like the sun;\n    And, though his fortunes be but small,\n      Yet Fortune doth not seek nor shun.\n\n    That never looks but grace to find,\n      Nor seeks for knowledge to be known;\n    That makes a kingdom of his mind,\n      Wherein, with God, he reigns alone.\n\n    This man is great with little state,\n      Lord of the world epitomized,\n    Who with staid front outfaceth Fate\n      And, being empty, is sufficed--\n    Or is sufficed with little, since (at least)\n      He makes his conscience a continual feast.\n\n    --John Davies, of Hereford.\n\n\nTHANKS FOR PAIN\n\n    My God, I thank thee who hast made\n      The earth so bright;\n    So full of splendor and of joy,\n      Beauty and light;\n    So many glorious things are here,\n      Noble and right.\n\n    I thank thee, too, that thou hast made\n      Joy to abound;\n    So many gentle thoughts and deeds\n      Circling us round;\n    That in the darkest spot of earth\n      Some love is found.\n\n    I thank thee more that all our joy\n      Is touched with pain;\n    That shadows fall on brightest hours;\n      That thorns remain;\n    So that earth's bliss may be our guide\n      And not our chain.\n\n    I thank thee, Lord, that thou hast kept\n      The best in store;\n    We have enough, yet not too much,\n      To long for more;\n    A yearning for a deeper peace\n      Not known before.\n\n    I thank thee, Lord, that here our souls\n      Though amply blest,\n    Can never find, although they seek,\n      A perfect rest;\n    Nor ever shall until they lean\n      On Jesus' breast.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\nTHE RIDICULOUS OPTIMIST\n\n    There was once a man who smiled\n      Because the day was bright,\n      Because he slept at night,\n      Because God gave him sight\n    To gaze upon his child;\n      Because his little one,\n      Could leap and laugh and run;\n      Because the distant sun\n    Smiled on the earth he smiled.\n\n    He smiled because the sky\n      Was high above his head,\n      Because the rose was red,\n      Because the past was dead!\n    He never wondered why\n      The Lord had blundered so\n      That all things have to go\n      The wrong way, here below\n    The overarching sky.\n\n    He toiled, and still was glad\n      Because the air was free,\n      Because he loved, and she\n      That claimed his love and he\n    Shared all the joys they had!\n      Because the grasses grew,\n      Because the sweet winds blew,\n      Because that he could hew\n    And hammer, he was glad.\n\n    Because he lived he smiled,\n      And did not look ahead\n      With bitterness or dread,\n      But nightly sought his bed\n    As calmly as a child.\n      And people called him mad\n      For being always glad\n      With such things as he had,\n    And shook their heads and smiled.\n\n    --Samuel Ellsworth Kiser.\n\n\n    The soul contains a window where\n    It may receive the sun and air,\n    But some with self the window cloy,\n    And shut out all the light and joy.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\nPRAISE\n\n    O Thou, whose bounty fills my cup\n      With every blessing meet!\n    I give thee thanks for every drop--\n      The bitter and the sweet.\n\n    I praise Thee for the desert road,\n      And for the riverside;\n    For all thy goodness hath bestowed,\n      And all thy grace denied.\n\n    I thank Thee for both smile and frown,\n      And for the gain and loss;\n    I praise thee for the future crown\n      And for the present cross.\n\n    I thank Thee for the wing of love\n      Which stirred my worldly nest;\n    And for the stormy clouds which drove\n      Me, trembling, to thy breast.\n\n    I bless Thee for the glad increase,\n      And for the waning joy;\n    And for this strange, this settled peace,\n      Which nothing can destroy.\n\n    --Jane Crewdson.\n\n\nTHANKSGIVING\n\n    Lord, for the erring thought\n    Not into evil wrought,\n    Lord, for the wicked will,\n    Betrayed and baffled still,\n    For the heart from itself kept,\n    Our thanksgiving accept.\n\n    For the ignorant hopes that were\n    Broken to our blind prayer;\n    For pain, death, sorrow, sent\n    Unto our chastisement;\n    For all loss of seeming good,\n    Quicken our gratitude.\n\n    --William Dean Howells.\n\n\nRING, HAPPY BELLS\n\n    Ring out the grief that saps the mind,\n      For those that here we see no more;\n      Ring out the feud of rich and poor,\n    Ring in redress to all mankind.\n\n    Ring out a slowly-dying cause,\n      And ancient forms of party strife;\n      Ring in the nobler modes of life,\n    With sweeter manners, purer laws.\n\n    Ring out the want, the care, the sin,\n      The faithless coldness of the times;\n      Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,\n    But ring the fuller minstrel in.\n\n    Ring out false pride in place and blood,\n      The civic slander and the spite;\n      Ring in the love of truth and right\n    Ring in the common love of good.\n\n    Ring out old shapes of foul disease;\n      Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;\n      Ring out the thousand wars of old,\n    Ring in the thousand years of peace.\n\n    Ring in the valiant man and free,\n      The larger heart, the kindlier hand;\n      Ring out the darkness of the land,\n    Ring in the Christ that is to be.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nTHE CLEAR VISION\n\n    Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own\n      The wiser love severely kind;\n    Since, richer for its chastening grown,\n      I see, whereas I once was blind.\n    The world, O Father, hath not wronged\n    With loss the life by thee prolonged;\n    But still, with every added year,\n    More beautiful thy works appear.\n\n    As thou hast made thy world without,\n      Make thou more fair my world within;\n    Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt;\n      Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin;\n    Fill, brief or long, my granted span\n    Of life with love to thee and man;\n    Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest.\n    But let my last days be my best.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Then let us smile when skies are gray,\n      And laugh at stormy weather!\n    And sing life's lonesome times away;\n    So--worry and the dreariest day\n      Will find an end together!\n\n\n    Paul and Silas in their prison\n    Sang of Christ the Lord arisen;\n    And an earthquake's arm of might\n    Broke their dungeon gates at night.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nSCATTER SUNSHINE\n\n    In a world where sorrow ever will be known,\n    Where are found the needy, and the sad and lone;\n    How much joy and comfort we can all bestow\n    If we scatter sunshine everywhere we go.\n\n    Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs,\n    For the world wants daily little kindly deeds;\n    Oh, what care and sorrow we may help remove,\n    With our songs and courage, sympathy and love.\n\n    When the days are gloomy, sing some happy song,\n    Meet the world's repining with a courage strong;\n    Go, with faith undaunted, through the ills of life,\n    Scatter smiles and sunshine o'er its toil and strife.\n\n    --Lanta Wilson Smith.\n\n\nSOWING JOY\n\n    I met a child, and kissed it; who shall say\n      I stole a joy in which I had no part?\n    The happy creature from that very day\n      Hath felt the more his little human heart.\n    Now when I pass he runs away and smiles,\n    And tries to seem afraid with pretty wiles.\n      I am a happier and a richer man,\n    Since I have sown this new joy in the earth;\n    'Tis no small thing for us to reap stray mirth\n      In every sunny wayside where we can.\n    It is a joy to me to be a joy\n      Which may in the most lowly heart take root;\n    And it is gladness to that little boy\n      To look out for me at the mountain foot.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it;\n    Sow thou joy and thou shalt keep it.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\nA LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY\n\n(Written in May, 1863, when cotton came to Lancashire, enabling the\nmills to open after being long closed. The suffering, grateful women\nsang the Doxology.)\n\n    \"Praise God from whom all blessings flow.\"\n    Praise Him who sendeth joy and woe.\n    The Lord who takes--the Lord who gives--\n    O praise him, all that dies, and lives.\n\n    He opens and he shuts his hand,\n    But why, we cannot understand.\n    Pours and dries up his mercies' flood,\n    And yet is still All-perfect Good.\n\n    We fathom not the mighty plan,\n    The mystery of God and man;\n    We women, when afflictions come,\n    We only suffer and are dumb.\n\n    And when, the tempest passing by,\n    He gleams out, sun-like, through our sky,\n    We look up and, through black clouds riven,\n    We recognize the smile of Heaven.\n\n    Ours is no wisdom of the wise.\n    We have no deep philosophies;\n    Childlike we take both kiss and rod,\n    For he who loveth knoweth God.\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\nVIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS\n\n    Through night to light! And though to mortal eyes\n      Creation's face a pall of horror wear,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! the gloom of midnight flies;\n      Then shall a sunrise follow, mild and fair.\n\n    Through storm to calm! And though his thunder car\n      The rumbling tempest drive through earth and sky,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! The elemental war\n      Tells that the blessed healing hour is nigh.\n\n    Through frost to spring! And though the biting blast\n      Of Eurus stiffen nature's juicy veins,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! When winter's wrath is past,\n      Soft-murmuring spring breathes sweetly o'er the plains.\n\n    Through strife to peace! And though with bristling front\n      A thousand frightful deaths encompass thee,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! brave thou the battle's brunt,\n      For the peace-march and song of victory.\n\n    Through toil to sleep! And though the sultry noon\n      With heavy drooping wing oppress thee now,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! the cool of evening soon\n      Shall lull to sweet repose thy weary brow.\n\n    Through cross to crown! And though thy spirit's life\n      Trials untold assail with giant strength,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! soon ends the bitter strife,\n      And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length.\n\n    Through woe to joy! And though at morn thou weep,\n      And though the midnight find thee weeping still,\n    Good cheer! good cheer! the Shepherd loves his sheep;\n      Resign thee to the watchful Father's will.\n\n    --Rosegarten, tr. by Charles Timothy Brooks.\n\n\n    Talk Happiness. The world is sad enough\n    Without your woes. No path is wholly rough;\n    Look for the places that are smooth and clear,\n    And speak of those to rest the weary ear\n    Of earth, so hurt by one continuous strain\n    Of human discontent and grief and pain.\n\n\nSERVE GOD AND BE CHEERFUL\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. Make brighter\n      The brightness that falls to thy lot;\n    The rare, or the daily sent, blessing\n      Profane not with gloom or with doubt.\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. Each sorrow\n      Is--with thy will in God's--for the best.\n    O'er the cloud hangs the rainbow. To-morrow\n      Will see the blue sky in the west.\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. Look upward!\n      God's countenance scatters the gloom;\n    And the soft summer light of his heaven\n      Shines over the cross and the tomb.\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. The wrinkles\n      Of age we may take with a smile;\n    But the wrinkles of faithless foreboding\n      Are the crow's-feet of Beelzebub's guile.\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. The winter\n      Rolls round to the beautiful spring.\n    And o'er the green grave of the snowdrift\n      The nest-building robins will sing.\n\n    Serve God and be cheerful. Live nobly,\n      Do right, and do good. Make the best\n    Of the gifts and the work put before you,\n      And to God without fear leave the rest.\n\n    --William Newell.\n\n\nBRING EVERY BURDEN\n\n    Be trustful, be steadfast, whatever betide thee,\n      Only one thing do thou ask of the Lord--\n    Grace to go forward wherever he guide thee,\n      Simply believing the truth of his word.\n\n    Earthliness, coldness, unthankful behavior--\n      Ah! thou mayst sorrow, but do not despair.\n    Even this grief thou mayst bring to thy Saviour,\n      Cast upon him this burden of care!\n\n    Bring all thy hardness--His power can subdue it,\n      How full is the promise! The blessing how free:\n    \"Whatsoever ye ask in my name, I will do it;\n      Abide in my love and be joyful in me.\"\n\n\nTHY LOVING KINDNESS\n\n    Not always the path is easy;\n      There are thickets hung with gloom,\n    There are rough and stony places\n      Where never the roses bloom.\n    But oft, when the way is hardest,\n      I am conscious of One at my side\n    Whose hands and whose feet are wounded,\n      And I'm happy and safe with my Guide.\n\n    Better than friends and kindred,\n      Better than love and rest,\n    Dearer than hope and triumph,\n      Is the name I wear on my breast.\n    I feel my way through the shadows\n      With a confident heart and brave;\n    I shall live in the light beyond them;\n      I shall conquer death and the grave.\n\n    Often when tried and tempted,\n      Often, ashamed of sin--\n    That, strong as an armed invader,\n      Has made wreck of the peace within--\n    That wonderful loving-kindness,\n      Patient and full and free,\n    Has stooped for my consolation;\n      Has brought a blessing to me.\n\n    Therefore my lips shall praise thee,\n      Therefore, let come what may,\n    To the height of a solemn gladness\n      My song shall arise to-day.\n    Not on the drooping willow\n      Shall I hang my harp in the land,\n    When the Lord himself has cheered me\n      By the touch of his pierced hand.\n\n    --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.\n\n\n    To try each day his will to know;\n    To tread the way his will may show;\n    To live for him who gave me life;\n    To strive for him who suffered strife\n    And sacrifice through death for me--\n    Let this my joy, my portion be.\n\n\nTHANKS\n\n    I thank thee, Lord, for mine unanswered prayers,\n      Unanswered save thy quiet, kindly \"Nay\";\n    Yet it seemed hard among my heavy cares--\n            That bitter day.\n\n    I wanted joy; but Thou didst know for me\n      That sorrow was the gift I needed most,\n    And in its mystic depths I learned to see\n            The Holy Ghost.\n\n    I wanted health; but thou didst bid me sound\n      The secret treasuries of pain,\n    And in the moans and groans my heart oft found\n            Thy Christ again.\n\n    I wanted wealth; 'twas not the better part;\n      There is a wealth with poverty oft given.\n    And thou didst teach me of the gold of heart--\n            Best gift of heaven.\n\n    I thank thee, Lord, for these unanswered prayers,\n      And for thy word, the quiet, kindly \"Nay.\"\n    'Twas thy withholding lightened all my cares\n            That blessed day.\n\n    --Oliver Huckel.\n\n\nTHE GLORIOUS MORN\n\n    Open the shutters free and wide.\n      And \"glorify the room\";\n    That no dark shadows here may bide--\n      That there be naught of gloom.\n\n    What joy to breathe the morning air,\n      And see the sun again;\n    With living things God's love to share,\n      In recompense for pain.\n\n    --Henry Coyle.\n\n\n    For all the evils under the sun\n    There is some remedy or none;\n    If there is one be sure to find it;\n    If there is none, why, never mind it.\n\n\nEVENING PRAISE\n\n    Again, O God, the night shuts down,\n      Again I kneel to praise!\n    Thy wisdom, love, and truth and power\n      Have long made glad my days.\n    And, now, with added gratitude,\n      An evening hymn I raise.\n\n    I take the attitude of prayer,\n      But not for gifts to plead;\n    Thy bounty, far beyond desert,\n      Has more than met my need;\n    So, well content, I worship Thee\n      In thought and word and deed.\n\n    Thou bidst me ask, if I'd receive,\n      And seek, if I would find;\n    But surely Thou wilt not condemn\n      A heart to trust inclined.\n    Give what is best; Thou knowest all.\n      How blest the quiet mind!\n\n    I praise thee that in all the hours\n      And moments, as they glide,\n    Thy providence enfoldeth close;\n      Thy blessings rich abide;\n    And Thou dost keep in perfect peace\n      Those who in thee confide.\n\n    I praise thee for what seemeth good,\n      And for what seemeth ill.\n    Appearances are vain deceits;\n      Above them stands thy will;\n    By faith, not sight, thy children walk,\n      In hottest fire hold still.\n\n    Accept the off'ring that I lay\n      In gladness at thy feet;\n    My heart o'erflows with keenest joy,\n      With ecstacy complete.\n    Because, in all vicissitudes,\n      Thy constancy I greet.\n\n    Thou wilt not cease to love me well,\n      Nor fail to hold me fast;\n    Though pain may come, it cannot harm;\n      My care on thee is cast,\n    For future good he'll surely send\n      Who sent so sweet a past.\n\n    Praise waits in Zion, Lord, for thee,\n      Praise runs the world around;\n    And so this little heart of mine\n      Shall ne'er in gloom be found,\n    Rejoicing that all days and nights\n      May with thy praise resound.\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\nGO TELL JESUS\n\n    Bury thy sorrow,\n      The world has its share;\n    Bury it deeply,\n      Hide it with care.\n\n    Think of it calmly\n      When curtained by night;\n    Tell it to Jesus,\n      And all will be right.\n\n    Tell it to Jesus,\n      He knoweth thy grief;\n    Tell it to Jesus,\n      He'll send thee relief.\n\n    Gather the sunlight\n      Aglow on thy way;\n    Gather the moonbeams,\n      Each soft silver ray.\n\n    Hearts grown aweary\n      With heavier woe,\n    Droop 'mid the darkness--\n      Go comfort them, go!\n\n    Bury thy sorrow,\n      Let others be blest;\n    Give them the sunshine,\n      Tell Jesus the rest.\n\n\nWE WILL PRAISE THEE\n\n    Great Jehovah! we will praise thee,\n      Earth and heaven thy will obey;\n    Suns and systems move obedient\n      To thy universal sway.\n\n    Deep and awful are thy counsels;\n      High and glorious is thy throne;\n    Reigning o'er thy vast dominion,\n      Thou art God and thou alone.\n\n    In thy wondrous condescension\n      Thou hast stooped to raise our race;\n    Thou hast given to us a Saviour,\n      Full of goodness and of grace.\n\n    By his blood we are forgiven,\n      By his intercession free,\n    By his love we rise to glory\n      There to reign eternally.\n\n    God of Power--we bow before thee;\n      God of Wisdom--thee we praise;\n    God of Love--so kind and tender,\n      We would praise thee all our days.\n\n    Praise to thee--our loving Father;\n      Praise to thee--redeeming Son;\n    Praise to thee--Almighty Spirit;\n      Praise to thee--Thou Holy One.\n\n    --John White.\n\n\nAFTER ALL\n\n        We take our share of fretting,\n        Of grieving and forgetting;\n    The paths are often rough and steep, and heedless feet may fall;\n        But yet the days are cheery,\n        And night brings rest when weary\n    And somehow this old planet is a good world after all.\n\n        Though sharp may be our trouble,\n        The joys are more than double,\n    The brave surpass the cowards and the leal are like a wall\n        To guard their dearest ever,\n        To fail the feeblest never;\n    And somehow this old earth remains a bright world after all.\n\n        There's always love that's caring,\n        And shielding and forbearing,\n    Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep our hearts in thrall.\n        There's home to share together\n        In calm or stormy weather,\n    And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good world after all.\n\n        The lisp of children's voices,\n        The chance of happy choices,\n    The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through fogs and mists that call;\n        The heaven that stretches o'er us,\n        The better days before us,\n    They all combine to make this earth a good world after all.\n\n    --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.\n\n\n    Sound an anthem in your sorrows,\n      Build a fortress of your fears;\n    Throw a halo round your trials,\n      Weave a rainbow of your tears.\n\n    Never mind if shadows darken,\n      Never fear though foes be strong;\n    Lift your heads and shout hosannah!\n      Praise the Lord, it won't be long.\n\n\nBE OF GOOD CHEER\n\n    God is near thee, Christian; cheer thee,\n      Rest in him, sad soul;\n    He will keep thee when around thee\n      Billows roll.\n\n    Calm thy sadness, look in gladness\n      To thy Friend on high;\n    Faint and weary pilgrim, cheer thee;\n      Help is nigh.\n\n    Mark the sea-bird wildly wheeling\n      Through the stormy skies;\n    God defends him, God attends him\n      When he cries.\n\n    Fare thee onward through the sunshine\n      Or through wintry blast;\n    Fear forsake thee; God will take thee\n      Home at last.\n\n\nPESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST\n\n    This one sits shivering in Fortune's smile,\n      Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath.\n    This one, gnawed by hunger, all the while\n      Laughs in the teeth of death.\n\n    --Thomas Bailey Aldrich.\n\n\nPRAISE WAITETH FOR THEE\n\n    They stand, the regal mountains, with crowns of spotless snow,\n    Forever changeless, grand, sublime, while ages come and go!\n    Each day the morning cometh in through the eastern gate,\n    With trailing robes of pink and gold; yet still they watch and wait\n    For that more glorious morning, till that glad message sounds--\n    \"Lift up your heads, ye gates of God! the King of glory comes!\"\n\n    And so they stand o'erlooking earth's trouble, pain and sin,\n    And wait the call to lift their gates and let the King come in.\n    O calm, majestic mountains! O everlasting hills!\n    Beside your patient watch how small seem all life's joys and ills!\n\n    Beyond, the restless ocean, mysterious, vast, and dim,\n    Whose changeful waves forever chant their grand triumphal hymn.\n    Now tempest-lashed and raging, with deep and hungry roar,\n    The foam-capped billows dash themselves in anger on the shore,\n\n    Now wavelets ripple gently along the quiet strand,\n    While summer's sunshine broodeth soft o'er all the sea and land.\n    O mighty waves! as chainless, as free, as birds that skim!\n    There's One who rules the stormy sea--thy song is all of him.\n\n    And so in the shadowy forest the birds sing loud and sweet\n    From swaying boughs where breezes rock their little broods to sleep.\n    The golden cups of the cowslip spring from the mossy sod,\n    And the sweet blue violet blooms alone--just for itself and God.\n\n    It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea,\n    The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me--\n    Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand;\n    Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land.\n\n    \"The groves are God's own temples\"; the wild birds sing his praise;\n    And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays;\n    For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small;\n    His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all.\n\n\n    We cannot make bargains for blisses,\n      Nor catch them like fishes in nets;\n    And sometimes the thing our life misses\n      Helps more than the thing which it gets.\n    For good lieth not in pursuing,\n      Nor gaining of great nor of small,\n    But just in the doing, and doing\n      As we would be done by is all.\n\n    --Alice Cary.\n\n\nDON'T TAKE IT TO HEART\n\n        There's many a trouble\n        Would break like a bubble,\n    And into the waters of Lethe depart,\n        Did we not rehearse it,\n        And tenderly nurse it,\n    And give it a permanent place in the heart.\n\n        There's many a sorrow\n        Would vanish to-morrow\n    Were we but willing to furnish the wings;\n        So sadly intruding,\n        And quietly brooding,\n    It hatches out all sorts of horrible things.\n\n        How welcome the seeming\n        Of looks that are beaming\n    Whether one's wealthy or whether one's poor;\n        Eyes bright as a berry,\n        Cheeks red as a cherry,\n    The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.\n\n        Resolve to be merry,\n        All worry to ferry\n    Across the famed waters which bid us forget,\n        And no longer fearful,\n        But happy and cheerful,\n    We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.\n\n\nALTHOUGH--YET\n\n    Away! my unbelieving fear!\n      Fear shall in me no more have place;\n    My Saviour doth not yet appear,\n      He hides the brightness of his face,\n    But shall I therefore let him go,\n      And basely to the tempter yield?\n    No, in the strength of Jesus, no;\n      I never will give up my shield.\n\n    Although the vine its fruit deny,\n      Although the olive yield no oil,\n    The withering fig-trees droop and die,\n      The fields elude the tiller's toil.\n    The empty stall no herd afford,\n      And perish all the bleating race,\n    Yet will I triumph in the Lord--\n      The God of my salvation praise.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\n    'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\nAS A BIRD IN MEADOWS FAIR\n\n    As a bird in meadows fair\n      Or in lovely forest sings,\n    Till it fills the summer air\n      And the green wood sweetly rings,\n    So my heart to thee would raise,\n    O my God, its song of praise\n    That the gloom of night is o'er\n    And I see the sun once more.\n\n    If thou, Sun of love, arise,\n      All my heart with joy is stirred,\n    And to greet thee upward flies,\n      Gladsome as yon tiny bird.\n    Shine thou in me, clear and bright,\n    Till I learn to praise thee right;\n    Guide me in the narrow way,\n    Let me ne'er in darkness stray.\n\n    Bless to-day whate'er I do;\n      Bless whate'er I have and love;\n    From the paths of virtue true\n      Let me never, never rove;\n    By thy spirit strengthen me\n    In the faith that leads to Thee,\n    Then, an heir of life on high,\n    Fearless I may live and die.\n\n\n\"HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL!\"\n\n    Pleased in the sunshine, pleased in the blast,\n    Pleased when the heavens are all overcast,\n    Pleased when I can or cannot see\n    God's loving hand is dealing with me.\n\n    Pleased, for Christ's promises never can fail;\n    Pleased in the calm and also the gale;\n    Knowing Omniscience at midnight can see,\n    Since he was Pilot on dark Galilee.\n\n    Pleased when in health or when I am ill,\n    Pleased, since I know I'm in the Lord's will,\n    Pleased with whatever my lot may be\n    Knowing Omnipotence careth for me.\n\n\n    Beneath the tiger's jaw I heard a victim cry,\n    \"Thanks, God, that, though in pain, yet not in guilt I die.\"\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nTHE ROBIN'S SONG\n\n    I'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way,\n      Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!\n    Whenever you're blue find something to do\n    For somebody else who is sadder than you.\n      Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!\n\n\n    He growled at morning, noon, and night,\n      And trouble sought to borrow;\n    Although to-day the sky were bright\n      He knew 'twould storm to-morrow;\n    A thought of joy he could not stand,\n      And struggled to resist it;\n    Though sunshine dappled all the land\n      This sorry pessi_mist_ it.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Oh, be in God's clear world no dark and troubled sprite!\n    To Christ, thy Master mild, do no such foul despite;\n    But show in look, word, mien, that thou belongst to him,\n    Who says, \"My yoke is easy, and my burden light.\"\n\n    --Friedrich Rueckert.\n\n\n    Let us gather up the sunbeams\n      Lying all around our path;\n    Let us keep the wheat and roses,\n      Casting out the thorns and chaff;\n    Let us find our sweetest comfort\n      In the blessings of to-day,\n    With a patient hand removing\n      All the briars from our way.\n\n\n    O give me the joy of living\n      And some glorious work to do!\n    A spirit of thanksgiving,\n      With loyal heart and true;\n    Some pathway to make brighter,\n      Where tired feet now stray;\n    Some burden to make lighter,\n      While 'tis day.\n\n\n    True happiness (if understood)\n    Consists alone in doing good.\n\n\n    Talk happiness each chance you get--and talk it good and strong!\n    Look for it in the byways as you grimly pass along;\n    Perhaps it is a stranger now whose visit never comes,\n    But talk it! Soon you'll find that you and happiness are chums.\n\n\n    'Tis Being and Doing and Having that make\n    All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake.\n    To Be what God pleases, to Do a man's best,\n    And to Have a good heart, is the way to be blest.\n\n\n    If the weather is cold don't scold,\n    If the weather is wet don't fret,\n    If the weather is warm don't storm,\n    If the weather is dry don't cry;\n    But be cheerful together, whatever the weather.\n\n\n    The inner side of every cloud\n      Is bright and shining;\n    Therefore I turn my clouds about,\n    And always wear them inside out,\n      To show the lining.\n\n    --Ellen Thornycroft Fowler Felkin.\n\n\n    Let him that loves his ease, his ease,\n      Keep close and house him fair;\n    He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger\n      And the joy of the open air.\n\n    --Richard Hovey.\n\n\n    There is no human being\n      With so wholly dark a lot,\n    But the heart, by turning the picture,\n      May find some sunny spot.\n\n\n    Let us cry, All good things\n    Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more now\n    Than flesh helps soul.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n\n\nAFFLICTION\n\nCONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE\n\n\nRESIGNATION\n\n    There is no flock, however watched and tended,\n      But one dead lamb is there!\n    There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,\n      But has one vacant chair.\n\n    The air is full of farewells to the dying\n      And mourning for the dead;\n    The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,\n      Will not be comforted!\n\n    Let us be patient! These severe afflictions\n      Not from the ground arise,\n    But oftentimes celestial benedictions\n      Assume this dark disguise.\n\n    We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;\n      Amid these earthly damps\n    What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers\n      May be heaven's distant lamps.\n\n    There is no Death! What seems so is transition;\n      This life of mortal breath\n    Is but a suburb of the life elysian,\n      Whose portal we call death.\n\n    She is not dead--the child of our affection--\n      But gone unto that school\n    Where she no longer needs our poor protection,\n      And Christ himself doth rule.\n\n    In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,\n      By guardian angels led,\n    Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,\n      She lives, whom we call dead.\n\n    Day after day we think what she is doing\n      In those bright realms of air;\n    Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,\n      Behold her grown more fair.\n\n    Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken\n      The bond which nature gives,\n    Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,\n      May reach her where she lives.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    We will be patient, and assuage the feeling\n      We may not wholly stay;\n    By silence sanctifying, not concealing,\n      The grief that must have way.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nMADE PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING\n\n    I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent\n      To break my dream of human power;\n    For now, my shallow cistern spent,\n      I find thy founts, and thirst no more.\n\n    I take Thy hand, and fears grow still;\n      Behold thy face, and doubts remove;\n    Who would not yield his wavering will\n      To perfect Truth and boundless Love?\n\n    That Love this restless soul doth teach\n      The strength of thine eternal calm;\n    And tune its sad but broken speech\n      To join on earth the angel's psalm.\n\n    Oh, be it patient in thy hands,\n      And drawn, through each mysterious hour,\n    To service of thy pure commands,\n      The narrow way of Love and Power.\n\n    --Samuel Johnson.\n\n\nGO NOT FAR FROM ME\n\n    Go not far from me, O my strength,\n      Whom all my times obey:\n    Take from me any thing Thou wilt,\n      But go not thou away--\n    And let the storm that does thy work\n      Deal with me as it may.\n\n    On thy compassion I repose,\n      In weakness and distress;\n    I will not ask for greater ease,\n      Lest I should love Thee less.\n    Oh 'tis a blessed thing for me\n      To need thy tenderness.\n\n    While many sympathizing hearts\n      For my deliverance care,\n    Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love,\n      Art teaching me to bear--\n    By the sweet voice of thankful song,\n      And calm, confiding prayer.\n\n    Thy love has many a lighted path,\n      No outward eye can trace,\n    And my heart sees thee in the deep,\n      With darkness on its face.\n    And communes with thee, 'mid the storm,\n      As in a secret place.\n\n    O Comforter of God's redeemed,\n      Whom the world does not see,\n    What hand should pluck me from the flood\n      That casts my soul on thee?\n    Who would not suffer pain like mine\n      To be consoled like me?\n\n    When I am feeble as a child,\n      And flesh and heart give way,\n    Then on thy everlasting strength\n      With passive trust I stay.\n    And the rough wind becomes a song,\n      The darkness shines like day.\n\n    O blessed are the eyes that see--\n      Though silent anguish show--\n    The love that in their hours of sleep\n      Unthanked may come and go.\n    And blessed are the ears that hear,\n      Though kept awake by woe.\n\n    Happy are they that learn, in thee--\n      Though patient suffering teach--\n    The secret of enduring strength\n      And praise too deep for speech:\n    Peace that no pressure from without,\n      No strife within, can reach.\n\n    There is no death for me to fear,\n      For Christ, my Lord, hath died;\n    There is no curse in this my pain,\n      For he was crucified.\n    And it is fellowship with him\n      That keeps me near his side.\n\n    My heart is fixed--O God, my strength--\n      My heart is strong to bear;\n    I will be joyful in thy love,\n      And peaceful in thy care.\n    Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake,\n      According to his prayer.\n\n    No suffering while it lasts is joy,\n      How blest soe'er it be,\n    Yet may the chastened child be glad\n      His Father's face to see;\n    And oh, it is not hard to bear\n      What must be borne in thee.\n\n    It is not hard to bear by faith,\n      In thine own bosom laid,\n    The trial of a soul redeemed,\n      For thy rejoicing made.\n    Well may the heart in patience rest\n      That none can make afraid.\n\n    Safe in thy sanctifying grace--\n      Almighty to restore--\n    Borne onward, sin and death behind,\n      And love and life before,\n    O let my soul abound in hope,\n      And praise thee more and more.\n\n    Deep unto deep may call, but I\n      With peaceful heart will say--\n    Thy loving-kindness hath a charge\n      No waves can take away;\n    And let the storm that speeds me home\n      Deal with me as it may.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\n    Walking along the shore one morn,\n      A holy man by chance I found\n    Who by a tiger had been torn\n      And had no salve to heal his wound.\n    Long time he suffered grievous pain,\n      But not the less to the Most High\n      He offered thanks. They asked him,\n        Why?\n    For answer he thanked God again;\n    And then to them: \"That I am in\n      No greater peril than you see:\n      That what has overtaken me\n    Is but misfortune--and not sin.\"\n\n    --Richard Henry Stoddard.\n\n\nTHE CELESTIAL SURGEON\n\n    If I have faltered more or less\n    In my great task of happiness;\n    If I have moved among my race\n    And shown no glorious morning face;\n    If beams from happy human eyes\n    Have moved me not; if morning skies,\n    Books, and my food, and summer rain\n    Knocked on my sullen heart in vain;\n    Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take\n    And stab my spirit broad awake;\n    Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,\n    Choose thou, before that spirit die,\n    A piercing pain, a killing sin,\n    And to my dead heart run them in.\n\n    --Robert Louis Stevenson.\n\n\nI ASKED THE LORD THAT I MIGHT GROW\n\n    I asked the Lord that I might grow\n      In faith and love and every grace;\n    Might more of his salvation know,\n      And seek more earnestly his face.\n\n    'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,\n      And he, I trust, has answer'd prayer;\n    But it has been in such a way\n      As almost drove me to despair.\n\n    I hop'd that in some favor'd hour\n      At once he'd answer my request,\n    And by his love's constraining power\n      Subdue my sins and give me rest.\n\n    Instead of this he made me feel\n      The hidden evils of my heart,\n    And let the angry powers of hell\n      Assault my soul in ev'ry part.\n\n    Yes, more: with his own hand he seem'd\n      Intent to aggravate my woe,\n    Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed,\n      Blasted my gourds and laid them low.\n\n    \"Lord, why is this?\" I trembling cried;\n      \"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?\"\n    \"'Tis in this way,\" the Lord replied,\n      \"I answer prayer for grace and faith.\n\n    \"These inward trials I employ\n      From self and pride to set thee free,\n    And break thy schemes of earthly joy\n      That thou mayest set thine all in me!\"\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\n\"THOU MAINTAINEST MY LOT\"\n\n    Source of my life's refreshing springs,\n      Whose presence in my heart sustains me,\n    Thy love appoints me pleasant things,\n      Thy mercy orders all that pains me.\n\n    If loving hearts were never lonely,\n      If all they wished might always be,\n    Accepting what they look for only,\n      They might be glad--but not in thee.\n\n    Well may thy own beloved, who see\n      In all their lot their Father's pleasure,\n    Bear loss of all they love save thee,\n      Their living, everlasting treasure.\n\n    Well may thy happy children cease\n      From restless wishes, prone to sin,\n    And, in thine own exceeding peace,\n      Yield to thy daily discipline.\n\n    We need as much the cross we bear\n      As air we breathe, as light we see!\n    It draws us to thy side in prayer,\n      It binds us to our strength in thee.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nTHE MASTER'S TOUCH\n\n    In the still air the music lies unheard;\n      In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;\n    To make the music and the beauty needs\n      The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.\n\n    Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand;\n      Let not the music that is in us die.\n    Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let\n      Hidden and lost thy form within us lie!\n\n    Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt!\n      Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;\n    Complete thy purpose that we may become\n      Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord!\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\n    The childish smile is fair, but lovelier far\n    The smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\nA BLESSING IN TEARS\n\n    Home they brought her warrior dead;\n      She nor swoon'd nor uttered cry.\n    All her maidens, watching, said,\n      \"She must weep or she will die.\"\n\n    Then they praised him, soft and low,\n      Call'd him worthy to be loved,\n    Truest friend, and noblest foe;\n      Yet she neither spoke nor moved.\n\n    Stole a maiden from her place,\n      Lightly to the warrior stept,\n    Took the face-cloth from the face;\n      Yet she neither moved nor wept.\n\n    Rose a nurse of ninety years,\n      Set his child upon her knee;\n    Like summer tempest came her tears:\n      \"Sweet my child, I live for thee.\"\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nEVERY DAY\n\n    O trifling task so often done,\n      Yet ever to be done anew!\n    O cares which come with every sun,\n      Morn after morn, the long years through!\n    We sink beneath their paltry sway--\n      The irksome calls of every day.\n\n    The restless sense of wasted power,\n      The tiresome round of little things,\n    Are hard to bear, as hour by hour\n      Its tedious iteration brings;\n    Who shall evade or who delay\n      The small demands of every day?\n\n    The bowlder, in the torrent's course\n      By tide and tempest lashed in vain,\n    Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's force\n      And yields its substance grain by grain;\n    So crumble strongest lives away\n      Beneath the wear of every day.\n\n    Who finds the lion in his lair,\n      Who tracks the tiger for his life\n    May wound them ere they are aware,\n      Or conquer them in desperate strife,\n    Yet powerless he to scathe or slay\n      The vexing gnats of every day.\n\n    The steady strain that never stops\n      Is mightier than the fiercest shock;\n    The constant fall of water drops\n      Will groove the adamantine rock;\n    We feel our noblest powers decay\n      In feeble wars with every day.\n\n    We rise to meet a heavy blow--\n      Our souls a sudden bravery fills--\n    But we endure not always so\n      The drop by drop of little ills;\n    We still deplore, and still obey,\n      The hard behests of every day.\n\n    The heart which boldly faces death\n      Upon the battle-field, and dares\n    Cannon and bayonet, faints beneath\n      The needle-points of frets and cares;\n    The stoutest spirits they dismay--\n      The tiny stings of every day.\n\n    And even saints of holy fame,\n      Whose souls by faith have overcome,\n    Who won amid the cruel flame\n      The molten crown of martyrdom,\n    Bore not without complaint alway\n      The petty pains of every day.\n\n    Ah, more than martyr's aureole,\n      And more than hero's heart of fire,\n    We need the humble strength of soul\n      Which daily toils and ills require;\n    Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may,\n      An added grace for every day.\n\n\nPEACEABLE FRUIT\n\n(Heb. 12. 11.)\n\n    What shall thine \"afterward\" be, O Lord,\n      For this dark and suffering night?\n    Father, _what_ shall thine \"afterward\" be?\n    Hast thou a morning of joy for me,\n      And a new and joyous light?\n\n    What shall thine \"afterward\" be, O Lord,\n      For the moan that I cannot stay?\n    Shall it issue in some new song of praise,\n    Sweeter than sorrowless heart could raise,\n      When the night hath passed away?\n\n    What shall thine \"afterward\" be, O Lord,\n      For this helplessness of pain?\n    A clearer view of my home above,\n    Of my Father's strength and my Father's love--\n      Shall _this_ be my lasting gain?\n\n    What shall thine \"afterward\" be, O Lord?\n      How long must thy child endure?\n    Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not!\n    Thine \"afterward\" cometh--I cannot tell what,\n      But I know that thy word is sure.\n\n    What shall thine \"afterward\" be, O Lord,\n      I wonder--and wait to see\n    (While to thy chastening hand I bow)\n    What \"peaceable fruit\" may be ripening now--\n      Ripening fast for me!\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nHOW WE LEARN\n\n    Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth,\n      Such as men give and take from day to day,\n    Comes in the common walk of easy life,\n      Blown by the careless wind across our way.\n\n    Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance,\n      Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;\n    But grasped in the great struggle of the soul\n      Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.\n\n    But in the day of conflict, fear and grief,\n      When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,\n    Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart\n      And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light,\n\n    Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours\n      Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain,\n    Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field.\n      And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\n    Though trouble-tossed and torture-torn\n    The kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.\n\n    --Gerald Massey.\n\n\nHEAVIER THE CROSS\n\n    Heavier the cross the stronger faith:\n      The loaded palm strikes deeper root;\n    The vine-juice sweetly issueth\n      When men have pressed the clustered fruit;\n    And courage grows where dangers come\n      Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam.\n\n    Heavier the cross the heartier prayer;\n      The bruised herbs most fragrant are;\n    If sky and wind were always fair\n      The sailor would not watch the star;\n    And David's psalms had ne'er been sung\n    If grief his heart had never wrung.\n\n    Heavier the cross the more aspiring;\n      From vales we climb to mountain's crest;\n    The pilgrim, of the desert tiring,\n      Longs for the Canaan of his rest.\n    The dove has here no rest in sight,\n    And to the ark she wings her flight.\n\n    Heavier the cross the easier dying;\n      Death is a friendlier face to see;\n    To life's decay one bids defying,\n      From life's distress one then is free;\n    The cross sublimely lifts our faith\n    To him who triumphed over death.\n\n    Thou Crucified! the cross I carry--\n      The longer may it dearer be;\n    And, lest I faint while here I tarry,\n      Implant thou such a heart in me\n    That faith, hope, love, may flourish there\n    Till for the cross my crown I wear.\n\n    --Benjamin Schmolke.\n\n\nLA ROCHELLE\n\n    A worthy man of Paris town\n      Came to the bishop there:\n    His face, o'erclouded with dismay,\n      Betrayed a fixed despair.\n\n    \"Father,\" said he, \"a sinner vile\n      Am I, against my will:\n    Each hour I humbly pray for faith,\n      But am a doubter still.\n\n    \"Sure were I not despised of God,\n      He would not leave me so\n    To struggle thus in constant strife\n      Against the deadly foe.\"\n\n    The bishop to his sorrowing son\n      Thus spoke a kind relief:\n    \"The King of France has castles twain;\n      To each he sends a chief.\n\n    \"There's Montelhery, far inland,\n      That stands in place secure;\n    While La Rochelle, upon the coast,\n      Doth sieges oft endure.\n\n    \"Now for these castles--both preserved--\n      First in his prince's love\n    Shall Montelhery's chief be placed,\n      Or La Rochelle's above?\"\n\n    \"Oh! doubtless, sire,\" the sinner said,\n      \"That king will love the most\n    The man whose task was hard to keep\n      His castle on the coast!\"\n\n    \"Son,\" said the bishop, \"thou art right;\n      Apply this reasoning well:\n    My heart is Montelhery fort,\n      And thine is La Rochelle!\"\n\n\nIF THOU COULD'ST KNOW\n\n        I think, if thou could'st know,\n        O soul, that will complain,\n      What lies concealed below\n        Our burden and our pain--\n      How just our anguish brings\n      Nearer those longed-for things\n      We seek for now in vain--\n    I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.\n\n      I think, if thou could'st see,\n        With thy dim mortal sight,\n      How meanings, dark to thee,\n        Are shadows hiding light;\n      Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,\n      Life's purpose all perplexed--\n      If thou could'st see them right,\n    I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.\n\n      And yet thou can'st not know;\n        And yet thou can'st not see;\n      Wisdom and sight are slow\n        In poor humanity.\n      If thou could'st _trust_, poor soul,\n      In him who rules the whole,\n      Thou would'st find peace and rest:\n    Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.\n\n\nMY CROSS\n\n    \"O Lord, my God!\" I oft have said,\n    \"Had I some other cross instead\n    Of this I bear from day to day,\n    'Twere easier to go on my way.\n\n    \"I do not murmur at its weight;\n    That Thou hast made proportionate\n    To my scant strength; but oh! full sore\n    It presses where it pressed before.\n\n    \"Change for a space, however brief,\n    The wonted burden, that relief\n    May o'er my aching shoulders steal,\n    And the deep bruise have room to heal!\"\n\n    While thus I sadly sighed to-day\n    I heard my gracious Father say,\n    \"Can'st thou not trust my love, my child,\n    And to thy cross be reconciled?\n\n    \"I fashioned it thy needs to meet;\n    Nor were thy discipline complete\n    Without that very pain and bruise\n    Which thy weak heart would fain refuse.\"\n\n    Ashamed, I answered, \"As Thou wilt!\n    I own my faithlessness and guilt;\n    Welcome the weary pain shall be,\n    Since only that is best for me.\"\n\n\nGOD KNOWETH BEST\n\n    He took them from me, one by one,\n    The things I set my heart upon;\n    They looked so harmless, fair, and blest;\n    Would they have hurt me? God knows best.\n    He loves me so, he would not wrest\n    Them from me if it were not best.\n\n    He took them from me, one by one,\n    The friends I set my heart upon.\n    O did they come, they and their love,\n    Between me and my Lord above?\n    Were they as idols in my breast?\n    It may be. God in heaven knows best.\n\n    I will not say I did not weep,\n    As doth a child that wants to keep\n    The pleasant things in hurtful play\n    His wiser parent takes away;\n    But in this comfort I will rest:\n    He who hath taken knoweth best.\n\n\nTHE ONLY SOLACE\n\n    O Thou who driest the mourner's tear,\n      How dark this world would be\n    If, when deceived and wounded here,\n      We could not fly to thee!\n\n    The friends who in our sunshine live\n      When winter comes are flown;\n    And he who has but tears to give\n      Must weep those tears alone.\n\n    But Thou wilt heal that broken heart\n      Which, like the plants that throw\n    Their fragrance from the wounded part,\n      Breathes sweetness out of woe.\n\n    O who could bear life's stormy doom\n      Did not Thy wing of love\n    Come brightly wafting through the gloom\n      Our peace-branch from above!\n\n    Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright\n      With more than rapture's ray;\n    As darkness shows us worlds of light\n      We never saw by day.\n\n    --Thomas Moore.\n\n\nCONSOLATION\n\n    If none were sick and none were sad\n      What service could we render?\n    I think if we were always glad\n      We scarcely could be tender.\n    Did our beloved never need\n      Our patient ministration\n    Earth would grow cold, and miss indeed\n      Its sweetest consolation.\n    If sorrow never claimed our heart,\n      And every wish were granted,\n    Patience would die and hope depart--\n      Life would be disenchanted.\n\n\n    Banish far from me all I love,\n      The smiles of friends, the old fireside,\n    And drive me to that home of homes,\n      The heart of Jesus crucified.\n\n    Take all the light away from earth,\n      Take all that men can love from me;\n    Let all I lean upon give way,\n      That I may lean on naught but Thee.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nPERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING\n\n    God never would send you the darkness\n      If he felt you could bear the light;\n    But you would not cling to his guiding hand\n      If the way were always bright;\n    And you would not care to walk by faith\n      Could you always walk by sight.\n\n    'Tis true he has many an anguish\n      For your sorrowful heart to bear,\n    And many a cruel thorn-crown\n      For your tired head to wear:\n    He knows how few would reach heaven at all\n      If pain did not guide them there.\n\n    So he sends you the blinding darkness,\n      And the furnace of seven-fold heat.\n    'Tis the only way, believe me,\n      To keep you close to his feet,\n    For 'tis always so easy to wander\n      When our lives are glad and sweet.\n\n    Then nestle your hand in your Father's\n      And sing, if you can, as you go;\n    Your song may cheer some one behind you\n      Whose courage is sinking low.\n    And--well--if your lips do quiver--\n      God will love you better so.\n\n\nA LITTLE PARABLE\n\n    I made the cross myself whose weight\n      Was later laid on me.\n    This thought is torture as I toil\n      Up life's steep Calvary.\n\n    To think mine own hands drove the nails!\n      I sang a merry song,\n    And chose the heaviest wood I had\n      To build it firm and strong.\n\n    If I had guessed--if I had dreamed--\n      Its weight was meant for me,\n    I should have made a lighter cross\n      To bear up Calvary.\n\n    --Anne Reeve Aldrich.\n\n\n    The unpolished pearl can never shine--\n    'Tis sorrow makes the soul divine.\n\n    --From the Japanese, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\nTHE SOWER\n\nI\n\n    A Sower went forth to sow;\n    His eyes were dark with woe;\n    He crushed the flowers beneath his feet,\n    Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet,\n    That prayed for pity everywhere.\n    He came to a field that was harried\n    By iron, and to heaven laid bare;\n    He shook the seed that he carried\n    O'er that brown and bladeless place.\n    He shook it, as God shakes hail\n    Over a doomed land.\n    When lightnings interlace\n    The sky and the earth, and his wand\n    Of love is a thunder-flail.\n    Thus did that Sower sow;\n    His seed was human blood,\n    And tears of women and men.\n    And I, who near him stood,\n    Said: When the crop comes, then\n    There will be sobbing and sighing,\n    Weeping and wailing and crying,\n    Flame, and ashes, and woe.\n\nII\n\n    It was an autumn day\n    When next I went that way.\n    And what, think you, did I say,\n    What was it that I heard,\n    What music was in the air?\n    The song of a sweet-voiced bird?\n    Nay--but the songs of many\n    Thrilled through with praise and prayer.\n    Of all those voices not any\n    Were sad of memory;\n    But a sea of sunlight flowed,\n    A golden harvest glowed,\n    And I said, Thou only art wise,\n    God of the earth and skies!\n    And I praise thee, again and again,\n    For the Sower whose name is Pain.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n    Not disabled in the combat,\n      No, nor absent from your post;\n    You are doing gallant service\n      Where the Master needs you most.\n\n    It was noble to give battle\n      While the world stood cheering on;\n    It is nobler to lie patient,\n      Leaving half one's work undone.\n\n    And the King counts up his heroes\n      Where the desperate charge was led,\n    But he writes, \"My Best Beloved,\"\n      Over many a sick man's bed.\n\n\nI DO NOT ASK, O LORD\n\n    I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be\n            A pleasant road;\n    I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me\n            Aught of its load.\n\n    I do not ask that flowers should always spring\n            Beneath my feet;\n    I know too well the poison and the sting\n            Of things too sweet.\n\n    For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:\n            Lead me aright.\n    Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,\n            Through peace to light.\n\n    I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed\n            Full radiance here;\n    Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread\n            Without a fear.\n\n    I do not ask my cross to understand,\n            My way to see;\n    Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,\n            And follow Thee.\n\n    Joy is like restless day; but peace divine\n            Like quiet night.\n    Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine\n            Through peace to light.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\nANGELS OF GRIEF\n\n    With silence only as their benediction\n            God's angels come,\n    Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,\n            The soul sits dumb.\n\n    Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,\n            Our Father's will,\n    Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth,\n            Is mercy still.\n\n    Not upon us or ours the solemn angel\n            Hath evil wrought;\n    The funeral anthem is a glad evangel--\n            The good die not!\n\n    God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly\n            What he has given;\n    They live on earth in thought and deed as truly\n            As in his heaven.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nFURNACE AND HAMMER\n\n    Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,\n      God's breath upon the flame doth blow;\n    And all my heart in anguish shivers\n      And trembles at the fiery glow;\n    And yet I whisper--\"_As God will!_\"\n    And in his hottest fire stand still.\n\n    He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,\n      On the hard anvil, minded so\n    Into his own fair shape to beat it\n      With his great hammer, blow on blow;\n    And yet I whisper--\"_As God will!_\"\n    And at his heaviest blows hold still.\n\n    He takes my softened heart and beats it;\n      The sparks fly off at every blow;\n    He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it,\n      And lets it cool, and makes it glow;\n    And yet I whisper--\"_As God will!_\"\n    And in his mighty hand hold still.\n\n    Why should I murmur? for the sorrow\n      Thus only longer-lived would be;\n    Its end may come, and will to-morrow,\n      When God has done his work in me;\n    So I say trusting--\"_As God will!_\"\n    And, trusting to the end, hold still.\n\n    --Julius Sturm.\n\n\nWITH SELF DISSATISFIED\n\n    Not when with self dissatisfied,\n      O Lord, I lowly lie,\n    So much I need thy grace to guide,\n      And thy reproving eye,\n\n    As when the sound of human praise\n      Grows pleasant to my ear,\n    And in its light my broken ways\n      Fair and complete appear.\n\n    By failure and defeat made wise,\n      We come to know, at length,\n    What strength within our weakness lies,\n      What weakness in our strength;\n\n    What inward peace is born of strife\n      What power of being spent;\n    What wings unto our upward life\n      Is noble discontent.\n\n    O Lord, we need thy shaming look\n      That burns all low desire;\n    The discipline of thy rebuke\n      Shall be refining fire!\n\n    --Frederick Lucian Hosmer.\n\n\nTOO MUCH SELF\n\n    Some evil upon Rabia fell;\n    And one who loved and knew her well\n    Murmured that God with pain undue\n    Should strike a child so fond and true.\n    But she replied, \"Believe and trust\n    That all I suffer is most just.\n    I had, in contemplation, striven\n    To realize the joys of heaven;\n    I had extended fancy's flights\n    Through all that region of delights,\n    Had counted, till the numbers failed,\n    The pleasures on the blest entailed.\n    Had sounded the ecstatic rest\n    I should enjoy on Allah's breast--\n    And for these thoughts I now atone;\n    They were of something of my own,\n    And were not thoughts of him alone.\"\n\n    --From the Arabian.\n\n\nTHE GAIN OF LOSS\n\n    O thou so weary of thy self-denials,\n      And so impatient of thy little cross,\n    Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,\n      And count all earthly things a gainful loss?\n\n    Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,\n      \"Behold, we count them happy which endure\"?\n    What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,\n      Repass the stormy water to secure?\n\n    And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise\n      For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?\n    No hand can take away the treasure from us\n      That rests within the keeping of the Lord.\n\n\nA STRANGE BOON\n\n    Oft when of God we ask\n      For fuller, happier life,\n    He sets us some new task\n      Involving care and strife;\n    Is this the boon for which we sought?\n    Has prayer new trouble on us brought?\n\n    This is indeed the boon,\n      Though strange to us it seems;\n    We pierce the rock, and soon\n      The blessing on us streams;\n    For when we are the most athirst,\n    Then the clear waters on us burst.\n\n    We toil as in the field\n      Wherein, to us unknown,\n    A treasure lies concealed\n      Which may be all our own.\n    And shall we of the toil complain\n    That speedily will bring such gain?\n\n    We dig the wells of life,\n      And God the waters gives;\n    We win our way by strife,\n      Then he within us lives;\n    And only war could make us meet\n    For peace so sacred and so sweet.\n\n    --Thomas Toke Lynch.\n\n\nSTILL HOPE! STILL ACT!\n\n    Still hope! still act! Be sure that life\n      The source and strength of every good,\n    Wastes down in feeling's empty strife,\n      And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.\n\n    To toil in tasks however mean\n      For all we know of right and true--\n    In this alone our worth is seen,\n      'Tis this we were ordained to do.\n\n    So shalt thou find, in work and thought:\n      The peace that sorrow cannot give;\n    Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,\n      By thee let others nobler live.\n\n    Oh, wait not in the darksome forest,\n      Where thou must needs be left alone,\n    But e'en when memory is sorest,\n      Seek out a path and journey on!\n\n    Thou wilt have angels near above\n      By whom invisible aid is given;\n    They journey still on tasks of love,\n      And never rest except in heaven.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\nTHEY SHALL NOT OVERFLOW\n\n    In the floods of tribulation,\n      While the billows o'er me roll,\n    Jesus whispers consolation\n      And supports my fainting soul;\n            Sweet affliction\n      That brings Jesus to my soul.\n\n    Thus the lion yields me honey,\n      From the eater food is given;\n    Strengthened thus I still press forward,\n      Singing on my way to heaven.\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Helping speed me on to heaven.\n\n    So in darkest dispensations\n      Doth my faithful Lord appear,\n    With his richest consolations\n      To reanimate and cheer;\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Thus to bring my Saviour near.\n\n    Floods of tribulation heighten,\n      Billows still around me roar;\n    Those who know not Christ they frighten;\n      But my soul defies their power:\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Thus to bring my Saviour near.\n\n    In the sacred page recorded,\n      Thus His word securely stands;\n    \"Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee,\n      Naught shall pluck thee from my hands.\"\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Every word my love demands.\n\n    All I meet, I find, assists me\n      In my path to heavenly joy,\n    Where, though trials now attend me,\n      Trials never more annoy.\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Every promise gives me joy.\n\n    Wearing there a weight of glory,\n      Still the path I'll ne'er forget,\n    But, exulting, cry it led me\n      To my blessed Saviour's seat;\n            Sweet affliction,\n      Which hath brought me to his feet.\n\n    --Pearce.\n\n\n    Glory to God--to God! he saith,\n    Knowledge by suffering entereth,\n    And life is perfected by death.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\nHIS WAYS\n\n    I asked for grace to lift me high,\n      Above the world's depressing cares.\n    God sent me sorrows,--with a sigh\n      I said, He has not heard my prayers.\n\n    I asked for light, that I might see\n      My path along life's thorny road;\n    But clouds and darkness shadowed me\n      When I expected light from God.\n\n    I asked for peace, that I might rest\n      To think my sacred duties o'er,\n    When lo! such horrors filled my breast\n      As I had never felt before.\n\n    And O, I cried, can this be prayer\n      Whose plaints the steadfast mountains move?\n    Can this be heaven's prevailing care?\n      And, O my God, is this thy love?\n\n    But soon I found that sorrow, worn\n      As duty's garment, strength supplies,\n    And out of darkness meekly borne\n      Unto the righteous light doth rise.\n\n    And soon I found that fears which stirred\n      My startled soul God's will to do,\n    On me more real peace conferred\n      Than in life's calm I ever knew.\n\n    Then, Lord, in thy mysterious ways\n      Lead my dependent spirit on,\n    And whensoe'er it kneels and prays,\n      Teach it to say, \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,\n      Thine image seek, thy glory see;\n    Let every other wish and care\n      Be left confidingly to thee.\n\n    --John Samuel Bewley Monsell.\n\n\nCOMPENSATION\n\n    Not in each shell the diver brings to air\n    Is found the priceless pearl, but only where\n    Mangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,\n    The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.\n    O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;\n    The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\nTHE DARK ANGEL\n\n    Count each affliction, whether light or grave,\n      God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou\n      With courtesy receive him, rise and bow,\n    And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave\n    Permission first his heavenly feet to lave,\n      Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow\n      No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow\n    Or mar thy hospitality; no wave\n    Of mortal tumult to obliterate\n      Thy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be,\n    Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;\n      Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;\n    Strong to consume small troubles, to commend\n    Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.\n\n    --Aubrey Thomas De Vere.\n\n\nSONG--SERMON\n\n    Lord, what is man,\n    That thou art mindful of him?\n    Though in creation's van,\n    Lord, what is man?\n    He wills less than he can,\n    Lets his ideal scoff him!\n    Lord, what is man,\n    That thou art mindful of him?\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us?\n    Our sins breathe fire; thy fire returns to purge us.\n    Lord, what an alchemist art thou, whose skill\n    Transmutes to perfect good from perfect ill!\n\n    --Francis Quarles.\n\n\n    The path of sorrow, and that path alone,\n    Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;\n    No traveler e'er reached that blest abode\n    Who found not thorns and briers in his road.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nTAKE AWAY PAIN\n\n    The cry of man's anguish went up unto God:\n            \"Lord, take away pain--\n    The shadow that darkens the world thou hast made,\n            The close-coiling chain\n    That strangles the heart, the burden that weighs\n            On the wings that would soar--\n    Lord, take away pain from the world thou hast made,\n            That it love thee the more!\"\n\n    Then answered the Lord to the cry of his world:\n            \"Shall I take away pain\n    And with it the power of the soul to endure,\n            Made strong by the strain?\n    Shall I take away pity, that knits heart to heart,\n            And sacrifice high?\n    Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fire\n            White brows to the sky?\n    Shall I take away love, that redeems with a price\n            And smiles at its loss?\n    Can ye spare from your lives, that would climb unto mine,\n            The Christ on his cross?\"\n\n\n    'Tis not alone in the sunshine\n      Our lives grow pure and true;\n    There is growth as well in the shadow,\n      And pain has a work to do.\n\n    So it comes to me more and more\n      As I enter upon each new day:\n    The love of the Father eternal\n      Is over us all the way.\n\n\n    \"In pastures green\"? Not always; sometimes he\n    Who knoweth best in kindness leadeth me\n    In weary ways where heavy shadows be.\n\n    But where He leads me I can safely go,\n    And in the blest hereafter I shall know\n    Why in his wisdom he hath led me so.\n\n\nA SONG OF SOLACE\n\n    Thou sweet hand of God, that so woundest my heart,\n    Thou makest me smile while thou mak'st me to smart;\n    It seems as if God were at ball-play; and I,\n    The harder he strikes me the higher I fly.\n\n    I own it, he bruises, he pierces me sore;\n    But the hammer and chisel afflict me no more.\n    Shall I tell you the reason? It is that I see\n    The Sculptor will carve out an angel for me.\n\n    I shrink from no suffering, how painful soe'er,\n    When once I can feel that my God's hand is there;\n    For soft on the anvil the iron shall glow\n    When the Smith with his hammer deals blow upon blow.\n\n    God presses me hard, but he gives patience, too!\n    And I say to myself, \"'Tis no more than my due,\"\n    And no tone from the organ can swell on the breeze\n    Till the organist's fingers press down on the keys.\n\n    So come, then, and welcome the blow and the pain!\n    Without them no mortal to heaven can attain;\n    For what can the sheaves on the barn floor avail\n    Till the thresher shall beat out the chaff with his flail?\n\n    'Tis only a moment God chastens with pain;\n    Joy follows on sorrow like sunshine on rain.\n    Then bear thou what God on thy spirit shall lay;\n    Be dumb; but, when tempted to murmur, then pray.\n\n    --From the German.\n\n\n    When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent,\n    What time will then remain for murmurs or lament?\n\n\n    We must live through the weary winter\n      If we would value the spring;\n    And the woods must be cold and silent\n      Before the robins sing.\n    The flowers must lie buried in darkness\n      Before they can bud and bloom;\n    And the sweetest and warmest sunshine\n      Comes after the storm and gloom.\n\n    --Agnes L. Pratt.\n\n\n    We look along the shining ways,\n      To see the angel faces;\n    They come to us in darkest days\n      And in the blackest places.\n    The strongest hearts have strongest need,\n      To them the fiery trial;\n    Who walks a saint in word and deed\n      Is saint by self-denial.\n\n\n    Is it true, O Christ in heaven,\n      That the strongest suffer most,\n    That the wisest wander farthest,\n      And most hopelessly are lost?\n    That the mark of rank in nature\n      Is capacity for pain,\n    That the anguish of the singer\n      Makes the sweetness of the strain?\n\n\n    O, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor,\n    Lifelong we build these human natures up\n      Into a temple fit for freedom's shrine.\n    And trial ever consecrates the cup\n      Wherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    But all God's angels come to us disguised;\n    Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,\n    One after other lift their frowning masks,\n    And we behold the seraph's face beneath\n    All radiant with the glory and the calm\n    Of having looked upon the front of God.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    The man whom God delights to bless\n    He never curses with success.\n    Thrice happy loss which makes me see\n    My happiness is all in thee.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\n    Who ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half.\n      Who never failed, he never strove or sought.\n    Who never wept is stranger to a laugh\n      And he who never doubted never thought.\n\n    --J. B. Goode.\n\n\n    I thank thee, Lord, that all my joy\n      Is touched with pain;\n    That shadows fall on brightest hours;\n      That thorns remain;\n    So that earth's bliss may be my guide,\n      And not my chain.\n\n\n    Would'st thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?\n      Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?\n    Balm would'st thou gather for corroding grief?\n      Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.\n\n\n    Art thou weary, tender heart?\n          Be glad of pain;\n    In sorrow sweetest things will grow\n          As flowers in rain.\n    God watches; and thou wilt have sun\n    When clouds their perfect work have done.\n\n    --Lucy Larcom.\n\n\n    'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,\n    Whose golden rounds are our calamities\n    Whereon our firm feet planting nearer God\n    The spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    In the pleasant orchard closes,\n      \"God bless all our gains,\" say we;\n    But \"May God bless all our losses,\"\n      Better suits with our degree.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    Our toil is sweet with thankfulness,\n        Our burden is our boon;\n      The curse of earth's gray morning is\n        The blessing of its noon.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    I hold it true, whate'er befall,\n      I feel it, when I sorrow most;\n      'Tis better to have loved and lost\n    Than never to have loved at all.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    The fountain of joy is fed by tears,\n      And love is lit by the breath of sighs;\n    The deepest griefs and the wildest fears\n      Have holiest ministries.\n\n    --Josiah Gilbert Holland.\n\n\n    I held it truth, with him who sings\n      To one clear harp in divers tones\n      That men may rise on stepping stones\n    Of their dead selves to higher things.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    When God afflicts thee, think he hews a rugged stone,\n    Which must be shaped or else aside as useless thrown.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    My sorrows have not been so light\n      Thy chastening hand I could not trace,\n    Nor have my blessings been so great\n      That they have hid my Father's face.\n\n\n    Put pain from out the world, what room were left\n    For thanks to God, for love to man?\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,\n    But most chastises those whom most he likes.\n\n    --John Pomfret.\n\n\n    The good are better made by ill,\n    As odors crushed are sweeter still.\n\n    --Samuel Rogers.\n\n\n    Only those are crowned and sainted\n    Who with grief have been acquainted.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n\n\nLOVE\n\nDIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS\n\n\nLOVE'S FULFILLING\n\n            O Love is weak\n    Which counts the answers and the gains,\n    Weighs all the losses and the pains,\n    And eagerly each fond word drains\n            A joy to seek.\n\n            When Love is strong\n    It never tarries to take heed,\n    Or know if its return exceed\n    Its gifts; in its sweet haste no greed,\n            No strifes belong.\n\n            It hardly asks\n    If it be loved at all; to take\n    So barren seems, when it can make\n    Such bliss, for the beloved's sake,\n            Of bitter tasks.\n\n            Its ecstacy\n    Could find hard death so beauteous,\n    It sees through tears how Christ loved us,\n    And speaks, in saying \"I love thus,\"\n            No blasphemy.\n\n            So much we miss\n    If love is weak, so much we gain\n    If love is strong, God thinks no pain\n    Too sharp or lasting to ordain\n            To teach us this.\n\n    --Helen Hunt Jackson.\n\n\nLOVE\n\n    If suddenly upon the street\n    My gracious Saviour I should meet,\n    And he should say, \"As I love thee,\n    What love hast thou to offer me?\"\n    Then what could this poor heart of mine\n    Dare offer to that heart divine?\n\n    His eye would pierce my outward show,\n    His thought my inmost thought would know;\n    And if I said, \"I love thee, Lord,\"\n    He would not heed my spoken word,\n    Because my daily life would tell\n    If verily I loved him well.\n\n    If on the day or in the place\n    Wherein he met me face to face\n    My life could show some kindness done,\n    Some purpose formed, some work begun,\n    For his dear sake, then, it were meet\n    Love's gift to lay at Jesus' feet.\n\n    --Charles Francis Richardson.\n\n\nTHE COMMON OFFERING\n\n    It is not the deed we do--\n      Tho' the deed be never so fair--\n    But the _love_ that the dear Lord looketh for\n      Hidden with holy care\n      In the heart of the deed so fair.\n\n    The love is the priceless thing,\n      The treasure our treasure must hold\n    Or ever our Lord will take the gift,\n      Or tell the worth of the gold\n      By the love that cannot be told.\n\n    Behold us--the rich and the poor--\n      Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;\n    One consecrateth a precious coin,\n      One droppeth only a tear;\n      Look, Master, the love is here!\n\n    --Harriet McEwen Kimball.\n\n\n    True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,\n      For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;\n    Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tears\n      Shall wash thy love, and it will live again.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\nEXPECTING AND KNOWING\n\n    Faith, Hope and Love were questioned what they thought\n    Of future glory which religion taught;\n    Now Faith _believed_ it to be firmly true,\n    And Hope _expected_ so to find it too;\n    Love answered, smiling with unconscious glow,\n    \"Believe? expect? I _know_ it to be so.\"\n\n    --John Wesley.\n\n\nTHE LOVE OF GOD\n\n    Could we with ink the ocean fill,\n      Were the whole world of parchment made,\n    Were every single stick a quill,\n      Were every man a scribe by trade;\n    To write the love of God alone\n      Would drain the ocean dry;\n    Nor could the scroll contain the whole\n      Though stretched from sky to sky.\n\n\nTHE KINGDOM OF GOD\n\n    I say to thee--do thou repeat\n      To the first man thou mayest meet\n    In lane, highway, or open street--\n\n    That he, and we, and all men move\n      Under a canopy of love\n    As broad as the blue sky above;\n\n    That doubt and trouble, fear and pain\n      And anguish, all are shadows vain;\n    That death itself shall not remain;\n\n    That weary deserts we may tread,\n      A dreary labyrinth may thread,\n    Through dark ways under ground be led,\n\n    Yet, if we will our Guide obey,\n      The dreariest path, the darkest way,\n    Shall issue out in heavenly day,\n\n    And we, on divers shores now cast,\n      Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,\n    All in our Father's house at last.\n\n    And, ere thou leave him, say thou this\n      Yet one word more: They only miss\n    The winning of that final bliss\n\n    Who will not count it true that love,\n      Blessing, not cursing, rules above,\n    And that in it we live and move.\n\n    And one thing further make him know:\n      That to believe these things are so,\n    This firm faith never to forego,\n\n    Despite of all that seems at strife\n      With blessing, all with curses rife,\n    That _this_ is blessing, _this_ is life.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nGOD'S ALL-EMBRACING LOVE\n\n    Thou grace divine, encircling all,\n      A soundless, shoreless sea\n    Wherein at last our souls shall fall;\n      O love of God most free,\n\n    When over dizzy steeps we go\n      One soft hand blinds our eyes,\n    The other leads us, safe and slow,\n      O love of God, most wise!\n\n    And though we turn us from thy face,\n      And wander wide and long,\n    Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,\n      O love of God most strong!\n\n    The saddened heart, the restless soul,\n      The toil-worn frame and mind,\n    Alike confess thy sweet control,\n      O love of God most kind!\n\n    But not alone thy care we claim\n      Our wayward steps to win;\n    We know thee by a dearer name,\n      O love of God, within!\n\n    And filled and quickened by thy breath\n      Our souls are strong and free\n    To rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,\n      O love of God, to thee!\n\n    --Eliza Scudder.\n\n\n    Ah, how skillful grows the hand\n    That obeyeth Love's command!\n    It is the heart, and not the brain,\n    That to the highest doth attain,\n    And he who followeth Love's behest\n    Far excelleth all the rest.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    If I truly love the One\n      All the loves are mine;\n    Alien to my heart is none\n      And life grows divine.\n\n\nGOD'S MERCY\n\n    There's a wideness in God's mercy\n      Like the wideness of the sea;\n    There's a kindness in his justice\n      Which is more than liberty.\n    There is welcome for the sinner,\n      And more graces for the good;\n    There is mercy with the Saviour;\n      There is healing in his blood.\n\n    There is no place where earth's sorrows\n      Are more felt than up in heaven;\n    There is no place where earth's failings\n      Have such kindly judgment given.\n    There is plentiful redemption\n      In the blood that has been shed;\n    There is joy for all the members\n      In the sorrows of the Head.\n\n    For the love of God is broader\n      Than the measure of man's mind,\n    And the heart of the Eternal\n      Is most wonderfully kind.\n    If our love were but more simple,\n      We should take him at his word,\n    And our lives would be all sunshine\n      In the sweetness of our Lord.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nTHE LOVE THAT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE\n\n    Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art,\n      That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest;\n    Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,\n      And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.\n\n    It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;\n      I know the voice that speaks the \"It is I.\"\n    And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer\n      I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.\n\n    Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross;\n      Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;\n    All meaner love is perishable dross,\n      But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.\n\n    It blesses now, and shall forever bless;\n      It saves me now, and shall forever save;\n    It holds me up in days of helplessness,\n      It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.\n\n    Girt with the love of God on every side,\n      Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air,\n    I work or wait, still following my Guide,\n      Braving each foe, escaping every snare.\n\n    'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God,\n      That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song;\n    Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod,\n      Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.\n\n    I am all want and hunger; this faint heart\n      Pines for a fullness which it finds not here,\n    Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart,\n      Make room within for something yet more dear.\n\n    More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hour\n      More of thy glory, O my God and Lord!\n    More of thyself in all thy grace and power\n      More of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.\n\n\n    Love that asketh love again\n    Finds the barter naught but pain;\n    Love that giveth in full store,\n    Aye receives as much, and more.\n\n    Love, exacting nothing back,\n    Never knoweth any lack;\n    Love, compelling love to pay,\n    Sees him bankrupt every day.\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\n    Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint\n    And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nHIS BANNER OVER ME\n\n    Surrounded by unnumbered foes,\n    Against my soul the battle goes!\n    Yet, though I weary, sore distrest,\n    I know that I shall reach my rest.\n    I lift my tearful eyes above;\n    His banner over me is love.\n\n    Its sword my spirit will not yield,\n    Though flesh may faint upon the field;\n    He waves before my fading sight\n    The branch of palm--the crown of light;\n    I lift my brightening eyes above,\n    His banner over me is love.\n\n    My cloud of battle-dust may dim,\n    His veil of splendor curtain him,\n    And in the midnight of my fear\n    I may not feel him standing near;\n    But, as I lift mine eyes above,\n    His banner over me is love.\n\n    --Gerald Massey.\n\n\nTHE SPILT PEARLS\n\n    His courtiers of the caliph crave:\n      \"O say how this may be,\n    That of thy slaves this Ethiop slave\n      Is best beloved by thee?\n\n    \"For he is hideous as the night:\n      Yet when has ever chose\n    A nightingale for its delight\n      A hueless, scentless rose?\"\n\n    The caliph then: \"No features fair,\n      No comely mien are his;\n    Love is the beauty he doth wear;\n      And love his glory is.\n\n    \"Once when a camel of my train\n      There fell, in narrow street,\n    From broken casket rolled amain\n      Rich pearls before my feet.\n\n    \"I nodding to my slaves that I\n      Would freely give them these,\n    At once upon the spoil they fly\n      The costly boon to seize.\n\n    \"One only at my side remained--\n      Beside this Ethiop none;\n    He, moveless as the steed he reined,\n      Behind me sat alone.\n\n    \"'What will thy gain, good fellow, be,\n      Thus lingering at my side?'\n    'My king, that I shall faithfully\n      Have guarded thee,' he cried.\n\n    \"True servant's title he may wear,\n      He only, who has not,\n    For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,\n      His lord himself forgot!\"\n\n    So thou alone dost walk before\n      Thy God with perfect aim,\n    From him desiring nothing more\n      Beside himself to claim.\n\n    For if thou not to him aspire,\n      But to his gifts alone,\n    Not love, but covetous desire,\n      Has brought thee to his throne.\n\n    While such thy prayer; it climbs above\n      In vain--the golden key\n    Of God's rich treasure-house of love\n      Thine own will never be.\n\n    --Saadi, tr. by Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nTHE HIGHER PRIVILEGE\n\n    For some the narrow lane of \"must,\"\n      Be mine the big, broad \"may\";\n    Better to love--be happy--trust,\n      Than simply to obey.\n\n    O troubled over many things,\n      Choose thou the better part;\n    Service unconscious of itself,\n      And childlikeness of heart.\n\n    Why cast your burden on the Lord\n      And strive to drag it, too?\n    Call work an opportunity\n      Till it grows joy to you.\n\n    \"Ought\" is a servant's work, not mine;\n      I sign no grudging pledge;\n    I am a child and son; my toil\n      Is only privilege.\n\n    Who'd be a thrall to vain debates\n      Of \"were this right or wrong,\"\n    When he might toss these cares to God\n      And catch instead a song!\n\n    Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere,\n      Forgetful we can fly,\n    When the high zenith, \"God is Love,\"\n      Allures us to the sky?\n\n    The virtues hide their vanquished fires\n      Within that whiter flame,\n    Till conscience grows irrelevant,\n      And duty but a name!\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nTHE WIDOW'S OIL\n\n2 Kings 4. 1-6\n\n    Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,\n      It will not fail until\n    Thou failest vessels to provide\n      Which it may freely fill.\n\n    But then, when such are found no more,\n      Though flowing broad and free\n    Till then, and nourished from on high,\n      It straightway stanched will be.\n\n    Dig channels for the streams of love,\n      Where they may broadly run;\n    And love has overflowing streams\n      To fill them every one.\n\n    But if at any time thou cease\n      Such channels to provide,\n    The very founts of love for thee\n      Will soon be parched and dried.\n\n    For we must share, if we would keep,\n      That good thing from above;\n    Ceasing to give, we cease to have;\n      Such is the law of love.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\nONLY LOVE\n\n    Lord and Father, great and holy!\n      Fearing naught, we come to thee;\n    Fearing naught, though weak and lowly,\n      For thy love has made us free.\n    By the blue sky bending o'er us,\n      By the green earth's flowery zone,\n    Teach us, Lord, the angel chorus,\n      \"Thou art Love, and Love alone!\"\n\n    Though the worlds in flame should perish,\n      Suns and stars in ruin fall,\n    Trust in thee our hearts should cherish,\n      Thou to us be all in all.\n    And though heavens thy name are praising,\n      Seraphs hymn no sweeter tone\n    Than the strains our hearts are raising,\n      \"Thou art Love, and Love alone!\"\n\n    --Frederic William Farrar.\n\n\n    That love for one from which there doth not spring\n    Wide love for all is but a worthless thing.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nJOHN AND JESUS\n\n    A voice by Jordan's shore!\n      A summons stern and clear:\n    Reform! be just! and sin no more!\n      God's judgment draweth near!\n\n    A voice by Galilee,\n      A holier voice I hear;\n    Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see,\n      God's mercy draweth near!\n\n    O voice of Duty, still\n      Speak forth; I hear with awe.\n    In thee I own the sovereign will,\n      Obey the sovereign law.\n\n    Thou higher voice of Love!\n      Yet speak thy word in me;\n    Through Duty let me upward move\n      To thy pure liberty!\n\n    --Samuel Longfellow.\n\n\nWHAT REDRESS?\n\n    I pray you, do not use this thing\n    For vengeance; but if questioning\n    What wound, when dealt your humankind,\n    Goes deepest--surely he shall find\n    Who wrongs you, loving _him_ no less--\n    There's nothing hurts like tenderness.\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nFORGIVENESS\n\n    When on the fragrant sandal-tree\n      The woodman's axe descends,\n    And she who bloomed so beauteously\n      Beneath the keen stroke bends,\n    E'en on the edge that wrought her death\n    Dying she breathed her sweetest breath,\n    As if to token, in her fall,\n    Peace to her foes, and love to all.\n\n    How hardly man this lesson learns,\n    To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;\n    To see the blow, to feel the pain,\n    But render only love again!\n    This spirit not to earth is given--\n    ONE had it, but he came from heaven.\n    Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,\n    No curse he breathed, no plaint he made,\n    But when in death's deep pang he sighed\n    Prayed for his murderers, and died.\n\n\nLOVE COUNTETH NOT THE COST\n\n    There is an ancient story, simply told,\n    As ever were the holy things of old,\n    Of one who served through many a toiling year\n    To earn at last the joy he held most dear;\n    A weary term, to others strangely lost.\n    What mattered it? Love counteth not the cost.\n\n    Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skies\n    The faithful life hath, patient, won its prize;\n    Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swell\n    The soul, some Rachel waits beside the well;\n    For her the load is borne, the desert crossed.\n    What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.\n\n    This then of man--and what, dear Lord, of thee,\n    Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane--\n    Come from those regions infinite with peace,\n    To buy with such a price the world's release?\n    Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed,\n    \"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.\"\n\n    O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who stand\n    Beneath the pressure of thy gracious hand--\n    What is the service thou wouldst have from me?\n    What is the burden to be borne for thee?\n    I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust,\n    \"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.\"\n\n\nLOVE OF HOME\n\n    Thy voice is heard through rolling drums\n      That beat to battle where he stands;\n    Thy face across his fancy comes,\n      And gives the battle to his hands.\n    A moment, while the trumpets blow,\n      He sees his brood about thy knee;\n    The next, like fire he meets the foe,\n      And strikes him dead for thine and thee.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nBE KIND TO THYSELF\n\n    Comes a message from above--\n    \"As thyself thy neighbor love.\"\n    With myself so vexed I grow--\n    Of my weakness weary so;\n    Easier may I tolerate\n    My neighbor than myself not hate.\n\n    Take not part of thee for whole;\n    Thou art neighbor to thy soul;\n    The ray from heaven that gilds the clod\n    Love thou, for it comes from God.\n    Bear thou with thy human clay,\n    Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.\n\n    --Edward Sandford Martin.\n\n\nLOVE AND LIGHT\n\n    Through love to light! oh wonderful the way\n    That leads from darkness to the perfect day!\n    From darkness and from sorrow of the night\n    To morning that comes singing o'er the sea,\n    Through love to light! Through light, O God, to thee,\n    Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\nSYMPATHETIC LOVE\n\n    O Love divine, that stooped to share\n      Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear!\n    On thee we cast each earthborn care;\n      We smile at pain while thou art near.\n\n    Though long the weary way we tread,\n      And sorrow crown each lingering year,\n    No path we shun, no darkness dread,\n      Our hearts still whispering, \"Thou art near!\"\n\n    When drooping pleasure turns to grief\n      And trembling faith is changed to fear,\n    The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,\n      Shall softly tell us, \"Thou art near!\"\n\n    On thee we fling our burdening woe,\n      O Love divine, forever dear;\n    Content to suffer while we know,\n      Living and dying, thou art near!\n\n    --Oliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n\n    Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;\n    Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.\n    Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;\n    Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    For, lo! in hidden deep accord\n    The servant may be like his Lord.\n    And thy love, our love shining through,\n    May tell the world that thou art true,\n    Till those who see us see thee too.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\n    Who loves, no law can ever bind;\n      He'd cleave to God as well\n    Were there no golden heaven's reward,\n      And no dark cave of hell.\n\n    --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win?\n    Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n    For others' sake to make life sweet\n    Though thorns may pierce your weary feet;\n    For others' sake to walk each day\n    As if joy helped you all the way,\n    While in the heart may be a grave\n    That makes it hard to be so brave.\n          Herein, I think, is love.\n\n\n    Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;\n    If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning\n    Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of\n      refreshment.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    Ah, yes! I would a phoenix be,\n    And burn my heart in Deity!\n    Then I should dwell by his dear side,\n    And in the self of God abide.\n\n    --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe:\n    Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.\n\n    --Richard Chenevix Trench.\n\n\n\n\nHOPE\n\nPROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM\n\n\nTHE PROMISED LAND--TO-MORROW\n\n    High hopes that burned like stars sublime\n      Go down the heavens of freedom,\n    And true hearts perish in the time\n      We bitterliest need them;\n    But never sit we down and say,\n      There's nothing left but sorrow--\n    We walk the wilderness to-day,\n      The Promised Land to-morrow.\n\n    Our birds of song are silent now,\n      There are no flowers blooming,\n    But life beats in the frozen bough\n      And freedom's spring is coming.\n    And freedom's tide comes up alway\n      Though we may stand in sorrow;\n    And our good bark, aground to-day,\n      Shall float again to-morrow.\n\n    Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes\n      With shining futures glisten;\n    Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies:\n      Lean out your souls and listen!\n    The earth rolls freedom's radiant way,\n      And ripens with her sorrow;\n    And 'tis the martyrdom to-day\n      Brings victory to-morrow.\n\n    Through all the long night of the years\n      The people's cry ascended;\n    The earth was wet with blood and tears\n      Ere their meek sufferings ended.\n    The few shall not forever sway,\n      The many toil in sorrow,\n    The bars of hell are strong to-day\n      But Christ shall rise to-morrow.\n\n    'Tis weary watching wave on wave,\n      But still the tide heaves onward;\n    We climb like corals, grave on grave,\n      But build a pathway sunward;\n    We're beaten back in many a fray,\n      But strength divine will borrow--\n    And where our vanguard rests to-day\n      Our rear shall march to-morrow.\n\n    Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire;\n      With energies immortal,\n    To many a haven of desire\n      Your yearning opes a portal.\n    And though age wearies by the way,\n      And hearts break in the furrow,\n    We sow the golden grain to-day--\n      The harvest comes to-morrow.\n\n    --Gerald Massey.\n\n\nTHE RIGHT MUST WIN\n\n    O it is hard to work for God,\n      To rise and take his part\n    Upon this battle-field of earth,\n      And not sometimes lose heart!\n\n    He hides himself so wondrously,\n      As though there were no God;\n    He is least seen when all the powers\n      Of ill are most abroad.\n\n    Or He deserts us at the hour\n      The fight is all but lost;\n    And seems to leave us to ourselves\n      Just when we need him most.\n\n    Yes, there is less to try our faith,\n      In our mysterious creed,\n    Than in the godless look of earth\n      In these our hours of need.\n\n    Ill masters good, good seems to change\n      To ill with greatest ease;\n    And, worst of all, the good with good\n      Is at cross purposes.\n\n    It is not so, but so it looks,\n      And we lose courage then;\n    And doubts will come if God hath kept\n      His promises to men.\n\n    Ah! God is other than we think;\n      His ways are far above;\n    Far beyond reason's height, and reached\n      Only by childlike love.\n\n    The look, the fashion, of God's ways\n      Love's lifelong study are;\n    She can be bold, and guess, and act\n      When reason would not dare.\n\n    She has a prudence of her own;\n      Her step is firm and free.\n    Yet there is cautious science, too\n      In her simplicity.\n\n    Workman of God! oh, lose not heart,\n      But learn what God is like,\n    And in the darkest battle-field,\n      Thou shalt know where to strike.\n\n    Thrice blest is he to whom is given\n      The instinct that can tell\n    That God is on the field when he\n      Is most invisible.\n\n    Blest, too, is he who can divine\n      Where real right doth lie,\n    And dares to take the side that seems\n      Wrong to man's blindfold eye.\n\n    Then learn to scorn the praise of men\n      And learn to lose with God;\n    For Jesus won the world through shame\n      And beckons thee his road.\n\n    God's glory is a wondrous thing,\n      Most strange in all its ways,\n    And, of all things on earth, least like\n      What men agree to praise.\n\n    God's justice is a bed where we\n      Our anxious hearts may lay,\n    And, weary with ourselves, may sleep\n      Our discontent away.\n\n    For right is right, since God is God,\n      And right the day must win;\n    To doubt would be disloyalty,\n      To falter would be sin.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n            Let us believe\n    That there is hope for all the hearts that grieve;\n            That somewhere night\n    Drifts to a morning beautiful with light,\n            And that the wrong\n    Though now it triumphs, wields no scepter long.\n            But right will reign\n    Throned where the waves of error beat in vain.\n\n    --Frank L. Stanton.\n\n\n    To change and change is life; to move and never rest;\n    Not what we are, but what we hope, is best.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nHAVE HOPE\n\n    Have Hope! it is the brightest star\n      That lights life's pathway down:\n    A richer, purer gem than decks\n      An Eastern monarch's crown.\n    The Midas that may turn to joy\n      The grief-fount of the soul;\n    That paints the prize and bids thee press\n      With fervor to the goal.\n\n    Have Hope! as the tossed mariner\n      Upon the wild sea driven\n    With rapture hails the polar star--\n      His guiding light to haven--\n    So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide\n      Along life's stormy road,\n    And as a sacred beacon stand\n      To point thee to thy God.\n\n    --B. A. G. Fuller.\n\n\nWAITING\n\n    Serene, I fold my hands and wait,\n      Nor care for wind or tide or sea;\n    I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,\n      For, lo! my own shall come to me.\n\n    I stay my haste, I make delays,\n      For what avails this eager pace?\n    I stand amid the eternal ways,\n      And what is mine shall know my face.\n\n    Asleep, awake, by night or day,\n      The friends I seek are seeking me;\n    No wind can drive my bark astray,\n      Nor change the tide of destiny.\n\n    What matter if I stand alone?\n      I wait with joy the coming years;\n    My heart shall reap where it has sown\n      And garner up its fruit of tears.\n\n    The waters know their own, and draw\n      The brook that springs in yonder height;\n    So flows the good, with equal law,\n      Unto the soul of pure delight.\n\n    The stars come nightly to the sky;\n      The tidal wave unto the sea;\n    Nor time nor space, nor deep nor high,\n      Can keep my own away from me.\n\n    --John Burroughs.\n\n\nTHE LARGER HOPE\n\n    O, yet we trust that somehow good\n      Will be the final goal of ill,\n      To pangs of nature, sins of will,\n    Defects of doubt and taints of blood;\n\n    That nothing walks with aimless feet;\n      That not one life shall be destroyed,\n      Or cast as rubbish to the void\n    When God hath made the pile complete;\n\n    That not a worm is cloven in vain;\n      That not a moth with vain desire\n      Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,\n    Or but subserves another's gain.\n\n    Behold, we know not anything;\n      I can but trust that good shall fall\n      At last--far off--at last, to all,\n    And every winter change to spring.\n\n    So runs my dream; but what am I?\n      An infant crying in the night;\n      An infant crying for the light,\n    And with no language but a cry.\n\n    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .\n\n    I falter where I firmly trod,\n      And falling with my weight of cares\n      Upon the great world's altar-stairs\n    That slope through darkness up to God.\n\n    I stretch lame hands of faith and grope,\n      And gather dust and chaff, and call\n      To what I feel is Lord of all,\n    And faintly trust the larger hope.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nDESPONDENCY REBUKED\n\n    Say not, the struggle naught availeth;\n      The labor and the wounds are vain;\n    The enemy faints not, nor faileth;\n      And as things have been they remain.\n\n    If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;\n      It may be--in yon smoke concealed--\n    Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,\n      And, but for you, possess the field.\n\n    For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,\n      Seem here no painful inch to gain,\n    Far back, through creeks and inlets making,\n      Comes, silent, flooding in, the main.\n\n    And not by eastern windows only,\n      When daylight comes, comes in the light;\n    In front the sun climbs slow--how slowly!\n      But westward, look, the land is bright!\n\n    --Arthur Hugh Clough.\n\n\nCOMMIT THY WAY\n\n    Commit thy way to God,\n      The weight which makes thee faint;\n    Worlds are to him no load,\n      To him breathe thy complaint.\n    He who for winds and clouds\n      Maketh a pathway free,\n    Through wastes or hostile crowds,\n      Can make a way for thee.\n\n    Thou must in him be blest\n      Ere bliss can be secure;\n    On his works must thou rest\n      If thy work shall endure.\n    To anxious, prying thought,\n      And weary, fretting care,\n    The highest yieldeth naught:\n      He giveth all to prayer.\n\n    Father, thy faithful love,\n      Thy mercy, wise and mild,\n    Sees what will blessing prove,\n      Or what will hurt thy child;\n    And what thy wise foreseeing\n      Doth for thy children choose\n    Thou bringest into being,\n      Nor sufferest them to lose.\n\n    Hope, then, though woes be doubled;\n      Hope and be undismayed;\n    Let not thy heart be troubled,\n      Nor let it be afraid.\n    This prison where thou art--\n      Thy God will break it soon,\n    And flood with light thy heart\n      In his own blessed noon.\n\n    Up! up! the day is breaking;\n      Say to thy cares, Good night!\n    Thy troubles from thee shaking\n      Like dreams in day's fresh light.\n    Thou wearest not the crown,\n      Nor the best course can tell;\n    God sitteth on the throne\n      And guideth all things well.\n\n    --Paul Gerhardt, tr. by Elizabeth Rundle Charles.\n\n\nTHE SILVER LINING\n\n    There's never a day so sunny\n      But a little cloud appears,\n    There's never a life so happy\n      But has its time of tears;\n    Yet the sun shines out the brighter\n      Whenever the tempest clears.\n\n    There's never a garden growing\n      With roses in every plot;\n    There's never a heart so hardened\n      But has one tender spot;\n    We have only to prune the border\n      To find the forget-me-not.\n\n    There's never a sun that rises\n      But we know 'twill set at night;\n    The tints that gleam in the morning\n      At evening are just as bright;\n    And the hour that is the sweetest\n      Is between the dark and light.\n\n    There is never a cup so pleasant\n      But has bitter with the sweet;\n    There is never a path so rugged,\n      Bearing not the print of feet,\n    But we have a helper furnished\n      For the trials we may meet.\n\n    There is never a way so narrow\n      But the entrance is made straight,\n    There is always a guide to point us\n      To the \"little wicket gate.\"\n    And the angels will be nearest\n      To a soul that's desolate.\n\n    There is never a heart so haughty\n      But will some day bow and kneel;\n    There is never a heart so wounded\n      That the Saviour cannot heal;\n    There is many a lowly forehead\n      Bearing now the hidden seal.\n\n    There's never a dream so happy\n      But the waking makes us sad;\n    There's never a dream of sorrow\n      But the waking makes us glad;\n    We shall look some day with wonder\n      At the troubles we have had.\n\n\n    Yet sometimes glimmers on my sight,\n    Through present wrong, the eternal right;\n    And, step by step, since time began,\n    I see the steady gain of man.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nFARTHER ON\n\n    I hear it singing, singing sweetly,\n      Softly in an undertone,\n    Singing as if God had taught it,\n      \"It is better farther on!\"\n\n    Night and day it sings the song,\n      Sings it while I sit alone,\n    Sings so that the heart may hear it,\n      \"It is better farther on!\"\n\n    Sits upon the grave and sings it,\n      Sings it when the heart would groan,\n    Sings it when the shadows darken,\n      \"It is better farther on!\"\n\n    Farther on? How much farther?\n      Count the milestones one by one?\n    No! no counting--only trusting,\n      \"It is better farther on!\"\n\n\nNEW EVERY MORNING\n\n    Every day is a fresh beginning,\n      Every morn is the world made new;\n    You who are weary of sorrow and sinning,\n      Here is a beautiful hope for you--\n      A hope for me and a hope for you.\n\n    All the past things are past and over,\n      The tasks are done and the tears are shed;\n    Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover;\n      Yesterday's wounds, which smarted and bled,\n      Are healed with the healing which night has shed.\n\n    Yesterday is a part of forever,\n      Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight;\n    With glad days, and sad days, and bad days, which never\n      Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight,\n      Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.\n\n    Let them go, since we cannot relieve them;\n      Cannot undo, and cannot atone;\n    God in his mercy, receive, forgive them!\n      Only the new days are our own.\n      To-day is ours, and to-day alone.\n\n    Here are the skies all burnished brightly,\n      Here is the spent earth all reborn;\n    Here are the tired limbs springing lightly\n      To face the sun, and to share with the morn\n      In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.\n\n    Every day is a fresh beginning;\n      Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,\n    And, spite of all sorrow and old sinning,\n      And puzzle forecasted, and possible pain,\n      Take heart with the day, and begin again.\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\nCHEER UP\n\n    Never go gloomily, man with a mind;\n      Hope is a better companion than fear;\n    Providence, ever benignant and kind,\n      Gives with a smile what you take with a tear.\n      All will be right; look to the light;\n    Morning is ever the daughter of night;\n    All that was black will be all that is bright;\n        Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.\n\n    Many a foe is a friend in disguise,\n      Many a sorrow a blessing most true,\n    Helping the heart to be happy and wise,\n      Bringing true love and joys ever new.\n      Stand in the van; strive like a man;\n    This is the bravest and cleverest plan--\n    Trusting in God while you do what you can,\n        Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.\n\n\nPROGRESS\n\n    Idly as thou, in that old day\n      Thou mournest, did thy sire repine;\n    So, in his time, thy child grown gray\n      Shall sigh for thine.\n\n    But life shall on and upward go;\n      Th' eternal step of Progress beats\n    To that great anthem, calm and slow,\n      Which God repeats.\n\n    Take heart! The Waster builds again;\n      A charmed life old Goodness hath;\n    The tares may perish, but the grain\n      Is not for death.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nTHE VEILED FUTURE\n\n    Veiled the future comes, refusing,\n      To be seen, like Isaac's bride\n    Whom the lonely man met musing\n      In the fields at eventide.\n\n    Round him o'er the darkening waste\n      Deeper shades of evening fall,\n    And behind him in the past\n      Mother Sarah's funeral.\n\n    Mother Sarah being dead,\n      There comes his veiled destiny;\n    The veiled Rebecca he must wed\n      Whatsoe'er her features be.\n\n    On he walks in silent prayer,\n      Bids the veiled Rebecca hail,\n    Doubting not she will prove fair\n      When at length she drops the veil.\n\n    When the veil is dropped aside,\n      Dropped in Mother Sarah's tent,\n    Oh! she is right fair, this bride\n      Whom his loving God has sent.\n\n    To those walking 'twixt the two--\n      'Twixt the past with pleasures dead\n    And the future veiled from view--\n      The veiled future thou must wed;\n\n    Walk like Isaac, praying God;\n      Walk by faith and not by sight;\n    And though darker grows the road\n      Doubt not all will yet come right.\n\n    Things behind forgetting, hail\n      Every future from above.\n    Doubt not when it drops the veil\n      'Twill be such as thou wouldst love.\n\n    Till at death-eve, when the past\n      Rings dear Mother Earth's own knells,\n    Bridal heaven unveils at last\n      With a peal of marriage bells.\n\n    --William Robertson.\n\n\n    The night is mother of the day,\n      The winter of the spring;\n    And ever upon old decay\n      The greenest mosses cling.\n    Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,\n      Through showers the sunbeams fall;\n    For God, who loveth all his works,\n      Has left his hope with all.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nIMAGINARY EVILS\n\n    Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;\n      Leave things of the future to fate;\n    What's the use to anticipate sorrow?\n      Life's troubles come never too late!\n    If to hope overmuch be an error,\n      'Tis one that the wise have preferred;\n    And how often have hearts been in terror\n      Of evils that never occurred.\n\n    Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee;\n      Permit not suspicion and care\n    With invisible bonds to acclaim thee,\n      But bear what God gives thee to bear.\n    By his spirit supported and gladdened,\n      Be ne'er by forebodings deterred;\n    But think how oft hearts have been saddened\n      By fear of what never occurred.\n\n    Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;\n      Short and dark as our life may appear\n    We may make it still darker by sorrow,\n      Still shorter by folly and fear!\n    Half our troubles are half our invention,\n      And often from blessings conferred\n    Have we shrunk, in the wild apprehension\n      Of evils that never occurred.\n\n    --Charles Swain.\n\n\nTHE MORNING STAR\n\n    There is a morning star, my soul!\n      There is a morning star;\n    'Twill soon be near and bright, my soul,\n      Though now it seem so dim and far.\n    And when time's stars have come and gone,\n    And every mist of earth has flown,\n      That better star shall rise\n      On this world's clouded skies\n          To shine forever!\n\n    The night is well-nigh spent, my soul!\n      The night is well-nigh spent;\n    And soon above our heads shall rise\n      A glorious firmament.\n    A sky all clear and glad and bright,\n    The Lamb once slain its perfect light,\n      A star without a cloud,\n      Whose light no mists enshroud,\n          Descending never!\n\n\nTHREE LESSONS\n\n    There are three lessons I would write--\n      Three words as with a burning pen,\n    In tracings of eternal light,\n      Upon the hearts of men.\n\n    Have Hope. Though clouds environ now,\n      And gladness hides her face in scorn,\n    Put thou the shadow from thy brow--\n      No night but hath its morn.\n\n    Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven--\n      The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth--\n    Know this: God rules the host of heaven,\n      The inhabitants of earth.\n\n    Have Love. Not love alone for one,\n      But man as man thy brother call;\n    And scatter like the circling sun\n      Thy charities on all.\n\n    Thus grave these lessons on thy soul--\n      Faith, Hope, and Love--and thou shalt find\n    Strength when life's surges rudest roll,\n      Light when thou else wert blind.\n\n    --Johann Christopher Friedrich von Schiller.\n\n\n    Knowing this, that never yet\n    Share of truth was vainly set\n      In the world's wide fallow;\n    After hands shall sow the seed,\n    After hands from hill and mead\n      Reap the harvests yellow.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n                  Yet I argue not\n    Against Thy hand or will, nor bate a jot\n    Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer\n      Right onward.\n\n    --John Milton.\n\n\n    The world is growing better,\n      No matter what they say;\n    The light is shining brighter\n      In one refulgent ray;\n    And though deceivers murmur,\n      And turn another way,\n    Yet still the world grows better\n      And better every day.\n\n\n    Never give up! it is wiser and better\n      Always to hope than once to despair;\n    Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter,\n      And break the dark spell of tyrannical care;\n    Never give up, or the burden may sink you--\n      Providence kindly has mingled the cup;\n    And in all trials and troubles bethink you\n      The watchword of life must be--Never give up.\n\n\n    It's wiser being good than bad;\n    It's safer being meek than fierce;\n    It's fitter being sane than mad.\n      My own hope is a sun will pierce\n    The thickest cloud earth ever stretched;\n      That, after Last, returns the First,\n    Though a wide compass round be fetched;\n      That what began best, can't end worst,\n      Nor what God blest once, prove accurst.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Hope, Christian soul! in every stage\n    Of this thine earthly pilgrimage,\n    Let heavenly joy thy thoughts engage;\n          Abound in hope.\n    Hope through the watches of the night;\n    Hope till the morrow brings the light;\n    Hope till thy faith be lost in sight;\n          Abound in hope.\n\n\n    God works in all things; all obey\n      His first propulsion from the night;\n    Wake thou and watch! the world is gray\n      With morning light.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    When the sun of joy is hidden,\n      And the sky is overcast,\n    Just remember--light is coming,\n      And the storm won't always last.\n\n\n    The mist denies the mountains;\n      The wind forbids the sea;\n    But, mist or wind, I go to find\n      The day that calls to me.\n\n    For there are mornings yonder\n      And noons that call and call;\n    And there's a day with arms outheld,\n      That waits beyond them all.\n\n    --Josephine Preston Peabody.\n\n\n    Open the door of your hearts, my lads,\n      To the angel of Love and Truth\n    When the world is full of unnumbered joys,\n      In the beautiful dawn of youth.\n    Casting aside all things that mar,\n      Saying to wrong, Depart!\n    To the voices of hope that are calling you\n      Open the door of your heart.\n\n    --Edward Everett Hale.\n\n\n    A little bit of hope\n      Makes a rainy day look gay;\n    A little bit of charity\n      Makes glad a weary way!\n\n\n    Hope, child, to-morrow, and to-morrow still,\n      And every morrow hope; trust while you live.\n    Hope! each time the dawn doth heaven fill,\n      Be there to ask as God is there to give.\n\n    --Victor Hugo.\n\n\n\n\nFAITH\n\nASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF\n\n\nTHE ETERNAL GOODNESS\n\n    I bow my forehead to the dust,\n      I veil mine eyes for shame,\n    And urge, in trembling self-distrust,\n      A prayer without a claim.\n    No offering of mine own I have,\n      Nor works my faith to prove;\n    I can but give the gifts he gave,\n      And plead his love for love.\n\n    I dimly guess, from blessings known,\n      Of greater out of sight;\n    And, with the chastened psalmist, own\n      His judgments too are right.\n    And if my heart and flesh are weak\n      To bear an untried pain,\n    The bruised reed he will not break,\n      But strengthen and sustain.\n\n    I know not what the future hath\n      Of marvel or surprise,\n    Assured alone that life and death\n      His mercy underlies.\n    And so beside the silent sea\n      I wait the muffled oar;\n    No harm from him can come to me\n      On ocean or on shore.\n\n    I know not where his islands lift\n      Their fronded palms in air;\n    I only know I cannot drift\n      Beyond his love and care.\n    And thou, O Lord, by whom are seen\n      Thy creatures as they be,\n    Forgive me if too close I lean\n      My human heart on thee.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Forgive us, Lord, our little faith;\n      And help us all, from morn till e'en,\n    Still to believe that lot the best\n      Which is, not that which might have been.\n\n    And grant we may so pass the days\n      The cradle and the grave between,\n    That death's dark hour not darker be\n      For thoughts of what life might have been.\n\n\nTHE ONE THING NEEDFUL\n\n    My prayer to the promise shall cling--\n      I will not give heed to a doubt;\n    For I ask for the one needful thing\n      Which I cannot be happy without:\n\n    A spirit of lowly repose\n      In the love of the Lamb that was slain;\n    A heart to be touched with his woes,\n      And a care not to grieve him again;\n\n    The peace that my Saviour has bought,\n      The cheerfulness nothing can dim,\n    The love that can bring every thought\n      Into perfect obedience to him;\n\n    The wisdom his mercy to own\n      In the way he directs me to take--\n    To glory in Jesus alone,\n      And to love and do good for his sake.\n\n    All this thou hast offered to me\n      In the promise whereon I will rest;\n    For faith, O my Saviour! in thee,\n      Is the substance of all my request.\n\n    Thy word has commanded my prayer,\n      Thy Spirit has taught me to pray;\n    And all my unholy despair\n      Is ready to vanish away.\n\n    Thou wilt not be weary of me;\n      Thy promise my faith shall sustain;\n    And soon, very soon, shall I see\n      I have not been asking in vain.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\n    Ah, God! I have not had thee day and night\n    In thought, nor magnified thy name aright,\n    Nor lauded thee, nor glorified, nor laid\n    Upon thine altars one poor kusa-blade!\n    Yet now, when I seek refuge, Lord! with thee,\n    I ask, and thou wilt give, all good to me.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.\n\n\nABOVE ALL, THE SHIELD\n\n      Faith fails;\n    Then in the dust\n    Lie failing rest and light and trust.\n    So doth the troubled soul itself distress,\n    And choke the fountain in the wilderness.\n      I care not what your peace assails!\n      The deep root is, faith fails.\n\n      Faith fails\n    When in the breast\n    The Lord's sweet presence doth not rest;\n    For who believes, clouds cannot make afraid;\n    He knows the sun doth shine behind the shade;\n      He rides at anchor through the gales.\n      Do you not so? Faith fails.\n\n      Faith fails;\n    Its foes alarm,\n    And persecution's threats disarm;\n    False friends can scarcely wish it a good day,\n    Before it taketh fright and shrinks away.\n      When God doth guard, what foe prevails?\n      Why then the fear? Faith fails.\n\n      Faith fails;\n    Else cares would die,\n    And we should on God's care rely.\n    Man for the coming day doth grieve and fret,\n    And all past days doth sinfully forget.\n      For every beast God's care avails;\n      Why not for us? Faith fails.\n\n      Faith fails;\n    Then cometh fear,\n    If sickness comes, if death is near.\n    O man, why is it, when the times are bad\n    And the days evil, that thy face is sad?\n      How is it that thy courage quails?\n      It must be this: Faith fails.\n\n      My God!\n    Let my faith be\n    Living, and working actively\n    With hope and joy, that death may not surprise.\n    So let them sweetly close my eyes;\n      The Christian's life to death may yield--\n      Hope stands; faith has the field.\n\n    --S. C. Schoener.\n\n\nLOOKING UNTO GOD\n\n    I look to Thee in every need,\n      And never look in vain;\n    I feel thy strong and tender love,\n      And all is well again:\n    The thought of thee is mightier far\n    Than sin and pain and sorrow are.\n\n    Discouraged in the work of life,\n      Disheartened by its load,\n    Shamed by its failures or its fears,\n      I sink beside the road;\n    But let me only think of Thee,\n    And then new heart springs up in me.\n\n    Thy calmness bends serene above\n      My restlessness to still;\n    Around me flows thy quickening life,\n      To nerve my faltering will;\n    Thy presence fills my solitude;\n    Thy providence turns all to good.\n\n    Embosomed deep in Thy dear love,\n      Held in thy law, I stand;\n    Thy hand in all things I behold,\n      And all things in thy hand;\n    Thou leadest me by unsought ways,\n    And turn'st my mourning into praise.\n\n    --Samuel Longfellow.\n\n\nFAITH\n\n    If I could feel my hand, dear Lord, in thine,\n            And surely know\n    That I was walking in the light divine\n            Through weal or woe;\n\n    If I could hear thy voice in accents sweet\n            But plainly say,\n    To guide my groping, wandering feet,\n            \"This is the way;\"\n\n    I would so gladly walk therein; but now\n            I cannot see.\n    Oh, give me, Lord, the faith to humbly bow\n            And trust in thee!\n\n    There is no _faith_ in seeing. Were we led\n            Like children here,\n    And lifted over rock and river-bed,\n            No care, no fear,\n\n    We should be useless in the busy throng;\n            Life's work undone;\n    Lord, make us brave and earnest, true and strong,\n            Till heaven is won.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nDOUBTING NOTHING\n\nActs 10. 9-20.\n\n    Not to thy saints of old alone dost Thou\n      In heavenly trance make known thy perfect will,\n      But to each hungry soul thy love would fill--\n    Descending out of heaven, we wist not how--\n    Comes by thy grace the holy vision now;\n      While we whose hearts should with the message thrill\n      Cry \"Common and unholy!\" to thee still,\n    And, uninspired, in grief before thee bow.\n\n    O Thou, whose Own the way we fare hath trod,\n      Give to thy children quick, discerning eyes\n    To see in life upspringing from the sod\n      All the divineness that within it lies,\n      Till humble service lift us to the skies\n    Who, \"doubting nothing,\" seek thy will, O God!\n\n    --Louise Manning Hodgkins.\n\n\nTHE EYE OF FAITH\n\n    I do not ask for earthly store\n      Beyond a day's supply;\n    I only covet more and more\n      The clear and single eye.\n    To see my duty face to face\n    And trust the Lord for daily grace.\n\n    I care not for the empty show\n      That thoughtless worldlings see;\n    I crave to do the best I know,\n      And leave the rest with thee;\n    Well satisfied that sweet reward\n    Is sure to those who trust the Lord.\n\n    Whate'er the crosses mine shall be,\n      I will not dare to shun;\n    I only ask to live for thee,\n      And that thy will be done;\n    Thy will, O Lord, be mine each day,\n    While passing on my homeward way.\n\n    And when at last, my labor o'er,\n      I cross the narrow sea,\n    Grant, Lord, that on the other shore\n      My soul may dwell with thee,\n    And learn what here I cannot know:\n    Why thou hast ever loved me so.\n\n    --J. J. Maxfield.\n\n\nHAVE FAITH IN GOD\n\n    Have faith in God! for he who reigns on high\n    Hath borne thy grief and hears the suppliant's sigh,\n    Still to his arms, thine only refuge, fly.\n              Have faith in God!\n\n    Fear not to call on him, O soul distressed!\n    Thy sorrow's whisper wooes thee to his breast;\n    He who is oftenest there is oftenest blest.\n              Have faith in God!\n\n    Lean not on Egypt's reeds; slake not thy thirst\n    At earthly cisterns. Seek the kingdom first.\n    Though man and Satan fight thee with their worst,\n              Have faith in God!\n\n    Go tell him all! The sigh thy bosom heaves\n    Is heard in heaven. Strength and grace he gives\n    Who gave himself for thee. Our Jesus lives;\n              Have faith in God!\n\n\nFAITH IN GOD\n\n    Though time may dig the grave of creeds,\n      And dogmas wither in the sod,\n    My soul will keep the thought it needs--\n      Its swerveless faith in God.\n\n    No matter how the world began,\n      Nor where the march of science goes,\n    My trust in something more than man\n      Shall help me bear life's woes.\n\n    Let progress take the props away,\n      And moldering superstitions fall;\n    Still God retains his regal sway--\n      The Maker of us all.\n\n    Why cavil over that or this?\n      One thought is vast enough for me--\n    The great Creator was, and is,\n      And evermore will be.\n\n\nA STRONGER FAITH\n\n    Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,\n      At last he beat his music out.\n      There lives more faith in honest doubt,\n    Believe me, than in half the creeds.\n\n    He fought his doubts and gathered strength,\n      He would not make his judgment blind,\n      He faced the specters of the mind\n    And laid them; thus he came at length\n\n    To find a stronger faith his own,\n      And Power was with him in the night,\n      Which makes the darkness and the light,\n    And dwells not in the light alone.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nA PERFECT FAITH\n\n    O for a faith that will not shrink\n      Though pressed by every foe,\n    That will not tremble on the brink\n      Of any earthly woe!\n\n    That will not murmur nor complain\n      Beneath the chastening rod,\n    But in the hour of grief or pain\n      Will lean upon its God;\n\n    A faith that shines more bright and clear\n      When tempests rage without;\n    That when in danger knows no fear.\n      In darkness feels no doubt;\n\n    That bears, unmoved, the world's dread frown,\n      Nor heeds its scornful smile;\n    That seas of trouble cannot drown,\n      Nor Satan's arts beguile.\n\n    Lord, give us such a faith as this,\n      And then, whate'er may come,\n    We'll taste, e'en here, the hallowed bliss\n      Of an eternal home.\n\n    --William H. Bathurst.\n\n\n    Who liveth best? Not he whose sail,\n    Swept on by favoring tide and gale,\n    Swift wins the haven fair;\n    But he whose spirit strong doth still\n    A victory wrest from every ill;\n    Whose faith sublime\n    On every cloud a rainbow paints--\n    'Tis he redeems the time.\n\n\nBELIEVE GOOD THINGS OF GOD\n\n    When in the storm it seems to thee\n    That he who rules the raging sea\n    Is sleeping--still, with bended knee,\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    When thou hast sought in vain to find\n    The silver thread of love entwined\n    With life's oft-tangled web--resigned,\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    And should he smite thee till thy heart\n    Is crushed beneath the bruising smart,\n    Still, while the bitter tear-drops start,\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    'Tis true, thou canst not understand\n    The dealings of thy Father's hand;\n    But, trusting what his love has planned,\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    He loves thee! In that love confide--\n    Unchanging, faithful, true, and tried;\n    And let or joy or grief betide,\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    Thou canst not raise thy thoughts too high;\n    As spreads above the earth the sky,\n    So do his thoughts thy thoughts outvie:\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    In spite of what thine eyes behold;\n    In spite of what thy fears have told;\n    Still to his gracious promise hold--\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    For know that what thou canst believe\n    Thou shalt in his good time receive;\n    Thou canst not half his love conceive--\n      Believe good things of God.\n\n    --William Luff.\n\n\nBE NOT WEARY\n\n    Then, fainting soul, arise and sing;\n    Mount, but be sober on the wing;\n    Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer,\n    Be sober, for thou art not there.\n    Till death the weary spirit free,\n    Thy God hath said 'tis good for thee\n    To walk by faith, and not by sight,\n      Take it on trust a little while;\n    Soon thou shalt read the mystery right\n      In the full sunshine of his smile.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\nALL'S FOR THE BEST\n\n    All's for the best; be sanguine and cheerful;\n      Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise;\n    Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful,\n      Courage forever is happy and wise.\n\n    All's for the best, if a man would but know it;\n      Providence wishes us all to be blest;\n    This is no dream of the pundit or poet,\n      Heaven is gracious and all's for the best.\n\n    All's for the best; then fling away terrors;\n      Meet all your fears and your foes in the van;\n    And in the midst of your dangers or errors,\n      Trust like a child, while you strive like a man.\n\n    All's for the best; unbiased, unbounded,\n      Providence reigns from the east to the west;\n    And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded,\n      Hope, and be happy, that all's for the best.\n\n    --Martin Farquhar Tupper.\n\n\nBLEST IS THE FAITH DIVINE AND STRONG\n\n    Blest is the faith divine and strong,\n      Of thanks and praise an endless fountain,\n    Whose life is one perpetual song\n      High up the Saviour's holy mountain.\n\n    Blest is the hope that holds to God,\n      In doubt and darkness still unshaken;\n    And sings along the heavenly road,\n      Sweetest when most it seems forsaken.\n\n    Blest is the love that cannot love\n      Aught that earth gives of best and brightest;\n    Whose raptures thrill, like saints above,\n      Most when its earthly gifts are lightest.\n\n    Blest is the time that in the eye\n      Of God its hopeful watch is keeping,\n    And grows into eternity\n      Like noiseless trees when men are sleeping.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nGOD'S VOICE\n\n    Around my path life's mysteries\n      Their deepening shadows throw;\n    And as I gaze and ponder,\n      They dark and darker grow;\n    Yet still amid the darkness\n      I feel the light is near,\n    And in the awful stillness\n      God's voice I seem to hear.\n\n    Thy voice I hear above me,\n      Which says, \"Wait, trust, and pray,\n    The night will soon be over,\n      And light will come with day.\"\n    Amen! the light and darkness\n      Are both alike to thee;\n    Then to thy waiting servant\n      Alike they both shall be.\n\n    That great unending future,\n      I cannot pierce its shroud,\n    But nothing doubt nor tremble,\n      God's bow is on the cloud;\n    To him I yield my spirit,\n      On him I lay my load;\n    Fear ends with death; beyond it\n      I nothing see but God.\n\n    --Samuel Greg.\n\n\nFLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT\n\n    Prune thou thy words; the thoughts control\n      That o'er thee swell and throng;--\n    They will condense within thy soul,\n      And change to purpose strong.\n\n    But he who lets his feelings run\n      In soft luxurious flow\n    Shrinks when hard service must be done,\n      And faints at every woe.\n\n    Faith's meanest deed more favor bears,\n      Where hearts and wills are weighed,\n    Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,\n      Which bloom this hour, and fade.\n\n    --John Henry Newman.\n\n\n    Fair is the soul, rare is the soul\n      Who has kept, after youth is past,\n    All the art of the child, all the heart of the child,\n      Holding his faith at last.\n\n    --Frank Gelett Burgess.\n\n\nGOD KNOWS\n\n    God knows--not I--the devious way\n      Wherein my faltering feet may tread,\n    Before into the light of day,\n      My steps from out this gloom are led,\n    And, since my Lord the path doth see,\n    What matter if 'tis hid from me?\n\n    God knows--not I--how sweet accord\n      Shall grow at length from out this clash\n    Of earthly discords which have jarred\n      On soul and sense; I hear the crash,\n    Yet feel and know that on his ear\n    Breaks harmony--full, deep, and clear.\n\n    God knows--not I--why, when I'd fain\n      Have walked in pastures green and fair,\n    The path he pointed me hath lain\n      Through rocky deserts, bleak and bare.\n    I blindly trust--since 'tis his will--\n    This way lies safety, that way ill.\n\n    He knoweth, too, despite my will\n      I'm weak when I should be most strong.\n    And after earnest wrestling still\n      I see the right yet do the wrong.\n    Is it that I may learn at length\n    Not mine, but his, the saving strength?\n\n    His perfect plan I may not grasp,\n      Yet I can trust Love Infinite,\n    And with my feeble fingers clasp\n      The hand which leads me into light.\n    My soul upon his errands goes,\n    The end I know not--but God knows.\n\n\nTHE LORD'S LEADING\n\n    Thus far the Lord hath led us, in darkness and in day,\n    Through all the varied stages of the narrow homeward way;\n    Long since he took that journey--he trod that path alone;\n    Its trials and its dangers full well himself hath known.\n\n    Thus far the Lord hath led us; the promise hath not failed.\n    The enemy, encountered oft, has never quite prevailed:\n    The shield of faith has turned aside, or quenched each fiery dart,\n    The Spirit's sword in weakest hands has forced him to depart.\n\n    Thus far the Lord hath led us; the waters have been high,\n    But yet in passing through them we felt that he was nigh.\n    A very present helper in trouble we have found,\n    His comforts most abounded when our sorrows did abound.\n\n    Thus far the Lord hath led us; our need hath been supplied,\n    And mercy hath encompassed us about on every side;\n    Still falls the daily manna; the pure rock-fountains flow;\n    And many flowers of love and hope along the wayside grow.\n\n    Thus far the Lord hath led us; and will he now forsake\n    The feeble ones whom for his own it pleases him to take?\n    Oh, never, never! earthly friends may cold and faithless prove,\n    But his is changeless pity and everlasting love.\n\n    Calmly we look behind us, our joys and sorrows past,\n    We know that all is mercy now, and shall be well at last;\n    Calmly we look before us; we fear no future ill,\n    Enough for safety and for peace, if _Thou_ art with us still.\n\n    Yes, they that know thy name, Lord, shall put their trust in thee,\n    While nothing in themselves but sin and helplessness they see.\n    The race thou hast appointed us with patience we can run,\n    Thou wilt perform unto the end the work thou hast begun.\n\n\n    Have you found your life distasteful?\n      My life did and does smack sweet.\n    Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?\n      Mine I saved, and hold complete.\n    Do your joys with age diminish?\n      When mine fail me I'll complain.\n    Must in death your daylight finish?\n      My sun sets to rise again.\n    I find earth not gray, but rosy;\n      Heaven not grim, but fair of hue.\n    Do I stoop? I pluck a posy;\n      Do I stand and stare? All's blue.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nWE SHALL KNOW\n\n    In wise proportion does a fond hand mingle\n      The sweet and bitter in our life-cup here;\n    Each drop of either is by love eternal\n      Poured forth in wisdom for his children dear.\n\n    The loving Father, as a wise physician,\n      Knows what the wants of all those children are;\n    Knows which is needed most--the joy or sorrow,\n      The peace of comfort, or affliction's war.\n\n    Then, should the bitter be our daily portion,\n      So that we cannot any sweet discern,\n    Let us, in childlike faith, receive with meekness\n      The needed tonic, and its lessons learn.\n\n    And if we cannot even that decipher,\n      Let us be still, nay, thank him for his care,\n    Contented that we soon shall know--hereafter--\n      When we the fullness of his presence share.\n\n    --Charlotte Murray.\n\n\nTHE STEPS OF FAITH\n\n    Know well, my soul, God's hand controls\n      Whate'er thou fearest;\n    Round him in calmest music rolls\n      Whate'er thou hearest.\n\n    Nothing before, nothing behind;\n      The steps of faith\n    Fall on the seeming void, and find\n      The rock beneath.\n\n    The Present, the Present is all thou hast\n      For thy sure possessing;\n    Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast\n      Till it gives its blessing.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    I am of sinfulness and sorrows full!\n    Thou art the Mighty, Great, and Merciful!\n    How should we not be friends, or thou not save\n    Me who bring naught to thee who all things gave?\n\n    --Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.\n\n\nMY GUIDE\n\n    I know not the way I am going,\n      But well do I know my Guide!\n    With a childlike trust do I give my hand\n      To the mighty Friend by my side;\n    And the only thing that I say to him,\n      As he takes it, is, \"Hold it fast!\n    Suffer me not to lose the way,\n      And lead me home at last.\"\n\n    As when some helpless wanderer\n      Alone in some unknown land,\n    Tells the guide his destined place of rest,\n      And leaves all else in his hand;\n    'Tis home--'tis home that I wish to reach,\n      He who guides me may choose the way;\n    And little I care what path I take\n      When nearer home each day.\n\n\nTHE LORD'S PROVISION\n\n    In some way or other the Lord will provide;\n    It may not be _my_ way, it may not be _thy_ way;\n    And yet in his _own_ way, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    At some time or other the Lord will provide;\n    It may not be _my_ time, it may not be _thy_ time;\n    And yet in his _own_ time, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    Despond, then, no longer, the Lord will provide.\n    And this be the token--no word he hath spoken\n    Was ever yet broken: \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    March on, then, right boldly; the sea shall divide;\n    The pathway made glorious, with shoutings victorious\n    We'll join in the chorus, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    --Mary Ann W. Cook.\n\n\n                  It is faith,\n    The feeling that there's God. He reigns and rules\n    Out of this low world.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nFAITH IS THE VICTORY\n\n    Encamped along the hills of light,\n      Ye Christian soldiers, rise,\n    And press the battle ere the night\n      Shall veil the glowing skies;\n    Against the foe in vales below\n      Let all our strength be hurled;\n    Faith is the victory, we know,\n      That overcomes the world.\n\n    His banner over us is love,\n      Our sword the word of God;\n    We tread the road the saints above\n      With shouts of triumph trod;\n    By faith they, like a whirlwind's breath,\n      Swept on o'er every field;\n    The faith by which they conquered death\n      Is still our shining shield.\n\n    On every hand the foe we find\n      Drawn up in dread array;\n    Let tents of ease be left behind,\n      And--onward to the fray;\n    Salvation's helmet on each head,\n      With truth all girt about,\n    The earth shall tremble 'neath our tread,\n      And echo with our shout.\n\n    To him that overcomes the foe\n      White raiment shall be given;\n    Before the angels he shall know\n      His name confessed in heaven;\n    Then onward from the hills of light,\n      Our hearts with love aflame,\n    We'll vanquish all the hosts of night\n      In Jesus' conquering name.\n\n    --John H. Yates.\n\n\nRELIGIOUS DIFFERENCES\n\n    Yes, we do differ when we most agree,\n    For words are not the same to you and me,\n    And it may be our several spiritual needs\n    Are best supplied by seeming different creeds.\n      And, differing, we agree in one\n      Inseparable communion,\n    If the true life be in our hearts; the faith\n      Which not to want is death;\n      To want is penance; to desire\n      Is purgatorial fire;\n    To hope is paradise; and to believe\n    Is all of heaven that earth can e'er receive.\n\n    --Hartley Coleridge.\n\n\nTHE LORD WILL PROVIDE\n\n    Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,\n    Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,\n    Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,\n    The promise assures us, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    The birds, without barn or storehouse, are fed;\n    From them let us learn to trust for our bread:\n    His saints what is fitting shall ne'er be denied,\n    So long as 'tis written, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    When Satan appears to stop up our path,\n    And fills us with fears, we triumph by faith;\n    He can not take from us, though oft he has tried,\n    The heart-cheering promise, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    He tells us we're weak, our hope is in vain;\n    The good that we seek we ne'er shall obtain:\n    But when such suggestions our graces have tried,\n    This answers all questions, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    No strength of our own nor goodness we claim;\n    Our trust is all thrown on Jesus's name:\n    In this our strong tower for safety we hide:\n    The Lord is our power, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    When life sinks apace, and death is in view,\n    The word of his grace shall comfort us through;\n    Not fearing or doubting, with Christ on our side,\n    We hope to die shouting, \"The Lord will provide.\"\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\n    Art thou afraid his power will fail\n      When comes thy evil day?\n    And can an all-creating arm\n      Grow weary, or decay!\n\n\nIF WE BELIEVED\n\n    If we believed we should arise and sing,\n      Dropping our burdens at his pierced feet.\n    Sorrow would flee and weariness take wing,\n      Hard things grow fair, and bitter waters sweet.\n\n    If we believed, what room for fear or care\n      Within his arms, safe sheltered on his breast?\n    Peace for our pain, and hope for our despair,\n      Is what he meant who said, \"I give thee rest.\"\n\n    Why linger, turn away, or idly grieve?\n      Where else is rest--the soul's supremest need?\n    Grandly he offers; meanly we receive.\n      Yet love that gives us rest is love indeed.\n\n    The love that rests--say, shall it not do more?\n      Make haste, sad soul, thy heritage to claim.\n    It calms; it heals; it bears what erst ye bore,\n      And marks thy burdens with his own dear name.\n\n    Carried in him and for him, can they harm\n      Or press thee sore, or prove a weary weight?\n    Nay, nay; into thy life his blessed calm\n      Shall drop, and thou no more be desolate.\n\n\nTO FAITH\n\n    Beside thy gracious hearth content I stay,\n      Or with thee fate's appointed journey go;\n      I lean upon thee when my step is slow,\n    I wrap me with thee in the naked day.\n\n    With thee no loneliness, no pathless way;\n      The wind is heaven's, to take as it shall blow;\n      More than thy voice, thy hand, I need not know;\n    I may not murmur, for I shall not stray.\n\n\nWAIT ON GOD\n\n    Not so in haste, my heart!\n      Have faith in God, and wait;\n    Although he seems to linger long\n      He never comes too late.\n\n    He never comes too late;\n      He knoweth what is best;\n    Vex not thyself, it is in vain;\n      Until he cometh, rest.\n\n    Until he cometh, rest;\n      Nor grudge the hours that roll;\n    The feet that wait for God, 'tis they\n      Are soonest at the goal.\n\n    Are soonest at the goal\n      That is not gained by speed;\n    Then hold thee still, O restless heart,\n      For I shall wait his lead.\n\n    --Bradford Torrey.\n\n\nBEGONE, UNBELIEF\n\n    Begone, unbelief, my Saviour is near,\n    And for my relief will surely appear.\n    His love in time past forbids me to think\n    He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink.\n\n    Since all that I meet shall work for my good,\n    The bitter is sweet, the medicine food;\n    Though painful at present, 'twill cease before long,\n    And then, oh, how pleasant the conqueror's song!\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\n    As yonder tower outstretches to the earth\n    The dark triangle of its shade alone\n    When the clear day is shining on its top,\n    So, darkness in the pathway of man's life\n    Is but the shadow of God's providence,\n    By the great Sun of Wisdom cast therein;\n    And what is dark below is light in Heaven.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Faith is a grasping of Almighty power;\n    The hand of man laid on the arm of God;\n    The grand and blessed hour\n    In which the things impossible to me\n    Become the possible, O Lord, through thee.\n\n    --Anna E. Hamilton.\n\n\n    There is no faith in seeing. Were we led\n          Like children here,\n    And lifted over rock and river bed,\n          No care, no fear,\n    We should be useless in the busy throng,\n          Life's work undone;\n    Lord, make us brave and earnest, in faith strong,\n          Till heaven is won.\n\n\n    The cross on Golgotha can never save\n      Thy soul from deepest hell;\n    Unless with loving faith thou setts't it up\n      Within thy heart as well.\n\n    --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    In vain they smite me. Men but do\n    What God permits with different view.\n    To outward sight they hold the rod,\n    But faith proclaims it all of God.\n\n    --Madame Guyon.\n\n\n    Talk Faith. The world is better off without\n    Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt.\n    If you have faith in God, or man, or self,\n    Say so; if not, push back upon the shelf\n    Of silence lower thoughts till faith shall come.\n\n\n    The body sins not, 'tis the will\n    That makes the action good or ill.\n\n    --Robert Herrick.\n\n\n    Who never doubted, never half believed;\n    Where doubt, there truth is--'tis her shadow.\n\n    --Philip James Bailey.\n\n\n    'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay,\n    But the high faith that failed not by the way.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    No more with downcast eyes go faltering on,\n      Alone and sick at heart, and closely pressed.\n    Thy chains shall break, thy heavy heart is gone,\n      For he who calls thee, he will \"give thee rest.\"\n\n    --Mary Lowe Dickinson.\n\n\n          My God, I would not live\n    Save that I think this gross hard-seeming world\n    Is our misshaping vision of the Powers\n    Behind the world that make our griefs our gains.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    And all is well, though faith and form\n      Be sundered in the night of fear.\n      Well roars the storm to those that hear\n    A deeper voice across the storm.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    The crowd of cares, the weightiest cross,\n      Seem trifles less than light;\n    Earth looks so little and so low,\n      When faith shines full and bright.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    A faith that shines by night and day\n    Will lighten every earthly load.\n\n\n    Grant us, O God, in love to thee--\n      Clear eyes to measure things below,\n    Faith the invisible to see,\n      And wisdom thee in all to know.\n\n\n          Our doubts are traitors,\n    And make us lose the good we oft might win,\n    By fearing to attempt.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n\n\nTRUST\n\nGUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS\n\n\nRESTING IN GOD\n\n    Since thy Father's arm sustains thee,\n            Peaceful be;\n    When a chastening hand restrains thee,\n            It is he.\n    Know his love in full completeness\n    Fills the measure of thy weakness;\n    If He wound the spirit sore,\n            Trust him more.\n\n    Without murmur, uncomplaining,\n            In His hand.\n    Lay whatever things thou canst not\n            Understand.\n    Though the world thy folly spurneth,\n    From thy faith in pity turneth,\n    Peace thy inmost soul shall fill,\n            Lying still.\n\n    Like an infant, if thou thinkest\n            Thou canst stand,\n    Childlike, proudly pushing back\n            The offered hand,\n    Courage soon is changed to fear,\n    Strength doth feebleness appear;\n    In his love if thou abide,\n            He will guide.\n\n    Fearest sometimes that thy Father\n            Hath forgot?\n    When the clouds around thee gather,\n            Doubt him not.\n    Always hath the daylight broken;\n    Always hath He comfort spoken;\n    Better hath he been for years\n            Than thy fears.\n\n    Therefore, whatsoe'er betideth,\n            Night or day,\n    Know His love for thee provideth\n            Good alway.\n    Crown of sorrow gladly take;\n    Grateful wear it for His sake;\n    Sweetly bending to his will,\n            Lying still.\n\n    To his own thy Saviour giveth\n            Daily strength.\n    To each troubled soul that liveth,\n            Peace at length.\n    Weakest lambs have largest share\n    Of the tender Shepherd's care;\n    Ask him not the \"When,\" or \"How\";\n            Only bow.\n\n    --Charles Rudolf Hagenbach.\n\n\nI WILL TRUST\n\n                      I am glad to think\n    I am not bound to make the world go right,\n    But only to discover and to do\n    With cheerful heart the work that God appoints.\n\n                      I will trust in him\n    That he can hold his own; and I will take\n    His will, above the work he sendeth me,\n    To be my chiefest good.\n\n    --Jean Ingelow.\n\n\nI KNOW NOT IF THE DARK OR BRIGHT\n\n    I know not if the dark or bright\n      Shall be my lot;\n    If that wherein my hopes delight\n      Be best or not.\n\n    It may be mine to drag for years\n      Toil's heavy chain;\n    Or day and night my meat be tears,\n      On bed of pain.\n\n    Dear faces may surround my hearth\n      With smiles and glee;\n    Or I may dwell alone, and mirth\n      Be strange to me.\n\n    My bark is wafted to the strand\n      By breath divine;\n    And on the helm there rests a hand\n      Other than mine.\n\n    One who has known in storms to sail\n      I have on board;\n    Above the raging of the gale\n      I hear my Lord.\n\n    He holds me when the billows smite;\n      I shall not fall;\n    If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light,\n      He tempers all.\n\n    Safe to the land, safe to the land!\n      The end is this:\n    And then with him go, hand in hand,\n      Far into bliss.\n\n    --Dean Alford.\n\n\nI CAN TRUST\n\n    I cannot see, with my small human sight,\n    Why God should lead this way or that for me;\n    I only know he saith, \"Child, follow me.\"\n            But I can trust.\n\n    I know not why my path should be at times\n    So straitly hedged, so strongly barred before;\n    I only know God could keep wide the door;\n            But I can trust.\n\n    I find no answer, often, when beset\n    With questions fierce and subtle on my way,\n    And often have but strength to faintly pray;\n            But I can trust.\n\n    I often wonder, as with trembling hand\n    I cast the seed along the furrowed ground,\n    If ripened fruit will in my life be found;\n            But I can trust.\n\n    I cannot know why suddenly the storm\n    Should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath;\n    But this I know--God watches all my path,\n            And I can trust.\n\n    I may not draw aside the mystic veil\n    That hides the unknown future from my sight;\n    Nor know if for me waits the dark or light;\n            But I can trust.\n\n    I have no power to look across the tide,\n    To see, while here, the land beyond the river;\n    But this I know, I shall be God's forever;\n            So I can trust.\n\n\n    The world is wide\n    In time and tide,\n    And God is guide;\n      Then do not hurry.\n    That man is blest\n    Who does his best\n    And leaves the rest;\n      Then do not worry.\n\n    --Charles F. Deems.\n\n\nWISDOM OF DISCIPLINE\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      His will is ever just;\n    Howe'er he orders now my cause\n      I will be still, and trust.\n            He is my God,\n            Though dark my road,\n    He holds me that I shall not fall,\n    Wherefore to him I leave it all.\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      He never will deceive;\n    He leads me by the proper path,\n      And so to him I cleave,\n            And take, content,\n            What he hath sent;\n    His hand can turn my grief away,\n    And patiently I wait his day.\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      He taketh thought for me;\n    The cup that my Physician gives\n      No poisoned draught can be,\n            But medicine due;\n            For God is true;\n    And on that changeless truth I build\n    And all my heart with hope is filled.\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      Though I the cup must drink\n    That bitter seems to my faint heart,\n      I will not fear nor shrink;\n            Tears pass away\n            With dawn of day;\n    Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,\n    And pain and sorrow all depart.\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      My Light, my Life, is he,\n    Who cannot will me aught but good;\n      I trust him utterly;\n            For well I know,\n            In joy or woe,\n    We soon shall see, as sunlight clear,\n    How faithful was our Guardian here.\n\n    Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n      Here will I take my stand;\n    Though sorrow, need, or death, make earth\n      For me a desert land.\n            My Father's care\n            Is round me there;\n    He holds me that I shall not fall,\n    And so to him I leave it all.\n\n    --S. Rodigast.\n\n\nMY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND\n\n    \"My times are in thy hand\";\n      My God, I wish them there;\n    My life, my friends, my soul, I leave\n      Entirely to thy care.\n\n    \"My times are in thy hand,\"\n      Whatever they may be;\n    Pleasing or painful, dark or bright,\n      As best may seem to thee.\n\n    \"My times are in thy hand\";\n      Why should I doubt or fear?\n    My Father's hand will never cause\n      His child a needless tear.\n\n    \"My times are in thy hand,\"\n      Jesus, the crucified!\n    The hand my cruel sins had pierced\n      Is now my guard and guide.\n\n    \"My times are in thy hand\";\n      I'll always trust in thee;\n    And, after death, at thy right hand\n      I shall forever be.\n\n    --William F. Lloyd.\n\n\nALL FOR THE BEST\n\n    Away, my needless fears,\n      And doubts no longer mine;\n    A ray of heavenly light appears,\n      A messenger divine.\n\n    Thrice comfortable hope,\n      That calms my troubled breast;\n    My Father's hand prepares the cup\n      And what he wills is best.\n\n    If what I wish is good,\n      And suits the will divine,\n    By earth and hell in vain withstood,\n      I know it shall be mine.\n\n    Still let them counsel take\n      To frustrate his decree;\n    They cannot keep a blessing back,\n      By heaven designed for me.\n\n    Here, then, I doubt no more;\n      But in his pleasure rest\n    Whose wisdom, love, and truth, and power,\n      Engage to make me blest.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\nGOD NEVER FORSAKES\n\n    Leave God to order all thy ways,\n      And hope in him, whate'er betide,\n    Thou'lt find in him, in evil days,\n      Thy all-sufficient strength and guide.\n    Who trusts in God's unchanging love\n    Builds on the rock that naught can move.\n\n    What can these anxious cares avail,\n      The never-ceasing moans and sighs?\n    What can it help us to bewail\n      Each painful moment as it flies?\n    Our cross and trials do but press\n    The heavier for our bitterness.\n\n    Only thy restless heart keep still,\n      And wait in cheerful hope, content\n    To take whate'er his gracious will,\n      His all-discerning love, hath sent.\n    Nor doubt our inmost wants are known\n    To him who chose us for his own.\n\n    He knows when joyful hours are best;\n      He sends them as he sees it meet;\n    When thou hast borne the fiery test,\n      And now art freed from all deceit,\n    He comes to thee all unaware\n    And makes thee own his loving care.\n\n    Nor in the heat of pain and strife\n      Think God has cast thee off unheard,\n    And that the man whose prosperous life\n      Thou enviest is of him preferred.\n    Time passes, and much change doth bring\n    And sets a bound to everything.\n\n    All are alike before his face;\n      'Tis easy to our God most high\n    To make the rich man poor and base,\n      To give the poor man wealth and joy;\n    True wonders still by him are wrought\n    Who setteth up and brings to naught.\n\n    Sing, pray, and swerve not from his ways,\n      But do thine own part faithfully;\n    Trust his rich promises of grace,\n      So shall they be fulfilled in thee.\n    God never yet forsook at need\n    The soul that trusted him indeed.\n\n    --George Neumarck.\n\n\n    Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell\n    The dear Lord ordereth all things well.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nTHE SECRET PLACE\n\n    There is a safe and secret place,\n      Beneath the wings divine,\n    Reserved for all the heirs of grace:\n      O be that refuge mine!\n\n    The least and feeblest there may bide,\n      Uninjured and unawed;\n    While thousands fall on every side,\n      He rests secure in God.\n\n    He feeds in pastures large and fair\n      Of love and trust divine;\n    O child of God, O glory's heir,\n      How rich a lot is thine!\n\n    A hand almighty to defend,\n      An ear for every call,\n    An honored life, a peaceful end,\n      And heaven to crown it all!\n\n    --Henry F. Lyte.\n\n\nGOD KNOWS\n\n    Our Father! through the coming year\n      We know not what shall be;\n    But we would leave without a fear\n      Its ordering all to thee.\n\n    It may be we shall toil in vain\n      For what the world holds fair;\n    And all the good we thought to gain\n      Deceive, and prove but care.\n\n    It may be it shall darkly blend\n      Our love with anxious fears,\n    And snatch away the valued friend,\n      The tried of many years.\n\n    It may be it shall bring us days\n      And nights of lingering pain;\n    And bid us take a farewell gaze\n      Of these loved haunts of men.\n\n    But calmly, Lord, on thee we rest;\n      No fears our trust shall move;\n    Thou knowest what for each is best,\n      And thou art Perfect Love.\n\n    --Eliza Cleghorn Gaskell.\n\n\n    Forever in their Lord abiding\n      Who can their gladness tell;\n    Within his love forever hiding,\n      They feel that all is well.\n\n\nNO FEAR\n\n    I know no life divided,\n      O Lord of life, from thee;\n    In thee is life provided\n      For all mankind and me:\n    I know no death, O Jesus,\n      Because I live in thee;\n    Thy death it is which frees us\n      From death eternally.\n\n    I fear no tribulation,\n      Since, whatsoe'er it be,\n    It makes no separation\n      Between my Lord and me.\n    If thou, my God and Teacher,\n      Vouchsafe to be my own,\n    Though poor, I shall be richer\n      Than monarch on his throne.\n\n    If while on earth I wander\n      My heart is light and blest,\n    Ah, what shall I be yonder,\n      In perfect peace and rest?\n    O blessed thought! in dying\n      We go to meet the Lord,\n    Where there shall be no sighing,\n      A kingdom our reward.\n\n    --Carl J. P. Spitta.\n\n\nTHE LORD'S APPOINTMENT\n\n    I say it over and over, and yet again to-day,\n    It rests my heart as surely as it did yesterday:\n      It is the Lord's appointment;\n        Whatever my work may be,\n      I am sure in my heart of hearts\n        He has offered it to me.\n\n    I must say it over and over, and again to-day\n    For my work is different from that of yesterday:\n      It is the Lord's appointment;\n        It quiets my restless will\n      Like the voice of a tender mother,\n        And my heart and will are still.\n\n    I will say it over and over, this and every day,\n    Whatsoever the Master orders, come what may:\n      It is the Lord's appointment;\n        For only his love can see\n      What is wisest, best and right--\n        What is truly good for me.\n\n\nTRUST\n\n    I know not what the future holds,\n      Of good or ill for me and mine;\n    I only know that God enfolds\n      Me in his loving arms divine.\n\n    So I shall walk the earth in trust\n      That He who notes the sparrow's fall\n    Will help me bear whate'er I must\n      And lend an ear whene'er I call.\n\n    It matters not if dreams dissolve\n      Like mists beneath the morning sun,\n    For swiftly as the worlds revolve\n      So swiftly will life's race be run.\n\n    It matters not if hopes depart,\n      Or life be pressed with toil and care.\n    If love divine shall fill my heart\n      And all be sanctified with prayer.\n\n    Then let me learn submission sweet\n      In every thought, in each desire,\n    And humbly lay at his dear feet\n      A heart aglow with heavenly fire.\n\n\n\"SOMETIME\"\n\n    Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned,\n      And sun and stars forevermore have set,\n    The things which our weak judgment here had spurned,\n      The things o'er which we grieve with lashes wet,\n    Will flash before us out of life's dark night,\n      As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue,\n    And we shall see how all God's plans were right,\n      And how what seemed reproof was love most true.\n\n    And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh,\n      God's plans go on as best for you and me;\n    How when we called he heeded not our cry,\n      Because his wisdom to the end could see;\n    And even as prudent parents disallow\n      Too much of sweet to crooning baby's hest,\n    So God perhaps is keeping from us now\n      Life's sweetest things because it seemeth best.\n\n    And if sometimes commingled with life's wine\n      We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink,\n    Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine\n      Poured out the potion for our lips to drink;\n    And if some one we love is lying low,\n      Where human kisses can not reach the face,\n    O do not blame the loving Father so,\n      But wear your sorrow with obedient grace,\n\n    And you will shortly know that lengthened breath\n      Is not the sweetest gift God gives his friend;\n    And that sometimes the sable pall of death\n      Conceals the fairest boon his love can send.\n    If we could push ajar the gates of life,\n      And stand within, and all God's workings see,\n    We could interpret all this doubt and strife,\n      And for each mystery could find a key.\n\n    But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart,\n      God's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold;\n    We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart,\n      Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.\n    And if through patient toil we reach the land\n      Where tired feet with sandals loosed may rest,\n    When we shall clearly know and understand,\n      I think that we will say: \"God knew the best.\"\n\n    --May Louise Riley Smith.\n\n\n    O why and whither? God knows all;\n      I only know that he is good,\n    And that whatever may befall,\n      Or here or there, must be the best that could.\n    For He is merciful as just;\n      And so, by faith correcting sight,\n    I bow before his will, and trust\n    Howe'er they seem he doeth all things right.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nNOT KNOWING\n\n    I know not what shall befall me;\n      God hangs a mist o'er my eyes,\n    And thus each step of my onward path\n      He makes new scenes to rise,\n    And every joy he sends me comes\n      As a sweet and glad surprise.\n\n    I see not a step before me\n      As I tread on another year;\n    But the past is in God's keeping,\n      The future his mercy shall clear,\n    And what looks dark in the distance\n      May brighten as I draw near.\n\n    For perhaps the dreaded future\n      Is less bitter than I think;\n    The Lord may sweeten the waters\n      Before I stoop to drink,\n    Or, if Marah must be Marah,\n      He will stand beside its brink.\n\n    It may be he keeps waiting\n      Till the coming of my feet\n    Some gift of such rare blessedness,\n      Some joy so strangely sweet,\n    That my lips shall only tremble\n      With the thanks they cannot speak.\n\n    O restful, blissful ignorance!\n      'Tis blessed not to know,\n    It stills me in those mighty arms\n      Which will not let me go,\n    And hushes my soul to rest\n      On the bosom which loves me so!\n\n    So I go on not knowing;\n      I would not if I might;\n    I would rather walk in the dark with God\n      Than go alone in the light;\n    I would rather walk with him by faith,\n      Than walk alone by sight.\n\n    My heart shrinks back from trials\n      Which the future may disclose,\n    Yet I never had a sorrow\n      But what the dear Lord chose;\n    So I send the coming tears back\n      With the whispered word, \"He knows.\"\n\n    --Mary Gardner Brainard.\n\n\n    \"Trust is truer than our fears,\"\n      Runs the legend through the moss;\n    \"Gain is not in added years,\n      Nor in death is loss.\"\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nCONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO\n\n    Fret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear\n        Disturb thy breast,\n    The pitying angels, who can see\n    How vain thy wild regret must be,\n        Say, \"Trust and Rest.\"\n\n    Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait;\n        His choice is best;\n    While blind and erring is thy sight\n    His wisdom sees and judges right;\n        So Trust and Rest.\n\n    Strive not, nor struggle; thy poor might\n        Can never wrest\n    The meanest thing to serve thy will;\n    All power is his alone. Be still,\n        And Trust and Rest.\n\n    Desire thou not; self-love is strong\n        Within thy breast,\n    And yet he loves thee better still:\n    So let him do his loving will,\n        And Trust and Rest.\n\n    What dost thou fear? His wisdom reigns\n        Supreme confessed;\n    His power is infinite; his love\n    Thy deepest, fondest dreams above!\n        So Trust and Rest.\n\n    --Adelaide Anne Procter.\n\n\nBE CAREFUL FOR NOTHING\n\n    My spirit on thy care,\n      Blest Saviour, I recline;\n    Thou wilt not leave me to despair,\n      For thou art Love divine.\n\n    In Thee I place my trust,\n      On thee I calmly rest;\n    I know thee good, I know thee just,\n      And count thy choice the best.\n\n    Whate'er events betide,\n      Thy will they all perform;\n    Safe in thy breast my head I hide,\n      Nor fear the coming storm.\n\n    Let good or ill befall,\n      It must be good for me;\n    Secure of having thee in all,\n      Of having all in thee.\n\n    --Henry F. Lyte.\n\n\nIN HIM CONFIDING\n\n    Sometimes a light surprises\n      The Christian while he sings;\n    It is the Lord who rises\n      With healing on his wings.\n    When comforts are declining\n      He grants the soul again\n    A season of clear shining,\n      To cheer it after rain.\n\n    In holy contemplation\n      We sweetly then pursue\n    The theme of God's salvation,\n      And find it ever new.\n    Set free from present sorrow,\n      We cheerfully can say,\n    Let the unknown to-morrow\n      Bring with it what it may.\n\n    It can bring with it nothing\n      But He will bear us through;\n    Who gives the lilies clothing,\n      Will clothe his people too.\n    Beneath the spreading heavens\n      No creature but is fed;\n    And He who feeds the ravens\n      Will give his children bread.\n\n    Though vine nor fig tree neither\n      Their wonted fruit should bear,\n    Though all the fields should wither,\n      Nor flocks nor herds be there;\n    Yet God the same abiding,\n      His praise shall tune my voice;\n    For while in him confiding,\n      I cannot but rejoice.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nTRUSTING GOD\n\n    Whoever plants a leaf beneath the sod,\n    And waits to see it push away the clod,\n        He trusts in God.\n\n    Whoever says, when clouds are in the sky,\n    \"Be patient, heart; light breaketh by and by,\"\n        He trusts in God.\n\n    Whoever sees 'neath winter's field of snow\n    The silent harvest of the future grow,\n        God's power must know.\n\n    Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep,\n    Content to lock each sense in slumber deep,\n        Knows God will keep.\n\n\nTRUST IN GOD\n\n    The child leans on its parent's breast,\n    Leaves there its cares and is at rest;\n    The bird sits singing by his nest,\n        And tells aloud\n    His trust in God, and so is blest\n        'Neath every cloud.\n\n    He has no store, he sows no seed;\n    Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed;\n    By flowing stream or grassy mead,\n        He sings to shame\n    Men, who forget, in fear of need,\n        A Father's name.\n\n    The heart that trusts for ever sings,\n    And feels as light as it had wings;\n    A well of peace within it springs;\n        Come good or ill.\n    Whate'er to-day, to-morrow, brings,\n        It is his will.\n\n    --Isaac Williams.\n\n\nNO FEARS\n\n    Give to the winds thy fears;\n      Hope, and be undismayed;\n    God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears;\n      God shall lift up thy head.\n\n    Through waves, and clouds, and storms,\n      He gently clears thy way;\n    Wait thou his time, so shall this night\n      Soon end in joyous day.\n\n    Still heavy is thy heart?\n      Still sink thy spirits down?\n    Cast off the weight, let fear depart,\n      And every care be gone.\n\n    What though thou rulest not?\n      Yet heaven, and earth, and hell\n    Proclaim, \"God sitteth on the throne,\n      And ruleth all things well.\"\n\n    Leave to his sovereign sway\n      To choose and to command:\n    So shalt thou, wondering, own his way,\n      How wise, how strong his hand!\n\n    Far, far above thy thought,\n      His counsel shall appear,\n    When fully he the work hath wrought\n      That caused thy needless fear.\n\n    --Paul Gerhardt.\n\n\nSIMPLE TRUST\n\n    I do not know why sin abounds\n      Within this world so fair,\n    Why numerous discordant sounds\n      Destroy the heavenly air--\n    I can't explain this thing, I must\n    Rely on God in simple trust.\n\n    I do not know why pain and loss\n      Oft fall unto my lot.\n    Why I must bear the heavy cross\n      When I desire it not--\n    I do not know, unless 'tis just\n    To teach my soul in God to trust.\n\n    I know not why the evil seems\n      Supreme on every hand:\n    Why suffering flows in endless streams\n      I do not understand--\n    Solution comes not to adjust\n    These mysteries. I can but trust.\n\n    I do not know why grief's dark cloud\n      Bedims my sunny sky,\n    The tear of bitterness allowed\n      To swell within my eye--\n    But, sorrow-stricken to the dust,\n    I will look up to God and trust.\n\n    --R. F. Mayer.\n\n\nALL IS YOURS\n\n    O foolish heart, be still!\n      And vex thyself no more!\n    Wait thou for God, until\n      He open pleasure's door.\n    Thou knowest not what is good for thee,\n      But God doth know--\n    Let him thy strong reliance be,\n      And rest thee so.\n\n    He counted all my days,\n      And every joy and tear,\n    Ere I knew how to praise,\n      Or even had learned to fear.\n    Before I him my Father knew\n      He called me child;\n    His help has guarded me all through\n      This weary wild.\n\n    The least of all my cares\n      Is not to him unknown--\n    He sees and he prepares\n      The pathway for his own;\n    And what his hand assigns to me,\n      That serves my peace;\n    The greatest burden it might be,\n      Yet joys increase.\n\n    I live no more for earth;\n      Nor seek my full joy here;\n    The world seems little worth\n      When heaven is shining clear.\n    Yet joyfully I go my way\n      So free, so blest!\n    Sweetening my toil from day to day\n      With thoughts of rest.\n\n    Give me, my Lord, whate'er\n      Will bind my heart to thee;\n    For that I make my prayer,\n      And know thou hearest me!\n    But all that might keep back my soul--\n      Make thee forgot--\n    Though of earth-good it were the whole,\n      O give it not!\n\n    When sickness, pains, distress,\n      And want doth follow fear,\n    And men their hate express,\n      My sky shall still be clear.\n    Then wait I, Lord, and wait for thee;\n      And I am still,\n    Though mine should unaccomplished be,\n      Do thou thy will!\n\n    Thou art the strength and stay\n      Of every weary soul;\n    Thy wisdom rules the way\n      Thy pity does control.\n    What ill can happen unto me\n      When thou art near?\n    Thou wilt, O God, my keeper be;\n      I will not fear.\n\n    --Christian F. Gellert (1715-1769).\n\n\nI SHALL NOT WANT\n\n    I shall not want: in desert wilds\n    Thou spreadst thy table for thy child;\n    While grace in streams, for thirsting souls,\n    Through earth and heaven forever rolls.\n\n    I shall not want: my darkest night\n    Thy lovely smile shall fill with light;\n    While promises around me bloom,\n    And cheer me with divine perfume.\n\n    I shall not want: thy righteousness\n    My soul shall clothe with glorious dress;\n    My blood-washed robe shall be more fair\n    Than garments kings or angels wear.\n\n    I shall not want: whate'er is good\n    Of daily bread or angels' food\n    Shall to my Father's child be sure,\n    So long as earth and heaven endure.\n\n    --Charles F. Deems.\n\n\nNO CARES\n\n    O Lord! how happy should we be\n    If we could leave our cares to thee;\n      If we from self could rest,\n    And feel at heart that One above,\n    In perfect wisdom, perfect love,\n      Is working for the best.\n\n    For when we kneel and cast our care\n    Upon our God, in humble prayer,\n      With strengthened souls we rise;\n    Sure that our Father, who is nigh\n    To hear the ravens when they cry,\n      Will hear his children's cries.\n\n    How far from this our daily life;\n    How oft disturbed by anxious strife,\n      By sudden wild alarm!\n    O could we but relinquish all\n    Our earthly props and simply fall\n      On thine Almighty arms!\n\n    We cannot trust him as we should,\n    So chafes weak nature's restless mood\n      To cast its peace away;\n    But birds and flowers around us preach\n    All, all, the present evil teach,\n      Sufficient for the day.\n\n    O may these anxious hearts of ours\n    The lesson learn from birds and flowers,\n      And learn from self to cease,\n    Leave all things to our Father's will,\n    And, in his mercy trusting, still\n      Find in each trial peace.\n\n    --Joseph Anstice.\n\n\nCARE CAST ON GOD\n\n    Lord, I delight in thee,\n      And on thy care depend;\n    To thee in every trouble flee,\n      My best, my only Friend.\n\n    When nature's streams are dried\n      Thy fullness is the same;\n    With this will I be satisfied,\n      And glory in thy name.\n\n    Who made my heaven secure\n      Will here all good provide;\n    While Christ is rich can I be poor?\n      What can I want beside?\n\n    I cast my care on thee;\n      I triumph and adore;\n    Henceforth my great concern shall be\n      To love and please thee more.\n\n    --John Ryland.\n\n\nGOD KNOWS ALL\n\n    Nay, all by Thee is ordered, chosen, planned;\n    Each drop that fills my daily cup; thy hand\n    Prescribes for ills none else can understand.\n      All, all is known to thee.\n\n    Be trustful, be steadfast, whatever betide thee,\n      Only one thing do thou ask of the Lord--\n    Grace to go forward wherever he guide thee,\n      Simply believing the truth of his word.\n\n    Whatsoe'er our lot may be,\n      Calmly in this thought we'll rest\n    Could we see as thou dost see\n      We should choose it as the best.\n\n    --Eliza Cleghorn Gaskell.\n\n\nO FOR A PERFECT TRUST\n\n    O for the peace of a perfect trust,\n      My loving God, in thee;\n    Unwavering faith, that never doubts,\n      Thou choosest best for me.\n\n    Best, though my plans be all upset;\n      Best, though the way be rough;\n    Best, though my earthly store be scant;\n      In thee I have enough.\n\n    Best, though my health and strength be gone,\n      Though weary days be mine,\n    Shut out from much that others have;\n      Not my will, Lord, but thine!\n\n    And even though disappointments come,\n      They, too, are best for me--\n    To wean me from this changing world\n      And lead me nearer thee.\n\n    O for the peace of a perfect trust\n      That looks away from all;\n    That sees thy hand in everything,\n      In great events or small;\n\n    That hears thy voice--a Father's voice--\n      Directing for the best;\n    O for the peace of a perfect trust,\n      A heart with thee at rest!\n\n\nA SONG OF TRUST\n\n    I cannot always see the way that leads\n        To heights above;\n    I sometimes quite forget that he leads on\n        With hands of love;\n    But yet I know the path must lead me to\n        Immanuel's land,\n    And when I reach life's summit I shall know\n        And understand.\n\n    I cannot always trace the onward course\n        My ship must take,\n    But, looking backward, I behold afar\n        Its shining wake\n    Illumined with God's light of love; and so\n        I onward go,\n    In perfect trust that he who holds the helm\n        The course must know.\n\n    I cannot always see the plan on which\n        He builds my life;\n    For oft the sound of hammers, blow on blow,\n        The noise of strife,\n    Confuse me till I quite forget he knows\n        And oversees,\n    And that in all details with his good plan\n        My life agrees.\n\n    I cannot always know and understand\n        The Master's rule;\n    I cannot always do the tasks he gives\n        In life's hard school;\n    But I am learning, with his help, to solve\n        Them one by one,\n    And, when I cannot understand, to say,\n        \"Thy will be done.\"\n\n    --Gertrude Benedict Custis.\n\n\nALL IS WELL\n\n    The clouds which rise with thunder slake\n      Our thirsty souls with rain;\n    The blow most dreaded falls to break\n      From off our limbs a chain;\n    And wrongs of man to man but make\n      The love of God more plain.\n    As through the shadowy lens of even\n    The eye looks farthest into heaven--\n    On gleams of star and depths of blue\n    The glaring sunshine never knew.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nCHOOSE FOR US, GOD\n\n    Still will we trust, though earth seem dark and dreary,\n      And the heart faint beneath his chastening rod;\n    Though rough and steep our pathway, worn and weary,\n      Still will we trust in God.\n\n    Our eyes see dimly till by faith anointed,\n      And our blind choosing brings us grief and pain;\n    Through him alone who hath our way appointed,\n      We find our peace again.\n\n    Choose for us, God! nor let our weak preferring\n      Cheat our poor souls of good thou hast designed;\n    Choose for us, God! thy wisdom is unerring,\n      And we are fools and blind.\n\n    Let us press on in patient self-denial,\n      Accept the hardship, shrink not from the loss;\n    Our portion lies beyond the hour of trial,\n      Our crown beyond the cross.\n\n    --William H. Burleigh.\n\n\nALL THINGS WORK GOOD\n\n    With strength of righteous purpose in the heart\n    What cause to fear for consequence of deed?\n    God guideth then, not we; nor do we need\n    To care for aught but that we play our part.\n    Most simple trust is often highest art.\n    The issue we would fly may be a seed\n    Ordained by God to bear our souls a meed\n    Of peace that no self-judging could impart.\n    \"All things work good for him who trusteth God!\"\n    Doth God not love us with a longing love\n    To make us happy, and hath he not sight\n    From end to end of our short earthly road?\n    This, Lord, I hold--aye, _know_ that thou wouldst move\n    The world to lead one trusting soul aright.\n\n    --Edward Harding.\n\n\nRELIGIOUS INFIDELS\n\n    How many chatterers of a creed\n      Think doubt the gravest sin,\n    Unmindful of her double birth--\n      For worry is her twin.\n\n    Ah! Christian atheism seems\n      The most insulting kind,\n    For, though the tongue says, God is love,\n      The heart is deaf and blind.\n\n    How he who marks the sparrow's fall\n      Must be aggrieved to see\n    These loud lip-champions manifest\n      Such infidelity!\n\n    Each fretful line upon their brow,\n      Dug by the plow of care,\n    Is treason to their pledge of faith\n      And satire on their prayer.\n\n    O just to hold, without one fear,\n      The strong, warm Hand above,\n    With orthodoxy of the heart--\n      The childlike creed of love!\n\n    None such can be a heretic;\n      Nay, only he forsooth\n    Who lives the falsity of doubt,\n      But prates the cant of truth.\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\n    Worry and Fret were two little men\n    That knocked at my door again and again.\n    \"O pray let us in, but to tarry a night,\n    And we will be off with the dawning of light.\"\n    At last, moved to pity, I opened the door\n    To shelter these travelers, hungry and poor;\n    But when on the morrow I bade them \"Adieu,\"\n    They said, quite unmoved, \"We'll tarry with you.\"\n    And, deaf to entreaty and callous to threat,\n    These troublesome guests abide with me yet.\n\n\n    Yet, in the maddening maze of things,\n      And tossed by storm and flood,\n    To one fixed trust my spirit clings:\n      I know that God is good!\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nMAKE THY WAY MINE\n\n        Father, hold thou my hand;\n          The way is steep;\n    I cannot see the path my feet must keep,\n    I cannot tell, so dark the tangled way,\n        Where next to step. O stay;\n    Come close; take both my hands in thine;\n        Make thy way mine!\n\n        Lead me. I may not stay;\n    I must move on; but oh, the way!\n        I must be brave and go,\n    Step forward in the dark, nor know\n    If I shall reach the goal at all--\n        If I shall fall.\n        Take thou my hand.\n    Take it! Thou knowest best\n    How I should go, and all the rest\n        I cannot, cannot see:\n    Lead me: I hold my hands to thee;\n        I own no will but thine;\n        Make thy way mine!\n\n\nMY PSALM\n\n    All as God wills, who wisely heeds\n      To give or to withhold;\n    And knoweth more of all my needs\n      Than all my prayers have told!\n\n    Enough that blessings undeserved\n      Have marked my erring track;\n    That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved\n      His chastening turned me back;\n\n    That more and more a Providence\n      Of love is understood,\n    Making the springs of time and sense\n      Sweet with eternal good;\n\n    That death seems but a covered way\n      Which opens into light,\n    Wherein no blinded child can stray\n      Beyond the Father's sight.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    What most you wish and long for\n      Might only bring you pain;\n    You cannot see the future,\n      God's purpose to explain.\n\n    So trust, faint heart, thy Master!\n      He doeth all things well,\n    He loveth more than heart can guess,\n      And more than tongue can tell.\n\n\nBETTER TRUST\n\n    Better trust all and be deceived,\n      And weep that trust and that deceiving,\n    Than doubt one heart that, if believed,\n      Had blest one's life with true believing.\n\n    Oh, in this mocking world too fast\n      The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth;\n    Better be cheated to the last\n      Than lose the blessed hope of truth.\n\n    --Frances Anne Kemble.\n\n\n    Be patient; keep thy life-work\n          Well in hand;\n    Be trustful where thou canst not\n          Understand;\n    Thy lot, whate'er it be, is\n          Wisely planned;\n    Whate'er its mysteries, God holds the key;\n    Thou well canst trust him, and bide patiently.\n\n\n    There is never a day so dreary\n      But God can make it bright;\n    And unto the soul that trusts him\n      He giveth songs in the night.\n    There is never a path so hidden\n      But God will show the way,\n    If we seek the Spirit's guidance\n      And patiently watch and pray.\n\n\n    Build a little fence of trust\n              Around to-day;\n    Fill the space with loving deeds,\n              And therein stay.\n    Look not through the sheltering bars\n              Upon to-morrow;\n    God will help thee bear what comes\n              Of joy or sorrow.\n\n    --Mary Frances Butts.\n\n\n    On God for all events depend;\n    You cannot want when God's your friend.\n    Weigh well your part and do your best;\n    Leave to your Maker all the rest.\n\n    --Cotton.\n\n\nOUR STRONG STAY\n\n    Then, O my soul, be ne'er afraid;\n    On him who thee and all things made\n      With calm reliance rest;\n    Whate'er may come, where'er we go,\n    Our Father in the heavens must know\n      In all things what is best.\n\n    --Paul Fleming.\n\n\n    If the wren can cling\n    To a spray a-swing\n    In the mad May wind, and sing and sing\n          As if she'd burst for joy--\n\n    Why cannot I\n    Contented lie\n    In his quiet arms, beneath his sky,\n            Unmoved by life's annoy.\n\n    --Robert Haven Schauffler.\n\n\n    Be like the bird that, halting in her flight\n    Awhile on boughs too slight,\n    Feels them give way beneath her and yet sings--\n    Knowing that she hath wings.\n\n    --Victor Hugo.\n\n\n    Let not your heart be troubled, Jesus said;\n    Let not your heart be troubled or afraid.\n    My peace into your hands I freely give;\n    Trust in your God, and in his precepts live.\n\n\n    Thunder, lightning, fire and rain,\n    Poverty, sorrow, loss and gain,\n    Death and heaven, and earth and hell,\n    For us must work together well.\n\n\n    With patient course thy path of duty run\n    God nothing does, or suffers to be done,\n    But thou wouldst do the same if thou couldst see\n    The end of all events as well as he.\n\n\n    I welcome all thy sovereign will,\n      For all that will is love;\n    And when I know not what thou dost,\n      I wait the light above.\n\n\n\n\nGOD'S CARE\n\nPROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE\n\n\nCONSIDER THE RAVENS\n\n    Lord, according to thy words,\n    I have considered thy birds;\n    And I find their life good,\n    And better, the better understood;\n    Sowing neither corn nor wheat\n    They have all that they can eat;\n    Reaping no more than they sow\n    They have more than they could stow;\n    Having neither barn nor store,\n    Hungry again they eat more.\n\n    Considering, I see too that they\n    Have a busy life, but plenty of play;\n    In the earth they dig their bills deep,\n    And work well, though they do not heap;\n    Then to play in the way they are not loth,\n    And their nests between are better than both.\n\n    But this is when there blow no storms,\n    When berries are plenty in winter, and worms,\n    When feathers are rife, with oil enough\n    To keep the cold out and send the rain off;\n    If there come, indeed, a long, hard frost,\n    Then it looks as though thy birds were lost.\n\n    But I consider further and find\n    A hungry bird has a free mind;\n    He is hungry to-day, but not to-morrow,\n    Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow;\n    This moment is his, thy will hath said it,\n    The next is nothing till Thou hast made it.\n\n    The bird has pain, but has no fear--\n    Which is the worst of any gear;\n    When cold and hunger and harm betide him,\n    He does not take them and stuff inside him;\n    Content with the day's ill he has got,\n    He waits just, nor haggles with his lot;\n    Neither jumbles God's will\n    With driblets from his own still.\n\n    But next I see, in my endeavor,\n    The birds here do not live forever;\n    That cold or hunger, sickness or age,\n    Finishes their earthly stage;\n    The rooks drop in cold nights,\n    Leaving all their wrongs and rights;\n    Birds lie here and birds lie there\n    With their feathers all astare;\n    And in thine own sermon, thou\n    That the sparrow falls dost allow.\n\n    It shall not cause me any alarm,\n    For neither so comes the bird to harm,\n    Seeing our Father, thou hast said,\n    Is by the sparrow's dying bed;\n    Therefore it is a blessed place,\n    And a sharer in high grace.\n\n    It cometh therefore to this, Lord:\n    I have considered thy word;\n    And henceforth will be thy bird.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nGOD KEEPS HIS OWN\n\n    I do not know whether my future lies\n      Through calm or storm;\n    Whether the way is strewn with broken ties,\n      Or friendships warm.\n\n    This much I know: Whate'er the pathway trod,\n      All else unknown,\n    I shall be guided safely on, for God\n      Will keep his own.\n\n    Clouds may obscure the sky, and drenching rain\n      Wear channels deep;\n    And haggard want, with all her bitter train,\n      Make angels weep.\n\n    And those I love the best, beneath the sod\n      May sleep alone;\n    But through it all I shall be led, for God\n      Will keep his own.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nCARE THOU FOR ME\n\n    Care Thou for me! Let me not care!\n    Too weak am I, dear Lord, to bear\n      The heavy burdens of the day;\n        And oft I walk with craven feet\n      Upon life's rough and toilsome way;\n        How sweet to feel, how passing sweet,\n    Thy watchful presence everywhere!\n    Care Thou for me! Let me not care!\n\n    Care Thou for me! Why should I care,\n    And looks of gloomy sadness wear,\n      And fret because I cannot see\n        (Thy wisdom doth ordain it so)\n      The path thou hast marked out for me?\n        My Father's plan is best, I know,\n    It will be light, sometime--somewhere--\n    Care thou for me! Why should I care?\n\n    Care Thou for me! Let me not care!\n    This, each new day, shall be my prayer;\n      Thou, who canst read my inmost heart,\n        Dost know I am exceeding frail;\n      Both just and merciful thou art,\n        Whose loving kindness ne'er shall fail;\n    My human nature thou wilt spare;\n    Care Thou for me! I will not care!\n\n\nTHE SPARROW\n\n    I am only a little sparrow,\n      A bird of low degree;\n    My life is of little value,\n      But the dear Lord cares for me.\n\n    He gave me a coat of feathers;\n      It is very plain, I know,\n    With never a speck of crimson,\n      For it was not made for show,\n\n    But it keeps me warm in winter,\n      And it shields me from the rain;\n    Were it bordered with gold or purple\n      Perhaps it would make me vain.\n\n    I have no barn or storehouse,\n      I neither sow nor reap;\n    God gives me a sparrow's portion,\n      But never a seed to keep.\n\n    If my meal is sometimes scanty,\n      Close picking makes it sweet;\n    I have always enough to feed me,\n      And \"life is more than meat.\"\n\n    I know there are many sparrows,\n      All over the world we are found;\n    But our heavenly Father knoweth\n      When one of us falls to the ground.\n\n    Though small, we are not forgotten;\n      Though weak we are never afraid;\n    For we know that the dear Lord keepeth\n      The life of the creatures he made.\n\n\nHE KNOWETH ALL\n\n    The twilight falls, the night is near,\n      I fold my work away\n    And kneel to One who bends to hear\n      The story of the day.\n\n    The old, old story, yet I kneel\n      To tell it at thy call;\n    And cares grow lighter as I feel\n      That Jesus knows them all.\n\n    Yes, all! The morning and the night,\n      The joy, the grief, the loss,\n    The roughened path, the sunbeam bright,\n      The hourly thorn and cross--\n\n    Thou knowest all; I lean my head,\n      My weary eyelids close,\n    Content and glad awhile to tread\n      This path, since Jesus knows!\n\n    And he has loved me! All my heart\n      With answering love is stirred,\n    And every anguished pain and smart\n      Finds healing in the Word.\n\n    So here I lay me down to rest,\n      As nightly shadows fall,\n    And lean, confiding, on his breast,\n      Who knows and pities all!\n\n\n    If to Jesus for relief\n      My soul has fled by prayer,\n    Why should I give way to grief\n      Or heart-consuming care?\n    While I know his providence\n      Disposes each event\n    Shall I judge by feeble sense,\n      And yield to discontent?\n    Sparrows if he kindly feed,\n      And verdure clothe in rich array.\n    Can he see a child in need,\n      And turn his eyes away?\n\n\nHE NEVER FORGETS\n\n    Nay, nay, do not tell me that God will not hear me.\n      I know he is high over all,\n    Yet I know just as well that he always is near me\n      And never forgets me at all.\n\n    He shows not his face, for its glory would blind me,\n      Yet I walk on my way unafraid;\n    Though lost in the desert He surely would find me\n      His angels would come to my aid.\n\n    He sits on his throne in the wonderful city,\n      And I--I am ashes and dust!\n    Yet I am at rest in His wonderful pity,\n      And I in his promises trust.\n\n    He lighteth the stars, and they shine in their places;\n      He maketh his sun like a flame;\n    But better and brighter to Him are the faces\n      Of mortals that call on his name.\n\n    Nay, nay! do not tell me that, wrapped in his glory.\n      He hears not my voice when I cry;\n    He made me! He loves me! He knows all my story!\n      I shall look on his face by and by!\n\n\nTHE SURE REFUGE\n\n    O I know the Hand that is guiding me\n      Through the shadow to the light;\n    And I know that all betiding me\n      Is meted out aright.\n    I know that the thorny path I tread\n      Is ruled with a golden line;\n    And I know that the darker life's tangled thread\n      The brighter the rich design.\n\n    When faints and fails each wilderness hope,\n      And the lamp of faith burns dim,\n    O! I know where to find the honey drop\n      On the bitter chalice brim.\n    For I see, though veiled from my mortal sight,\n      God's plan is all complete;\n    Though the darkness at present be not light,\n      And the bitter be not sweet.\n\n    I can wait till the dayspring shall overflow\n      The night of pain and care;\n    For I know there's a blessing for every woe,\n      A promise for every prayer.\n    Yes, I feel that the Hand which is holding me\n      Will ever hold me fast;\n    And the strength of the arms that are folding me\n      Will keep me to the last.\n\n\nFOLLOWING\n\n    As God leads me will I go,\n      Nor choose my way.\n    Let him choose the joy or woe\n      Of every day;\n    They cannot hurt my soul,\n    Because in his control;\n    I leave to him the whole--\n      His children may.\n\n    As God leads me I am still\n      Within his hand;\n    Though his purpose my self-will\n      Doth oft withstand;\n    Yet I wish that none\n    But his will be done\n    Till the end be won\n      That he hath planned.\n\n    As God leads I am content;\n      He will take care!\n    All things by his will are sent\n      That I must bear;\n    To him I take my fear,\n    My wishes, while I'm here;\n    The way will all seem clear,\n      When I am there!\n\n    As God leads me it is mine\n      To follow him;\n    Soon all shall wonderfully shine\n      Which now seems dim.\n    Fulfilled be his decree!\n    What he shall choose for me\n    That shall my portion be,\n      Up to the brim!\n\n    As God leads me so my heart\n      In faith shall rest.\n    No grief nor fear my soul shall part\n      From Jesus' breast.\n    In sweet belief I know\n    What way my life doth go--\n    Since God permitteth so--\n      That must be best.\n\n    --L. Gedicke.\n\n\n\"YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER KNOWETH\"\n\n    There are two words of light divine\n    That fall upon this heart of mine,\n    That thrill me in the hour of gain,\n    That still me in the hour of pain:\n    Two words endued with magic power,\n    Sufficient unto any hour--\n                He knows.\n\n    As summer breezes, cool and sweet,\n    Bring rest, relief from toil and heat;\n    As showers, needed as they fall,\n    Renew, refresh and comfort all;\n    So to my feverish heart is given\n    This loving message, fresh from heaven:\n                He knows.\n\n    My fainting heart finds strength in this,\n    My hungry heart here seeks its bliss;\n    Here angry billows never surge,\n    Here death can never sing its dirge;\n    My rising fears, with murmuring fraught,\n    Find sudden calm beneath this thought:\n                He knows.\n\n    O lullaby for children grown!\n    O nectar sweet for lips that moan!\n    O balm to stricken hearts oppressed!\n    O pillow where worn heads may rest!\n    All joy, all comfort in thee meet,\n    O blessed words, surpassing sweet,\n                He knows.\n\n\nFEAR NOT\n\n    Don't you trouble trouble\n      Till trouble troubles you.\n    Don't you look for trouble;\n      Let trouble look for you.\n\n    Don't you borrow sorrow;\n      You'll surely have your share.\n    He who dreams of sorrow\n      Will find that sorrow's there.\n\n    Don't you hurry worry\n      By worrying lest it come.\n    To flurry is to worry,\n      'Twill miss you if you're mum.\n\n    If care you've got to carry\n      Wait till 'tis at the door;\n    For he who runs to meet it\n      Takes up the load before.\n\n    If minding will not mend it,\n      Then better not to mind;\n    The best thing is to end it--\n      Just leave it all behind.\n\n    Who feareth hath forsaken\n      The Heavenly Father's side;\n    What he hath undertaken\n      He surely will provide.\n\n    The very birds reprove thee\n      With all their happy song;\n    The very flowers teach thee\n      That fretting is a wrong.\n\n    \"Cheer up,\" the sparrow chirpeth,\n      \"Thy Father feedeth me;\n    Think how much more he careth,\n      O lonely child, for thee!\"\n\n    \"Fear not,\" the flowers whisper;\n      \"Since thus he hath arrayed\n    The buttercup and daisy,\n      How canst thou be afraid?\"\n\n    Then don't you trouble trouble,\n      Till trouble troubles you;\n    You'll only double trouble,\n      And trouble others too.\n\n\nHE LEADS US ON\n\n      He leads us on\n    By paths we did not know;\n    Upward he leads us, though our steps be slow,\n    Though oft we faint and falter on the way,\n    Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day,\n      Yet when the clouds are gone\n      We know he leads us on.\n\n      He leads us on.\n    Through all the unquiet years;\n    Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears,\n    He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze\n    Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days\n      We know his will is done;\n      And still he leads us on.\n\n      And he, at last,\n    After the weary strife--\n    After the restless fever we call life--\n    After the dreariness, the aching pain,\n    The wayward struggles which have proved in vain,\n      After our toils are past,\n      Will give us rest at last.\n\n\nTHE DEVIL IS A FOOL\n\n    Saint Dominic, the glory of the schools,\n    Writing, one day, \"The Inquisition's\" rules,\n    Stopt, when the evening came, for want of light.\n    The devils, who below from morn till night,\n    Well pleased, had seen his work, exclaimed with sorrow,\n    \"Something he will forget before to-morrow!\"\n    One zealous imp flew upward from the place,\n    And stood before him, with an angel face.\n    \"I come,\" said he, \"sent from God's Realm of Peace,\n    To light you, lest your holy labors cease.\"\n    Well pleased, the saint wrote on with careful pen.\n    The candle was consumed; the devil then\n    Lighted his _thumb_; the saint, quite undisturbed,\n    Finished his treatise to the final word.\n    Then he looked up, and started with affright;\n    For lo! the thumb blazed with a lurid light.\n    \"Your thumb is burned!\" said he. The child of sin\n    Changed to his proper form, and with a grin\n    Said, \"I will quench it in the martyrs' blood\n    Your book will cause to flow--a crimson flood!\"\n\n    Triumphantly the fiend returned to hell\n    And told his story. Satan said, \"'Tis well!\n    Your aim was good, but foolish was the deed;\n    For blood of martyrs is the Church's seed.\"\n\n    --Herder, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\nPROVIDENCE\n\n    We all acknowledge both thy power and love\n      To be exact, transcendent, and divine;\n    Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move,\n      While all things have their will, yet none but thine,\n\n    For either thy _command_ or thy _permission_\n      Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left:\n    The first puts on with speed and expedition;\n      The other curbs sin's stealing pace and theft.\n\n    Nothing escapes them both; all must appear\n      And be disposed and dressed and tuned by thee,\n    Who sweetly temperest all. If we could hear\n      Thy skill and art what music would it be!\n\n    Thou art in small things great, nor small in any;\n      Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall.\n    Thou art in all things one, in each thing many;\n      For thou art infinite in one and all.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nTHE MYSTERIOUS WAY\n\n    God moves in a mysterious way\n      His wonders to perform;\n    He plants his footsteps in the sea\n      And rides upon the storm.\n\n    Deep in unfathomable mines\n      Of never-failing skill,\n    He treasures up his bright designs\n      And works his sovereign will.\n\n    Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take:\n      The clouds ye so much dread\n    Are big with mercy, and shall break\n      In blessings on your head.\n\n    Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,\n      But trust him for his grace;\n    Behind a frowning providence\n      He hides a smiling face.\n\n    His purposes will ripen fast,\n      Unfolding every hour;\n    The bud may have a bitter taste,\n      But sweet will be the flower.\n\n    Blind unbelief is sure to err,\n      And scan his work in vain;\n    God is his own interpreter,\n      And he will make it plain.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nDISAPPOINTMENT\n\n    Our yet unfinished story\n      Is tending all to this:\n    To God the greatest glory,\n      To us the greatest bliss.\n\n    If all things work together\n      For ends so grand and blest,\n    What need to wonder whether\n      Each in itself is best!\n\n    If some things were omitted,\n      Or altered as we would,\n    The whole might be unfitted\n      To work for perfect good.\n\n    Our plans may be disjointed,\n      But we may calmly rest;\n    What God has once appointed,\n      Is better than our best.\n\n    We cannot see before us,\n      But our all-seeing Friend\n    Is always watching o'er us,\n      And knows the very end.\n\n    What though we seem to stumble?\n      He will not let us fall;\n    And learning to be humble\n      Is not lost time at all.\n\n    What though we fondly reckoned\n      A smoother way to go\n    Than where his hand hath beckoned?\n      It will be better so.\n\n    What only seemed a barrier\n      A stepping-stone shall be;\n    Our God is no long tarrier,\n      A present help is he.\n\n    And when amid our blindness\n      His disappointments fall,\n    We trust his loving-kindness\n      Whose wisdom sends them all;\n\n    The discord that involveth\n      Some startling change of key,\n    The Master's hand revolveth\n      In richest harmony.\n\n    Then tremble not, and shrink not,\n      When disappointment nears;\n    Be trustful still, and think not\n      To realize all fears.\n\n    While we are meekly kneeling\n      We shall behold her rise,\n    Our Father's love revealing,\n      An angel in disguise.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nGOD'S CARE\n\n    Not a brooklet floweth\n      Onward to the sea,\n    Not a sunbeam gloweth\n      On its bosom free,\n    Not a seed unfoldeth\n      To the glorious air,\n    But our Father holdeth\n      It within his care.\n\n    Not a floweret fadeth,\n      Not a star grows dim,\n    Not a cloud o'ershadeth,\n      But 'tis marked by him.\n    Dream not that thy gladness\n      God doth fail to see;\n    Think not in thy sadness\n      He forgetteth thee.\n\n    Not a tie is broken,\n      Not a hope laid low,\n    Not a farewell spoken,\n      But our God doth know.\n    Every hair is numbered,\n      Every tear is weighed\n    In the changeless balance\n      Wisest Love has made.\n\n    Power eternal resteth\n      In his changeless hand;\n    Love immortal hasteth\n      Swift at his command,\n    Faith can firmly trust him\n      In the darkest hour,\n    For the keys she holdeth\n      To his love and power.\n\n\n\"I WILL ABIDE IN THINE HOUSE\"\n\n    Among so many can he care?\n    Can special love be everywhere?\n    A myriad homes--a myriad ways--\n    And God's eye over every place?\n\n    _Over_; but _in_? The world is full;\n    A grand omnipotence must rule;\n    But is there life that doth abide\n    With mine own, loving, side by side?\n\n    So many, and so wide abroad;\n    Can any heart have all of God?\n    From the great spaces vague and dim,\n    May one small household gather him?\n\n    I asked; my soul bethought of this:\n    In just that very place of his\n    Where he hath put and keepeth you,\n    God hath no other thing to do.\n\n    --Adeline Dutton Train Whitney.\n\n\nCONSTANT CARE\n\n    How gentle God's commands!\n      How kind his precepts are!\n    Come, cast your burdens on the Lord,\n      And trust his constant care.\n\n    Beneath his watchful eye\n      His saints securely dwell;\n    That hand which bears all nature up\n      Shall guard his children well.\n\n    Why should this anxious load\n      Press down your weary mind?\n    Haste to your heavenly Father's throne\n      And sweet refreshment find.\n\n    His goodness stands approved,\n      Unchanged from day to day;\n    I'll drop my burden at his feet,\n      And bear a song away.\n\n    --Philip Doddridge.\n\n\nTHOU KNOWEST\n\n    Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and sorrow\n      Of the sad heart that comes to thee for rest.\n    Cares of to-day and burdens for to-morrow,\n      Blessings implored, and sins to be confest,\n    I come before thee, at thy gracious word,\n    And lay them at thy feet. _Thou knowest, Lord!_\n\n    Thou knowest all the past--how long and blindly\n      On the dark mountains the lost wanderer strayed,\n    How the good Shepherd followed, and how kindly\n      He bore it home upon his shoulders laid,\n    And healed the bleeding wounds, and soothed the pain,\n    And brought back life, and hope, and strength again.\n\n    Thou knowest all the present--each temptation,\n      Each toilsome duty, each foreboding fear;\n    All to myself assigned of tribulation,\n      Or to beloved ones than self more dear!\n    All pensive memories, as I journey on,\n    Longings for sunshine and for music gone!\n\n    Thou knowest all the future--gleams of gladness\n      By stormy clouds too quickly overcast--\n    Hours of sweet fellowship and parting sadness,\n      And the dark river to be crossed at last:\n    Oh, what could confidence and hope afford\n    To tread this path, but this--_Thou knowest, Lord!_\n\n    Thou knowest not alone as God--all-knowing--\n      As _man_ our mortal weakness thou hast proved\n    On earth; with purest sympathies o'erflowing,\n      O Saviour, thou hast wept, and thou hast loved.\n    And love and sorrow still to thee may come\n    And find a hiding-place, a rest, a home.\n\n    Therefore I come, thy gentle call obeying,\n      And lay my sins and sorrows at thy feet;\n    On everlasting strength my weakness staying,\n      Clothed in thy robe of righteousness complete.\n    Then rising, and refreshed, I leave thy throne,\n    And follow on to know as I am known!\n\n\nA GREAT DIFFERENCE\n\n    Men lose their ships, the eager things\n      To try their luck at sea,\n    But none can tell, by note or count,\n      How many there may be.\n\n    One turneth east, another south--\n      They never come again,\n    And then we know they must have sunk,\n      But neither how nor when.\n\n    God sends his happy birds abroad--\n      \"They're less than ships,\" say we;\n    No moment passes but he knows\n      How many there should be.\n\n    One buildeth high, another low,\n      With just a bird's light care--\n    If only one, perchance, doth fall,\n      God knoweth when and where.\n\n\n    HE CARETH FOR YOU\n\n    If I could only surely know\n    That all these things that tire me so\n      Were noticed by my Lord.\n    The pang that cuts me like a knife,\n    The lesser pains of daily life,\n    The noise, the weariness, the strife,\n      What peace it would afford!\n\n    I wonder if he really shares\n    In all my little human cares,\n      This mighty King of kings.\n    If he who guides each blazing star\n    Through realms of boundless space afar\n    Without confusion, sound or jar,\n      Stoops to these petty things.\n\n    It seems to me, if sure of this,\n    Blent with each ill would come such bliss\n      That I might covet pain,\n    And deem whatever brought to me\n    The loving thought of Deity,\n    And sense of Christ's sweet sympathy,\n      No loss, but richest gain.\n\n    Dear Lord, my heart hath not a doubt\n    That thou dost compass me about\n      With sympathy divine.\n    The love for me once crucified\n    Is not a love to leave my side,\n    But waiteth ever to divide\n      Each smallest care of mine.\n\n\nMOMENT BY MOMENT\n\n    Never a trial that He is not there;\n    Never a burden that He doth not bear;\n    Never a sorrow that He doth not share.\n    Moment by moment I'm under his care.\n\n    Never a heartache, and never a groan,\n    Never a tear-drop, and never a moan,\n    Never a danger but there, on the throne,\n    Moment by moment, He thinks of his own.\n\n    Never a weakness that He doth not feel;\n    Never a sickness that He cannot heal.\n    Moment by moment, in woe or in weal,\n    Jesus, my Saviour, abides with me still.\n\n    --Daniel W. Whittle.\n\n\n    There's a divinity that shapes our ends\n    Rough-hew them how we will.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\nEVENING HYMN\n\n    It is the evening hour,\n      And thankfully,\n    Father, thy weary child\n      Has come to thee.\n\n    I lean my aching head\n      Upon thy breast,\n    And there, and only there,\n      I am at rest.\n\n    Thou knowest all my life,\n      Each petty sin,\n    Nothing is hid from thee\n      Without, within.\n\n    All that I have or am\n      Is wholly thine,\n    So is my soul at peace,\n      For thou art mine.\n\n    To-morrow's dawn may find\n      Me here, or there;\n    It matters little, since thy love\n      Is everywhere!\n\n\nTHE BELIEVER'S HERITAGE\n\n    No care can come where God doth guard;\n      No ill befall whom he doth keep;\n    In safety hid, of trouble rid,\n      I lay me down in peace and sleep.\n\n    I wholly love thy holy name;\n      I hail with glee thy glorious will;\n    Where'er I go, 'tis joy to know\n      That thou, my King, art near me still.\n\n    Thy power immense, consummate, grand,\n      Thy wisdom, known to thee alone,\n    Thy perfect love, all thought above,\n      Make me a sharer in thy throne.\n\n    With thee abiding none can fear,\n      Nor lack, of every good possessed;\n    Thy grace avails, whate'er assails,\n      And I in thee am fully blest.\n\n    Then leap, my heart, exultant, strong,\n      Cast every doubt and weight away;\n    Give thanks and praise to God always,\n      For he will guide to perfect day!\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\n\"HE CARETH FOR THEE\"\n\n    What can it mean? Is it aught to him\n    That the nights are long and the days are dim?\n    Can he be touched by griefs I bear\n    Which sadden the heart and whiten the hair?\n    Around his throne are eternal calms,\n    And strong, glad music of happy psalms,\n    And bliss unruffled by any strife.\n    How can he care for my poor life?\n\n    And yet I want him to care for me\n    While I live in this world where the sorrows be;\n    When the lights die down on the path I take,\n    When strength is feeble, and friends forsake,\n    When love and music, that once did bless,\n    Have left me to silence and loneliness,\n    And life's song changes to sobbing prayers--\n    Then my heart cries out for God who cares.\n\n    When shadows hang o'er me the whole day long,\n    And my spirit is bowed with shame and wrong;\n    When I am not good, and the deeper shade\n    Of conscious sin makes my heart afraid;\n    And the busy world has too much to do\n    To stay in its course to help me through,\n    And I long for a Saviour--can it be\n    That the God of the Universe cares for me?\n\n    Oh, wonderful story of deathless love!\n    Each child is dear to that heart above;\n    He fights for me when I cannot fight;\n    He comforts me in the gloom of night;\n    He lifts the burden, for he is strong;\n    He stills the sigh and awakes the song;\n    The sorrow that bowed me down he bears,\n    And loves and pardons because he cares.\n\n    Let all who are sad take heart again;\n    We are not alone in hours of pain;\n    Our Father stoops from his throne above\n    To soothe and quiet us with his love.\n    He leaves us not when the storm is high,\n    And we have safety, for he is nigh.\n    Can it be trouble which he doth share?\n    O rest in peace, for the Lord does care.\n\n\nCAST THY BURDEN ON THE LORD\n\n    Thou who art touched with feeling of our woes,\n      Let me on thee my heavy burden cast!\n    My aching, anguished heart on thee repose.\n      Leaving with thee the sad mysterious past;\n    Let me submissive bow and kiss the rod;\n    Let me \"be still, and know that thou art God.\"\n\n    Why should my harassed agitated mind\n      Go round and round this terrible event?\n    Striving in vain some brighter side to find,\n      Some cause why all this anguish has been sent?\n    Do I indeed that sacred truth believe--\n    Thou dost not willingly afflict and grieve?\n\n    My lovely gourd is withered in an hour!\n      I droop, I faint beneath the scorching sun;\n    My Shepherd, lead me to some sheltering bower;\n      There where thy little flock \"lie down at noon\";\n    Though of my dearest earthly joy bereft\n    Thou art my portion still; thou, thou, my God, art left.\n\n    --Charlotte Elliott.\n\n\n    Says God: \"Who comes towards me an inch through doubtings dim,\n    In blazing light I do approach a yard towards him.\"\n\n    --Oriental, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.\n\n\n    The light of love is round His feet,\n      His paths are never dim;\n    And He comes nigh to us, when we\n      Dare not come nigh to Him.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    Not in our waking hours alone\n    His constancy and care are known,\n    But locked in slumber fast and deep\n    He giveth to us while we sleep.\n\n    --Frederick Lucian Hosmer.\n\n\nHIS CARE\n\n    God holds the key of all unknown,\n          And I am glad.\n    If other hands should hold the key,\n    Or if he trusted it to me,\n          I might be sad.\n\n    What if to-morrow's cares were here\n          Without its rest?\n    I'd rather he unlock the day,\n    And as the hours swing open say,\n          \"Thy will be best.\"\n\n    The very dimness of my sight\n          Makes me secure;\n    For groping in my misty way,\n    I feel his hand; I hear him say,\n          \"My help is sure.\"\n\n    I cannot read his future plan,\n          But this I know:\n    I have the smiling of his face,\n    And all the refuge of his grace,\n          While here below.\n\n    Enough; this covers all my want,\n          And so I rest;\n    For what I cannot he can see,\n    And in his care I sure shall be\n          Forever blest.\n\n    --John Parker.\n\n\n    Forever, from the hand that takes\n      One blessing from us, others fall;\n    And soon or late our Father makes\n      His perfect recompense to all.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n          Nothing pays but God,\n    Served--in work obscure done honestly,\n    Or vote for truth unpopular, or faith maintained\n    To ruinous convictions.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n    He did God's will, to him all one,\n    If on the earth or in the sun.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n                  I am\n    Part of that Power, not understood,\n    Which always wills the bad\n    And always works the good.\n    (Mephistopheles, in Faust.)\n\n    --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.\n\n\n    I have no answer, for myself or thee,\n    Save that I learned beside my mother's knee:\n    \"All is of God that is, and is to be;\n    And God is good.\" Let this suffice us still,\n    Resting in childlike trust upon his will\n    Who moves to his great ends unthwarted by the ill.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    He knows, he loves, he cares,\n      Nothing his truth can dim;\n    He gives his very best to those\n      Who leave the choice to him.\n\n\n      No help! nay, it is not so!\n    Though human help be far, thy God is nigh.\n    Who feeds the ravens hears his children's cry;\n    He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam,\n    And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home.\n\n\n    God sees me though I see him not;\n    I know I shall not be forgot;\n    For though I be the smallest dot,\n    It is his mercy shapes my lot.\n\n    --From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    Teach me to answer still,\n      Whate'er my lot may be,\n    To all thou sendest me, of good or ill,\n    \"All goeth as God will.\"\n\n\n    Dance, O my soul! 'tis God doth play;\n    His will makes music all the day;\n    That song which rings the world around\n    This heart of mine shall ever sound.\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\n            Let one more attest:\n    I have seen God's hand through a life time,\n    And all was for best.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n\n\nGOD'S WILL\n\nOBEDIENCE, DIVINE UNION\n\n\nTHE WILL OF GOD\n\n    I worship thee, sweet will of God!\n      And all thy ways adore.\n    And every day I live I seem\n      To love thee more and more.\n\n    Thou wert the end, the blessed rule\n      Of our Saviour's toils and tears;\n    Thou wert the passion of his heart\n      Those three and thirty years.\n\n    And he hath breathed into my soul\n      A special love of thee,\n    A love to lose my will in his,\n      And by that loss be free.\n\n    I love to kiss each print where thou\n      Hast set thine unseen feet;\n    I cannot fear thee, blessed will!\n      Thine empire is so sweet.\n\n    When obstacles and trials seem\n      Like prison walls to be,\n    I do the little I can do,\n      And leave the rest to thee.\n\n    I know not what it is to doubt;\n      My heart is ever gay;\n    I run no risk, for come what will\n      Thou always hast thy way.\n\n    I have no cares, O blessed will!\n      For all my cares are thine;\n    I live in triumph, Lord, for thou\n      Hast made thy triumphs mine.\n\n    And when it seems no chance or change\n      From grief can set me free,\n    Hope finds its strength in helplessness,\n      And gayly waits on thee.\n\n    Man's weakness waiting upon God\n      Its end can never miss,\n    For man on earth no work can do\n      More angel-like than this.\n\n    Ride on, ride on triumphantly,\n      Thou glorious Will! ride on;\n    Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take\n      The road that thou hast gone.\n\n    He always wins who sides with God,\n      To him no chance is lost;\n    God's will is sweetest to him when\n      It triumphs at his cost.\n\n    Ill that he blesses is our good,\n      And unblest good is ill;\n    And all is right that seems most wrong\n      If it be his sweet will!\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nTHE WILL DIVINE\n\n    Thy will, O God, is joy to me,\n      A gladsome thing;\n    For in it naught but love I see,\n      Whate'er it bring.\n\n    No bed of pain, no rack of woe--\n      Thy will is good;\n    A glory wheresoe'er I go,\n      My daily food.\n\n    Within the circle of thy will\n      All things abide;\n    So I, exulting, find no ill\n      Where thou dost guide.\n\n    In that resplendent will of thine\n      I calmly rest;\n    Triumphantly I make it mine,\n      And count it best.\n\n    To doubt and gloom and care and fear\n      I yield no jot;\n    Thy choice I choose, with soul sincere,\n      Thrice happy lot!\n\n    In all the small events that fall\n      From day to day\n    I mark thy hand, I hear thy call,\n      And swift obey.\n\n    I walk by faith, not sense or sight;\n      Calm faith in thee;\n    My peace endures, my way is bright,\n      My heart is free.\n\n    Unfaltering trust, complete content,\n      The days ensphere,\n    Each meal becomes a sacrament,\n      And heaven is here.\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\nTHE TREE GOD PLANTS\n\n    The wind that blows can never kill\n          The tree God plants;\n    It bloweth east, it bloweth west,\n    The tender leaves have little rest,\n    But any wind that blows is best;\n          The tree God plants\n    Strikes deeper root, grows higher still,\n    Spreads wider boughs, for God's good will\n          Meets all its wants.\n\n    There is no frost hath power to blight\n          The tree God shields;\n    The roots are warm beneath soft snows,\n    And when Spring comes it surely knows,\n    And every bud to blossom grows.\n          The tree God shields\n    Grows on apace by day and night,\n    Till sweet to taste and fair to sight\n          Its fruit it yields.\n\n    There is no storm hath power to blast\n          The tree God knows;\n    No thunderbolt, nor beating rain,\n    Nor lightning flash, nor hurricane--\n    When they are spent it doth remain.\n          The tree God knows\n    Through every tempest standeth fast,\n    And from its first day to its last\n          Still fairer grows.\n\n    If in the soul's still garden-place\n          A seed God sows--\n    A little seed--it soon will grow,\n    And far and near all men will know\n    For heavenly lands he bids it blow.\n          A seed God sows,\n    And up it springs by day and night;\n    Through life, through death, it groweth right;\n          Forever grows.\n\n    --Lillian E. Barr.\n\n\nGOD'S WILL\n\n    Take thine own way with me, dear Lord,\n      Thou canst not otherwise than bless.\n    I launch me forth upon a sea\n      Of boundless love and tenderness.\n\n    I could not choose a larger bliss\n      Than to be wholly thine; and mine\n    A will whose highest joy is this,\n      To ceaselessly unclasp in thine.\n\n    I will not fear thee, O my God!\n      The days to come can only bring\n    Their perfect sequences of love,\n      Thy larger, deeper comforting.\n\n    Within the shadow of this love,\n      Loss doth transmute itself to gain;\n    Faith veils earth's sorrow in its light,\n      And straightway lives above her pain.\n\n    We are not losers thus; we share\n      The perfect gladness of the Son,\n    Not conquered--for, behold, we reign;\n      Conquered and Conqueror are one.\n\n    Thy wonderful, grand will, my God,\n      Triumphantly I make it mine;\n    And faith shall breathe her glad \"Amen\"\n      To every dear command of thine.\n\n    Beneath the splendor of thy choice,\n      Thy perfect choice for me, I rest;\n    Outside it now I dare not live,\n      Within it I must needs be blest.\n\n    Meanwhile my spirit anchors calm\n      In grander regions still than this;\n    The fair, far-shining latitudes\n      Of that yet unexplored bliss.\n\n    Then may thy perfect glorious will\n      Be evermore fulfilled in me,\n    And make my life an answering chord\n      Of glad, responsive harmony.\n\n    Oh! it is life indeed to live\n      Within this kingdom strangely sweet;\n    And yet we fear to enter in,\n      And linger with unwilling feet.\n\n    We fear this wondrous will of thine\n      Because we have not reached thy heart.\n    Not venturing our all on thee\n      We may not know how good thou art.\n\n    --Jean Sophia Pigott.\n\n\n    Deep at the heart of all our pain,\n    In loss as surely as in gain,\n      His love abideth still.\n    Let come what will my heart shall stand\n    On this firm rock at his right hand,\n      \"Father, it is thy will.\"\n\n    --John White Chadwick.\n\n\nTHE CARPENTER\n\n    O Lord! at Joseph's humble bench\n      Thy hands did handle saw and plane,\n    Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,\n      Avoiding knot, and humoring grain.\n\n    That thou didst seem thou _wast_ indeed,\n      In sport thy tools thou didst not use,\n    Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need,\n      The laborer's _hire_ too nice refuse.\n\n    Lord! might I be but as a saw,\n      A plane, a chisel in thy hand!\n    No, Lord! I take it back in awe,\n      Such prayer for me is far too grand.\n\n    I pray, O Master! let me lie,\n      As on thy bench the favored wood;\n    Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply,\n      And work me into something good.\n\n    No! no! Ambition holy, high,\n      Urges for more than both to pray;\n    Come in, O gracious force, I cry,\n      O Workman! share my shed of clay.\n\n    Then I at bench, or desk, or oar,\n      With last, or needle, net, or pen,\n    As thou in Nazareth of yore,\n      Shall do the Father's will again.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nTHE DIVINE MAJESTY\n\n    The Lord our God is clothed with might,\n      The winds obey his will;\n    He speaks, and in his heavenly height\n      The rolling sun stands still.\n\n    Rebel, ye waves, and o'er the land\n      With threatening aspect roar;\n    The Lord uplifts his awful hand,\n      And chains you to the shore.\n\n    Ye winds of night, your force combine;\n      Without his high behest,\n    Ye shall not, in the mountain pine,\n      Disturb the sparrow's nest.\n\n    His voice sublime is heard afar;\n      In distant peals it dies;\n    He yokes the whirlwind to his car\n      And sweeps the howling skies.\n\n    Ye sons of earth, in reverence bend;\n      Ye nations, wait his nod;\n    And bid the choral song ascend\n      To celebrate our God.\n\n    --H. Kirke White.\n\n\nTHOU SWEET, BELOVED WILL OF GOD\n\n    Thou sweet, beloved will of God,\n      My anchor ground, my fortress hill,\n    My spirit's silent, fair abode,\n      In thee I hide me and am still.\n\n    O Will, that willest good alone,\n      Lead thou the way, thou guidest best;\n    A little child, I follow on,\n      And, trusting, lean upon thy breast.\n\n    Thy beautiful sweet will, my God,\n      Holds fast in its sublime embrace\n    My captive will, a gladsome bird,\n      Prisoned in such a realm of grace.\n\n    Within this place of certain good\n      Love evermore expands her wings,\n    Or, nestling in thy perfect choice,\n      Abides content with what it brings.\n\n    Oh lightest burden, sweetest yoke!\n      It lifts, it bears my happy soul,\n    It giveth wings to this poor heart;\n      My freedom is thy grand control.\n\n    Upon God's will I lay me down,\n      As child upon its mother's breast;\n    No silken couch, nor softest bed,\n      Could ever give me such deep rest.\n\n    Thy wonderful grand will, my God,\n      With triumph now I make it mine;\n    And faith shall cry a joyous Yes!\n      To every dear command of thine.\n\n\nAS IT WAS TO BE\n\n    The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare!\n    The spray of the tempest is white in air;\n    The winds are out with the waves at play,\n    And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.\n\n    The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,\n    The panther clings to the arching limb;\n    And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,\n    And I shall not join in the chase to-day.\n\n    But the ship sailed safely over the sea,\n    And the hunters came from the chase in glee;\n    And the town that was builded upon a rock\n    Was swallowed up in the earthquake's shock.\n\n    --Francis Bret Harte.\n\n\nUSEFUL ACCORDING TO GOD'S WILL\n\n    Let me not die before I've done for thee\n    My earthly work, whatever it may be;\n    Call me not hence with mission unfulfilled;\n    Let me not leave my space of ground untilled;\n    Impress this truth upon me, that not one\n    Can do my portion that I leave undone.\n\n    Then give me strength all faithfully to toil,\n    Converting barren earth to fruitful soil.\n    I long to be an instrument of thine\n    For gathering worshipers into thy shrine:\n    To be the means one human soul to save\n    From the dark terrors of a hopeless grave.\n\n    Yet most I want a spirit of content\n    To work where'er thou'lt wish my labor spent,\n    Whether at home or in a stranger's clime,\n    In days of joy or sorrow's sterner time;\n    I want a spirit passive to be still,\n    And by thy power to do thy holy will.\n\n    And when the prayer unto my lips doth rise,\n    \"Before a new home doth my soul surprise,\n    Let me accomplish _some great work_ for thee,\"\n    Subdue it, Lord; let my petition be,\n    \"O make me useful in this world of thine,\n    In ways according to thy will, not mine.\"\n\n\nAS THOU WILT\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      O may thy will be mine;\n    Into thy hand of love\n      I would my all resign.\n    Through sorrow or through joy\n      Conduct me as thine own,\n    And help me still to say,\n      \"My Lord, thy will be done.\"\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      If needy here, and poor,\n    Give me thy people's bread,\n      Their portion rich and sure.\n    The manna of thy word\n      Let my soul feed upon;\n    And if all else should fail--\n      My Lord, thy will be done.\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      If among thorns I go,\n    Still sometimes here and there\n      Let a few roses blow.\n    But thou on earth along\n      The thorny path hast gone;\n    Then lead me after thee.\n      My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      Though seen through many a tear,\n    Let not my star of hope\n      Grow dim or disappear.\n    Since thou on earth hast wept\n      And sorrowed oft alone,\n    If I must weep with thee,\n      My Lord, thy will be done.\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      If loved ones must depart\n    Suffer not sorrow's flood\n      To overwhelm my heart.\n    For they are blest with thee,\n      Their race and conflict won;\n    Let me but follow them.\n      My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      When death itself draws nigh,\n    To thy dear wounded side\n      I would for refuge fly.\n    Leaning on thee, to go\n      Where thou before hast gone;\n    The rest as thou shalt please.\n      My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n    My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n      All shall be well for me;\n    Each changing future scene\n      I gladly trust with thee.\n    Straight to my home above,\n      I travel calmly on,\n    And sing in life or death,\n      \"My Lord, thy will be done.\"\n\n    --Benjamin Schmolke, tr. by J. Borthwick.\n\n\nGREAT AND SMALL\n\n    There is no great nor small in Nature's plan,\n    Bulk is but fancy in the mind of man;\n    A raindrop is as wondrous as a star,\n    Near is not nearest, farthest is not far;\n    And suns and planets in the vast serene\n    Are lost as midges in the summer sheen,\n    Born in their season; and we live and die\n    Creatures of Time, lost in Eternity.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\nGOD'S WILL BE DONE\n\n    My God, my Father, while I stray\n    Far from my home, on life's rough way,\n    O teach me from my heart to say,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Though dark my path, and sad my lot,\n    Let me \"be still,\" and murmur not;\n    O breathe the prayer divinely taught,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    What though in lonely grief I sigh\n    For friends beloved, no longer nigh,\n    Submissive still would I reply\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Though thou hast called me to resign\n    What most I prized, it ne'er was mine;\n    I have but yielded what was thine;\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Should grief or sickness waste away\n    My life in premature decay;\n    My Father! still I strive to say,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Let but my fainting heart be blest\n    With thy sweet Spirit for its guest;\n    My God! to thee I leave the rest:\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Renew my will from day to day!\n    Blend it with thine; and take away\n    All that now makes it hard to say,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    Then, when on earth I breathe no more\n    The prayer oft mixed with tears before,\n    I'll sing upon a happier shore:\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    --Charlotte Elliott.\n\n\nTHE TWO ANGELS\n\n    All is of God! If he but wave his hand,\n      The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,\n    Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,\n      Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.\n\n    Angels of Life and Death alike are his;\n      Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;\n    Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,\n      Against his messengers to shut the door?\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nAMEN!\n\n          I cannot say,\n    Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day,\n          I joy in these;\n          But I can say\n    That I had rather walk this rugged way,\n          If _Him_ it please.\n\n          I cannot feel\n    That all is well when darkening clouds conceal\n          The shining sun;\n          But then I know\n    God lives and loves, and say, since it is so,\n          _Thy will be done_.\n\n          I cannot speak\n    In happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheek\n          Show I am sad:\n          But I can speak\n    Of _grace_ to suffer with submission meek\n          Until made glad.\n\n          I do not see\n    Why God should e'en permit some things to be,\n          When _He is love_;\n          But I can see,\n    Though often dimly, through the mystery\n          His hand above!\n\n          I do not know\n    Where falls the seed that I have tried to sow\n          With greatest care;\n          But I _shall know_\n    The meaning of each waiting hour below\n          _Sometime, somewhere_!\n\n          I do not look\n    Upon the present, nor in Nature's book,\n          To read my fate;\n          But I _do look_\n    For _promised blessings_ in God's holy Book;\n          And _I can wait_.\n\n          I may not try\n    To keep the hot tears back--but hush that sigh,\n          \"It might have been\";\n          And try to still\n    Each rising murmur, and to _God's sweet will_\n          Respond \"_Amen!_\"\n\n    --Miss Ophelia G. Browning.\n\n\nAS HE WILLS\n\n    He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,\n    Alike they're needful for the flower;\n    And joys and tears alike are sent\n    To give the soul fit nourishment.\n    As comes to me or cloud or sun,\n    Father! thy will, not mine, be done.\n\n    Can loving children e'er reprove,\n    With murmurs, whom they trust and love?\n    Creator! I would ever be\n    A trusting, loving child to thee:\n    As comes to me or cloud or sun,\n    Father! thy will, not mine, be done.\n\n    O ne'er will I at life repine--\n    Enough that thou hast made it mine;\n    When falls the shadow cold of death\n    I yet will sing with parting breath,\n    As comes to me or cloud or sun,\n    Father! thy will, not mine, be done.\n\n    --Sarah Flower Adams.\n\n\nACCORDING TO THY WILL\n\n    If I were told that I must die to-morrow,\n              That the next sun\n    Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow\n              For any one,\n    All the fight fought, all the short journey through,\n              What should I do?\n\n    I do not think that I should shrink or falter,\n              But just go on\n    Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter\n              Aught that is gone;\n    But rise, and move, and love, and smile, and pray\n              For one more day.\n\n    And lying down at night, for a last sleeping,\n              Say in that ear\n    Which harkens ever, \"Lord, within thy keeping,\n              How should I fear?\n    And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still,\n              Do thou thy will.\"\n\n    I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender,\n              My soul would lie\n    All night long; and when the morning splendor\n              Flashed o'er the sky,\n    I think that I could smile--could calmly say,\n              \"It is his day.\"\n\n    But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder\n              Held out a scroll\n    On which my life was writ, and I with wonder\n              Beheld unroll\n    To a long century's end its mystic clew--\n              What should I do?\n\n    What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master!\n              Other than this,\n    Still to go on as now, not slower, faster,\n              Nor fear to miss\n    The road, although so very long it be,\n              While led by thee?\n\n    Step by step, feeling thee close beside me,\n              Although unseen;\n    Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee\n              Or heavens serene,\n    Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray,\n              Thy love decay.\n\n    I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth\n              Thy counsels wise;\n    Along the path no deepening shadow stealeth;\n              No voice replies\n    To all my questioning thought the time to tell,\n              And it is well.\n\n    Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing\n              Thy will always;\n    Through a long century's ripe fruition\n              Or a short day's;\n    Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait\n              If thou come late!\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\n    God's in his heaven,\n    All's right with the world.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nWHAT PLEASETH GOD\n\n    What pleaseth God with joy receive;\n    Though storm-winds rage and billows heave\n    And earth's foundations all be rent,\n    Be comforted; to thee is sent\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    God's will is best; to this resigned,\n    How sweetly rests the weary mind!\n    Seek, then, this blessed conformity,\n    Desiring but to do and be\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    God's thoughts are wisest; human schemes\n    Are vain delusions, idle dreams;\n    Our purposes are frail and weak;\n    With earthly mind we seldom seek\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    God is the holiest; and his ways\n    Are full of kindness, truth, and grace;\n    His blessing crowns our earnest prayer,\n    While worldlings scorn, and little care\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    God's is the truest heart; his love\n    Nor time, nor life, nor death, can move;\n    To those his mercies daily flow,\n    Whose chief concern it is to know\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    Omnipotent he reigns on high\n    And watcheth o'er thy destiny;\n    While sea, and earth, and air produce\n    For daily pleasure, daily use,\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    He loves his sheep, and when they stray\n    He leads them back to wisdom's way;\n    Their faithless, wandering hearts to turn,\n    Gently chastising, till they learn\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    He knows our every need, and grants\n    A rich supply to all our wants;\n    No good withholds from those whose mind\n    Is bent with earnest zeal to find\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    Then let the world, with stubborn will,\n    Its earthborn pleasures follow still;\n    Be this, my soul, thy constant aim,\n    Thy riches, honor, glory, fame,\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    Should care and grief thy portion be,\n    To thy strong refuge ever flee;\n    For all his creatures but perform,\n    In peace and tumult, calm and storm,\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    Faith lays her hand on God's rich grace,\n    And hope gives patience for the race;\n    These virtues in thy heart enshrined,\n    Thy portion thou wilt surely find,\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    In heaven thy glorious portion is;\n    There is thy throne, thy crown, thy bliss;\n    There shalt thou taste, and hear, and see,\n    There shalt thou ever do and be,\n            What pleaseth God.\n\n    --Paul Gerhardt.\n\n\n\"THE SPLENDOR OF GOD'S WILL\"\n\n    O words of golden music\n      Caught from the harps on high,\n    Which find a glorious anthem\n      Where we have found a sigh,\n    And peal their grandest praises\n      Just where ours faint and die.\n\n    O words of holy radiance\n      Shining on every tear\n    Till it becomes a rainbow,\n      Reflecting, bright and clear,\n    Our Father's love and glory\n      So wonderful, so dear!\n\n    O words of sparkling power,\n      Of insight full and deep!\n    Shall they not enter other hearts\n      In a grand and gladsome sweep,\n    And lift the lives to songs of joy\n      That only droop and weep?\n\n    And O, it is a splendor,\n      A glow of majesty,\n    A mystery of beauty,\n      If we will only see;\n    A very cloud of glory\n      Enfolding you and me.\n\n    A splendor that is lighted\n      At one transcendent flame,\n    The wondrous love, the perfect love,\n      Our Father's sweetest name;\n    For his very name and essence\n      And his will are all the same.\n\n    --Frances Ridley Havergal.\n\n\nNOT BY CHANCE\n\n    No chance has brought this ill to me;\n    'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;\n    He seeth what I cannot see.\n\n    There is a need-be for each pain,\n    And he will make it one day plain\n    That earthly loss is heavenly gain.\n\n    Like as a piece of tapestry,\n    Viewed from the back, appears to be\n    Naught but threads tangled hopelessly,\n\n    But in the front a picture fair\n    Rewards the worker for his care,\n    Proving his skill and patience rare.\n\n    Thou art the workman, I the frame;\n    Lord, for the glory of thy name,\n    Perfect thine image on the same!\n\n\nSUBMISSION TO GOD\n\n    Whate'er God wills let that be done;\n      His will is ever wisest;\n    His grace will all thy hope outrun\n      Who to that faith arisest.\n        The gracious Lord\n        Will help afford;\n      He chastens with forbearing;\n        Who God believes,\n        And to him cleaves,\n      Shall not be left despairing.\n\n    My God is my sure confidence,\n      My light, and my existence;\n    His counsel is beyond my sense,\n      But stirs no weak resistance;\n        His word declares\n        The very hairs\n      Upon my head are numbered;\n        His mercy large\n        Holds me in charge\n      With care that never slumbered.\n\n    There comes a day when at his will\n      The pulse of nature ceases.\n    I think upon it, and am still,\n      Let come whate'er he pleases.\n        To him I trust\n        My soul, my dust,\n      When flesh and spirit sever;\n        The Christ we sing\n        Has plucked the sting\n      Away from death forever.\n\n    --Albert of Brandenburg, 1586.\n\n\nTHY WILL BE DONE\n\n    We see not, know not; all our way\n    Is night; with thee alone is day.\n    From out the torrent's troubled drift,\n    Above the storm our prayers we lift:\n          Thy will be done!\n\n    The flesh may fail, the heart may faint.\n    But who are we to make complaint\n    Or dare to plead, in times like these,\n    The weakness of our love of ease?\n          Thy will be done!\n\n    We take, with solemn thankfulness,\n    Our burden up, nor ask it less,\n    And count it joy that even we\n    May suffer, serve, or wait for thee,\n          Whose will be done!\n\n    Though dim as yet in tint and line,\n    We trace thy picture's wise design,\n    And thank thee that our age supplies\n    Its dark relief of sacrifice.\n          Thy will be done!\n\n    And if, in our unworthiness,\n    Thy sacrificial wine we press;\n    If from thy ordeal's heated bars\n    Our feet are seamed with crimson scars,\n          Thy will be done!\n\n    If, for the age to come, this hour\n    Of trial hath vicarious power,\n    And, blest by thee, our present pain\n    Be liberty's eternal gain,\n          Thy will be done.\n\n    Strike, thou the Master, we thy keys,\n    The anthem of the destinies!\n    The minor of thy loftier strain,\n    Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,\n          Thy will be done!\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    There is no sense, as I can see,\n    In mortals such as you and me\n    A-faulting nature's wise intents\n    And locking horns with Providence.\n\n\n    It is no use to grumble and complain;\n      It's just as cheap and easy to rejoice;\n    When God sorts out the weather and sends rain--\n      Why, rain's my choice.\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nTHY WILL\n\n    Not in dumb resignation\n      We lift our hands on high;\n    Not like the nerveless fatalist,\n      Content to do and die.\n    Our faith springs like the eagle\n      Who soars to meet the sun,\n    And cries, exulting, unto thee,\n      \"O Lord, thy will be done!\"\n\n    Thy will! It bids the weak be strong;\n      It bids the strong be just;\n    No lip to fawn, no hand to beg,\n      No brow to seek the dust.\n    Wherever man oppresses man,\n      Beneath the liberal sun,\n    O Lord, be there! Thine arm make bare!\n      Thy righteous will be done!\n\n    --John Hay.\n\n\nAS GOD WILL\n\n    All goeth but God's will!\n      The fairest garden flower\n      Fades after its brief hour\n    Of brightness. Still,\n    This is but God's good will.\n\n    All goeth but God's will!\n      The brightest, dearest day\n      Doth swiftly pass away,\n    And darkest night\n    Succeeds the vision bright.\n\n    But still strong-hearted be,\n      Yea, though the night be drear;\n      How sad and long soe'er\n    Its gloom may be,\n    This darkness, too, shall flee.\n\n    Weep not yon grave beside!\n      Dear friend, he is not gone;\n      God's angel soon this stone\n    Shall roll aside.\n    Yea, death shall not abide!\n\n    Earth's anguish, too, shall go,\n      O then be strong, my soul!\n      When sorrows o'er thee roll\n    Be still, and know\n    'Tis God's will worketh so.\n\n    Dear Lord and God, incline\n      Thine ear unto my call!\n      O grant me that in all,\n    This will of mine\n    May still be one with thine!\n\n    Teach me to answer still,\n      Whate'er my lot may be,\n      To all thou sendest me,\n    Of good or ill;\n    \"All goeth as God will.\"\n\n    --Alice Williams.\n\n\nTHE SHADOW OF THE GREAT ROCK\n\n    Sweet is the solace of thy love,\n      My heavenly Friend, to me,\n    While through the hidden way of faith\n      I journey home with thee,\n    Learning by quiet thankfulness\n      As a dear child to be.\n\n    Though from the shadow of thy peace\n      My feet would often stray,\n    Thy mercy follows all my steps,\n      And will not turn away;\n    Yea, thou wilt comfort me at last\n      As none beneath thee may.\n\n    No other comforter I need\n      If thou, O Lord, be mine;\n    Thy rod will bring my spirit low,\n      Thy fire my heart refine,\n    And cause me pain that none may feel\n      By other love than thine.\n\n    Then in the secret of my soul,\n      Though hosts my peace invade,\n    Though through a waste and weary land\n      My lonely way be made,\n    Thou, even thou, wilt comfort me;\n      I need not be afraid.\n\n    O there is nothing in the world\n      To weigh against thy will;\n    Even the dark times I dread the most\n      Thy covenant fulfill;\n    And when the pleasant morning dawns\n      I find thee with me still.\n\n    Still in the solitary place\n      I would awhile abide.\n    Till with the solace of thy love\n      My soul is satisfied,\n    And all my hopes of happiness\n      Stay calmly at thy side.\n\n    On thy compassion I repose\n      In weakness and distress;\n    I will not ask for greater ease\n      Lest I should love thee less,\n    It is a blessed thing for me\n      To need thy tenderness.\n\n    --Anna Letitia Waring.\n\n\nRABIA\n\n    There was of old a Moslem saint\n      Named Rabia. On her bed she lay\n    Pale, sick, but uttered no complaint.\n      \"Send for the holy men to pray.\"\n    And two were sent. The first drew near:\n    \"The prayers of no man are sincere\n    Who does not bow beneath the rod,\n    And bear the chastening strokes of God.\"\n    Whereto the second, more severe:\n    \"The prayers of no man are sincere\n    Who does not in the rod rejoice\n    And make the strokes he bears his choice.\"\n    Then she, who felt that in such pain\n    The love of self did still remain,\n    Answered, \"No prayers can be sincere\n      When they from whose wrung hearts they fall\n    Are not as I am, lying here,\n      Who long since have forgotten all.\n    Dear Lord of love! There is no pain.\"\n    So Rabia, and was well again.\n\n    --Edmund Clarence Stedman.\n\n\nTHREE STAGES OF PIETY\n\n    Rabia, sick upon her bed,\n    By two saints was visited:\n\n    Holy Malik, Hassan wise,\n    Men of mark in Moslem eyes.\n\n    Hassan said: \"Whose prayer is pure\n    Will God's chastisement _endure_.\"\n\n    Malik, from a deeper sense,\n    Uttered his experience:\n\n    \"He who loves his Master's choice\n    Will in chastisement _rejoice_.\"\n\n    Rabia saw some selfish will\n    In their maxims lingering still,\n\n    And replied: \"O men of grace!\n    He who sees his Master's face\n\n    \"Will not in his prayer recall\n    That he is chastised at all.\"\n\n    --Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.\n\n(Rabia was a very holy Arabian woman who lived in the second century of\nthe Hegira, or the eighth century of our era.)\n\n\nPRAYER'S GRACE\n\n    Round holy Rabia's suffering bed\n      The wise men gathered, gazing gravely.\n    \"Daughter of God!\" the youngest said,\n      \"Endure thy Father's chastening bravely;\n    They who have steeped their souls in prayer\n      Can any anguish calmly bear.\"\n\n    She answered not, and turned aside,\n    Though not reproachfully nor sadly.\n    \"Daughter of God!\" the eldest cried,\n    \"Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly;\n    They who have learned to pray aright\n    From pain's dark well draw up delight.\"\n\n    Then spake she out: \"Your words are fair;\n    But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.\n    I know not, when absorbed in prayer,\n    Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.\n    They who God's face can understand\n    Feel not the workings of his hand.\"\n\n    --Monckton Milnes.\n\n\nI LOVE THY WILL\n\n    I love thy will, O God!\n      Thy blessed, perfect will,\n    In which this once rebellious heart\n      Lies satisfied and still.\n\n    I love thy will, O God!\n      It is my joy, my rest;\n    It glorifies my common task,\n      It makes each trial blest.\n\n    I love thy will, O God!\n      The sunshine or the rain;\n    Some days are bright with praise, and some\n      Sweet with accepted pain.\n\n    I love thy will, O God!\n      O hear my earnest plea,\n    That as thy will is done in heaven\n      It may be done in me!\n\n    --Bessie Pegg MacLaughlin.\n\n\n    Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;\n    Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.\n\n    --Tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\nDAILY BREAD\n\n    I pray, with meek hands on my breast,\n      \"Thy will be done, thy kingdom come,\"\n      But shouldst thou call my dear ones home\n    Should I still say, \"'Tis best;\n            Thy will be done\"?\n\n    I cannot tell. I probe my heart\n      With sharpest instruments of pain,\n      And listen if the sweet refrain\n    Still wells up through the smart--\n            \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    I cannot tell. I yield the quest,\n      Content if only day by day\n      My God shall give me grace to say,\n    \"Father, thou knowest best;\n            Thy will be done!\"\n\n    He gives no strength for coming ill,\n      Until its advent. Then he rolls\n      His love in on his waiting souls,\n    Sure of their sweet \"Thy will,\n            Thy will be done!\"\n\n    \"Give us this day our daily bread\"--\n      So prayed the Christ, and so will I;\n      Father, my daily bread supply,\n    Or, if I go unfed,\n            \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\nAPPROACHES\n\n    When thou turnest away from ill\n    Christ is this side of thy hill.\n\n    When thou turnest towards good\n    Christ is walking in thy wood.\n\n    When thy heart says, \"Father, pardon!\"\n    Then the Lord is in thy garden.\n\n    When stern duty wakes to watch\n    Then his hand is on the latch.\n\n    But when hope thy song doth rouse\n    Then the Lord is in the house.\n\n    When to love is all thy wit\n    Christ doth at thy table sit.\n\n    When God's will is thy heart's pole\n    Then is Christ thy very soul.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nSUBMISSION\n\n    But that thou art my wisdom, Lord,\n      And both mine eyes are thine.\n    My mind would be extremely stirred\n      For missing my design.\n\n    Were it not better to bestow\n      Some place and power on me?\n    Then should thy praises with me grow,\n      And share in my degree.\n\n    But when I thus dispute and grieve\n      I do resume my sight;\n    And, pilfering what I once did give,\n      Disseize thee of thy right.\n\n    How know I, if thou shouldst me raise.\n      That I should then raise thee?\n    Perhaps great places and thy praise\n      Do not so well agree.\n\n    Wherefore unto my gift I stand;\n      I will no more advise;\n    Only do thou lend me a hand,\n      Since thou hast both mine eyes.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nYOUTH'S WARNING\n\n    Beware, exulting youth, beware,\n      When life's young pleasures woo,\n    That ere you yield yon shrine your heart,\n      And keep your conscience true!\n    For sake of silver spent to-day\n      Why pledge to-morrow's gold?\n    Or in hot blood implant remorse,\n      To grow when blood is cold?\n    If wrong you do, if false you play,\n      In summer among the flowers,\n    You must atone, you must repay,\n      In winter among the showers.\n\n    To turn the balances of heaven\n      Surpasses mortal power;\n    For every white there is a black,\n      For every sweet a sour.\n    For every up there is a down,\n      For every folly shame,\n    And retribution follows guilt\n      As burning follows flame.\n    If wrong you do, if false you play,\n      In summer among the flowers,\n    You must atone, you must repay\n      In winter among the showers.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\nTHE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS\n\n    I love thy skies, thy sunny mists,\n      Thy fields, thy mountains hoar,\n    Thy wind that bloweth where it lists;\n      Thy will, I love it more.\n\n    I love thy hidden truth to seek\n      All round, in sea, on shore;\n    The arts whereby like gods we speak;\n      Thy will to me is more.\n\n    I love thy men and women, Lord,\n      The children round thy door,\n    Calm thoughts that inward strength afford;\n      Thy will, O Lord, is more.\n\n    But when thy will my life shall hold,\n      Thine to the very core,\n    The world which that same will did mold\n      I shall love ten times more.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    No child of man may perish ere his time arrives;\n    A thousand arrows pierce him and he still survives;\n    But when the moment fixed in heaven's eternal will\n    Comes round, a single blade of yielding grass may kill.\n\n    --From the Mahabharata, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\n    God gives to man the power to strike or miss you;\n      It is not thy foe who did the thing.\n    The arrow from the bow may seem to issue,\n      But we know an archer drew the string.\n\n    --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\n    On two days it steads not to run from thy grave:\n      The appointed and the unappointed day;\n    On the first neither balm nor physician can save,\n      Nor thee on the second the universe slay.\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\nROUNDEL\n\n    I do not know thy final will,\n      It is too good for me to know.\n      Thou willest that I mercy show,\n    That I take heed and do no ill,\n    That I the needy warm and fill,\n      Nor stones at any sinner throw;\n    But I know not thy final will,\n      It is too good for me to know.\n\n    I know thy love unspeakable--\n      For love's sake able to send woe!\n      To find thine own thou lost didst go,\n    And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!\n    How should I know thy final will,\n      Godwise too good for me to know!\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    One prayer I have--all prayers in one--\n      When I am wholly thine:\n    Thy will, my God, thy will be done,\n      And let that will be mine;\n    All-wise, almighty, and all-good,\n      In thee I firmly trust,\n    Thy ways, unknown or understood,\n      Are merciful and just.\n\n\n    Fear him, ye saints, and you will then\n      Have nothing else to fear;\n    Make you his service your delight,\n      He'll make your wants his care.\n\n\n    The best will is our Father's will,\n    And we may rest there calm and still;\n    O make it hour by hour thine own,\n    And wish for naught but that alone\n          Which pleases God.\n\n    --Paul Gerhardt.\n\n\n    It is Lucifer,\n    The son of mystery;\n    And since God suffers him to be\n    He, too, is God's minister,\n    And labors for some good\n    By us not understood!\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    Rabbi Jehosha had the skill\n    To know that heaven is in God's will.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n\n\nGOD'S PRESENCE\n\nPOSSESSION, SATISFACTION, REFLECTION\n\n\nTHE SECRET OF HIS PRESENCE\n\n    In the secret of his presence\n      I am kept from strife of tongues;\n    His pavilion is around me,\n      And within are ceaseless songs!\n    Stormy winds, his word fulfilling,\n      Beat without, but cannot harm,\n    For the Master's voice is stilling\n      Storm and tempest to a calm.\n\n    In the secret of his presence\n      All the darkness disappears;\n    For a sun that knows no setting,\n      Throws a rainbow on my tears.\n    So the day grows ever lighter,\n      Broadening to the perfect noon;\n    So the day grows ever brighter,\n      Heaven is coming, near and soon.\n\n    In the secret of his presence\n      Never more can foes alarm;\n    In the shadow of the Highest,\n      I can meet them with a psalm;\n    For the strong pavilion hides me,\n      Turns their fiery darts aside,\n    And I know, whate'er betides me,\n      I shall live because he died!\n\n    In the secret of his presence\n      Is a sweet, unbroken rest;\n    Pleasures, joys, in glorious fullness,\n      Making earth like Eden blest;\n    So my peace grows deep and deeper,\n      Widening as it nears the sea,\n    For my Saviour is my keeper,\n      Keeping mine and keeping me!\n\n    --Henry Burton.\n\n\nEYESERVICE\n\n    Eyeservice let me give\n        The while I live;\n        In shadow or in light,\n        By day or night,\n        With all my heart and skill--\n        Eyeservice still!\n\n    Yes, for the eyes I'll serve--\n        Nor faint nor swerve--\n        Are not the eyes of man,\n        That lightly scan,\n        But God's, that pierce and see\n        The whole of me!\n\n    Beneath the farthest skies,\n        Where morning flies,\n        In heaven or in hell,\n        If I should dwell,\n        In dark or daylight fair,\n        The Eyes are there!\n\n    No trembling fugitive,\n        Boldly I live\n        If, as in that pure sight,\n        I live aright,\n        Yielding with hand and will\n        Eyeservice still!\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\nOMNIPRESENCE\n\n    Lord of all being, throned afar,\n    Thy glory flames from sun and star;\n    Center and soul of every sphere,\n    Yet to each loving heart how near!\n\n    Sun of our life, thy quickening ray\n    Sheds on our path the glow of day;\n    Star of our hope, thy softened light\n    Cheers the long watches of the night.\n\n    Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;\n    Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;\n    Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;\n    All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!\n\n    Lord of all life, below, above,\n    Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,\n    Before thy ever-blazing throne\n    We ask no luster of our own.\n\n    Grant us thy truth to make us free,\n    And kindling hearts that burn for thee,\n    Till all thy living altars claim\n    One holy light, one heavenly flame.\n\n    --Oliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n\nTHE CHERUBIC PILGRIM\n\n    God's spirit falls on me as dew drops on a rose,\n    If I but like a rose my heart to him unclose.\n\n    The soul wherein God dwells--what Church can holier be?\n    Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.\n\n    Lo! in the silent night a child to God is born,\n    And all is brought again that ere was lost or lorn.\n\n    Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent night\n    God would be born in thee and set all things aright.\n\n    Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord his name with ye,\n    I feel him but as love, and Love his name with me.\n\n    Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,\n    If he's not born in thee thy soul is all forlorn.\n\n    The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul,\n    The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.\n\n    Christ rose not from the dead, Christ still is in the grave\n    If thou for whom he died art still of sin the slave.\n\n    In all eternity no tone can be so sweet\n    As where man's heart with God in unison doth beat.\n\n    Whate'er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must;\n    God, if thou lovest God, dust, if thou lovest dust.\n\n    Ah, would thy heart but be a manger for the birth,\n    God would once more become a child on earth.\n\n    Immeasurable is the highest; who but knows it?\n    And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.\n\n    --Johannes Scheffler.\n\n\nTHE LARGER VIEW\n\n    In buds upon some Aaron's rod\n    The childlike ancient saw his God;\n    Less credulous, more believing, we\n    Read in the grass--Divinity.\n\n    From Horeb's bush the Presence spoke\n    To earlier faiths and simpler folk;\n    But now each bush that sweeps our fence\n    Flames with the Awful Immanence!\n\n    To old Zacchaeus in his tree\n    What mattered leaves and botany?\n    His sycamore was but a seat\n    Whence he could watch that hallowed street.\n\n    But now to us each elm and pine\n    Is vibrant with the Voice divine,\n    Not only from but in the bough\n    Our larger creed beholds him now.\n\n    To the true faith, bark, sap, and stem\n    Are wonderful as Bethlehem;\n    No hill nor brook nor field nor herd\n    But mangers the Incarnate Word!\n\n    Far be it from our lips to cast\n    Contempt upon the holy past--\n    Whate'er the Finger writes we scan\n    In manger, prophecy, or man.\n\n    Again we touch the healing hem\n    In Nazareth or Jerusalem;\n    We trace again those faultless years;\n    The cross commands our wondering tears.\n\n    Yet if to us the Spirit writes\n    On Morning's manuscript and Night's,\n    In gospels of the growing grain,\n    Epistles of the pond and plain,\n\n    In stars, in atoms, as they roll,\n    Each tireless round its occult pole,\n    In wing and worm and fin and fleece,\n    In the wise soil's surpassing peace--\n\n    Thrice ingrate he whose only look\n    Is backward focussed on the Book,\n    Neglectful what the Presence saith,\n    Though he be near as blood and breath!\n\n    The only atheist is one\n    Who hears no Voice in wind or sun,\n    Believer in some primal curse,\n    Deaf in God's loving universe!\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nSTILL WITH THEE\n\n    Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,\n      When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;\n    Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,\n      Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee.\n\n    Alone with thee amid the mystic shadows,\n      The solemn hush of nature newly born;\n    Alone with thee in breathless adoration,\n      In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.\n\n    As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean\n      The image of the morning-star doth rest,\n    So in this stillness thou beholdest only\n      Thine image in the waters of my breast.\n\n    Still, still with thee! as to each new born morning\n      A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,\n    So does this blessed consciousness awaking\n      Breathe each day nearness unto thee and heaven.\n\n    When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,\n      Its closing eyes look up to thee in prayer;\n    Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,\n      But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.\n\n    So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,\n      When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;\n    O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,\n      Shall rise the glorious thought--I am with thee.\n\n    --Harriet Beecher Stowe.\n\n\n    There lives and works a soul in all things,\n      And that soul is God.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\nTHE ELIXIR\n\n    Teach me, my God and King,\n      In all things thee to see,\n    And what I do, in anything,\n      To do it as for thee.\n\n    A man that looks on glass\n      On it may stay his eye,\n    Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass\n      And then to heaven espy.\n\n    All may of thee partake.\n      Nothing can be so mean\n    Which with this tincture (_for thy sake_)\n      Will not grow bright and clean.\n\n    A servant with this clause\n      Makes drudgery divine.\n    Who sweeps a room as for thy laws\n      Makes that and th' action fine.\n\n    This is the famous stone\n      That turneth all to gold;\n    For that which God doth touch and own\n      Cannot for less be told.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nGOD'S PRESENCE\n\n    But God is never so far off\n      As even to be near.\n    He is within; our spirit is\n      The home he holds most dear.\n\n    To think of him as by our side\n      Is almost as untrue\n    As to remove his throne beyond\n      Those skies of starry blue.\n\n    So all the while I thought myself\n      Homeless, forlorn, and weary,\n    Missing my joy, I walked the earth,\n      Myself God's sanctuary.\n\n    I come to thee once more, my God!\n      No longer will I roam;\n    For I have sought the wide world through\n      And never found a home.\n\n    Though bright and many are the spots\n      Where I have built a nest--\n    Yet in the brightest still I pined\n      For more abiding rest.\n\n    For thou hast made this wondrous soul\n      All for thyself alone;\n    Ah! send thy sweet transforming grace\n      To make it more thine own.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nGOD IS MINE\n\n    If God is mine then present things\n      And things to come are mine;\n    Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,\n      And glory all divine.\n\n    If he is mine then from his love\n      He every trouble sends;\n    All things are working for my good,\n      And bliss his rod attends.\n\n    If he is mine I need not fear\n      The rage of earth and hell;\n    He will support my feeble power,\n      Their utmost force repel.\n\n    If he is mine let friends forsake,\n      Let wealth and honor flee;\n    Sure he who giveth me himself\n      Is more than these to me.\n\n    If he is mine I'll boldly pass\n      Through death's tremendous vale;\n    He is a solid comfort when\n      All other comforts fail.\n\n    Oh! tell me, Lord, that thou art mine;\n      What can I wish beside?\n    My soul shall at the fountain live,\n      When all the streams are dried.\n\n\nA PRESENT SAVIOUR\n\n    I have thee every hour,\n      Most gracious Lord,\n    That tender voice of thine\n      Doth peace afford.\n\n    I have thee every hour,\n      Thou stay'st near by;\n    Temptations lose their power\n      Since thou art nigh.\n\n    I have thee every hour,\n      In joy and pain;\n    With me thou dost abide,\n      And life is gain.\n\n    I have thee every hour,\n      Teach me thy will;\n    All thy rich promises\n      Thou dost fulfill.\n\n    I have thee every hour,\n      Most Holy One,\n    And I am thine indeed,\n      Thou blessed Son.\n\n    --Annie S. Hawks, altered by J. M.\n\n\nTHE THOUGHT OF GOD\n\n    The thought of God, the thought of thee,\n      Who liest near my heart,\n    And yet beyond imagined space\n      Outstretched and present art--\n\n    The thought of thee, above, below,\n      Around me and within,\n    Is more to me than health and wealth,\n      Or love of kith and kin.\n\n    The thought of God is like the tree\n      Beneath whose shade I lie\n    And watch the fleet of snowy clouds\n      Sail o'er the silent sky.\n\n    'Tis like that soft invading light\n      Which in all darkness shines,\n    The thread that through life's somber web\n      In golden pattern twines.\n\n    It is a thought which ever makes\n      Life's sweetest smiles from tears,\n    It is a daybreak to our hopes,\n      A sunset to our fears.\n\n    Within a thought so great, our souls\n      Little and modest grow,\n    And, by its vastness awed, we learn\n      The art of walking slow.\n\n    The wild flower on the grassy mound\n      Scarce bends its pliant form\n    When overhead the autumnal wood\n      Is thundering like a storm.\n\n    So is it with our humbled souls,\n      Down in the thought of God,\n    Scarce conscious in their sober peace\n      Of the wild storms abroad.\n\n    To think of thee is almost prayer,\n      And is outspoken praise;\n    And pain can even passive thoughts\n      To actual worship raise.\n\n    All murmurs lie inside thy will\n      Which are to thee addressed;\n    To suffer for thee is our work,\n      To think of thee, our rest.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    Let thy sweet presence light my way,\n      And hallow every cross I bear;\n      Transmuting duty, conflict, care,\n    Into love's service day by day.\n\n\nOUR HEAVENLY FATHER\n\n    My God, how wonderful thou art,\n      Thy majesty how bright,\n    How beautiful thy mercy seat\n      In depths of burning light!\n\n    How dread are thine eternal years,\n      O everlasting Lord,\n    By prostrate spirits, day and night,\n      Incessantly adored.\n\n    How beautiful, how beautiful\n      The sight of thee must be,\n    Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,\n      And awful purity!\n\n    O how I fear thee, living God!\n      With deepest, tenderest fears,\n    And worship thee with trembling hope\n      And penitential tears.\n\n    Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!\n      Almighty as thou art,\n    For thou hast stooped to ask of me\n      The love of this poor heart.\n\n    Oh, then, this worse than worthless heart\n      In pity deign to take,\n    And make it love thee for thyself,\n      And for thy glory's sake.\n\n    No earthly father loves like thee,\n      No mother half so mild\n    Bears and forbears, as thou hast done\n      With me, thy sinful child.\n\n    Only to sit and think of God,\n      O what a joy it is!\n    To think the thought, to breathe the name--\n      Earth has no higher bliss.\n\n    Father of Jesus, love's Reward!\n      What rapture will it be,\n    Prostrate before thy throne to lie\n      And gaze, and gaze on thee!\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nRULES FOR DAILY LIFE\n\n    Begin the day with God:\n      Kneel down to him in prayer;\n    Lift up thy heart to his abode\n      And seek his love to share.\n\n    Open the Book of God,\n      And read a portion there;\n    That it may hallow all thy thoughts\n      And sweeten all thy care.\n\n    Go through the day with God,\n      Whate'er thy work may be;\n    Where'er thou art--at home, abroad,\n      He still is near to thee.\n\n    Converse in mind with God;\n      Thy spirit heavenward raise;\n    Acknowledge every good bestowed,\n      And offer grateful praise.\n\n    Conclude the day with God:\n      Thy sins to him confess;\n    Trust in the Lord's atoning blood,\n      And plead his righteousness.\n\n    Lie down at night with God,\n      Who gives his servants sleep;\n    And when thou tread'st the vale of death\n      He will thee guard and keep.\n\n\nHE FILLS ALL\n\n    All are but parts of one stupendous whole;\n    Whose body nature is, and God the soul;\n    That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;\n    Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;\n    Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,\n    Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees;\n    Lives through all life, extends through all extent,\n    Spreads undivided, operates unspent;\n    Breathes in our souls, informs our mortal part,\n    As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;\n    As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,\n    As the rapt seraph that adores and burns.\n    To him no high, no low, no great, no small,\n    He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    All nature is but art, unknown to thee;\n    All chance, direction which thou canst not see;\n    All discord, harmony not understood;\n    All partial evil, universal good;\n    And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,\n    One truth is clear--whatever is, is right.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\nTHE PRESENCE\n\n    I sit within my room and joy to find\n      That thou who always lov'st art with me here;\n    That I am never left by thee behind,\n      But by thyself thou keep'st me ever near.\n    The fire burns brighter when with thee I look,\n      And seems a kindlier servant sent to me;\n    With gladder heart I read thy holy book,\n      Because thou art the eyes with which I see;\n    This aged chair, that table, watch, and door\n      Around in ready service ever wait;\n    Nor can I ask of thee a menial more\n      To fill the measure of my large estate;\n    For thou thyself, with all a Father's care,\n    Where'er I turn art ever with me there.\n\n    --Jones Very.\n\n\nBLESSED THOUGHT OF GOD\n\n    One thought I have--my ample creed,\n      So deep it is and broad,\n    And equal to my every need--\n      It is the thought of God.\n\n    Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,\n      I feast at life's full board;\n    And rising in my inner skies,\n      Shines forth the thought of God.\n\n    At night my gladness is my prayer;\n      I drop my daily load,\n    And every care is pillowed there\n      Upon the thought of God.\n\n    I ask not far before to see,\n      But take in trust my road;\n    Life, death, and immortality,\n      Are in my thought of God.\n\n    To this their secret strength they owed\n      The martyr's path who trod;\n    The fountains of their patience flowed\n      From out their thought of God.\n\n    Be still the light upon my way,\n      My pilgrim staff and rod,\n    My rest by night, my strength by day,\n      O blessed thought of God.\n\n    --Frederick Lucian Hosmer.\n\n\nEVENTIDE\n\n    At cool of day with God I walk\n      My garden's grateful shade;\n    I hear his voice among the trees,\n      And I am not afraid.\n\n    I see his presence in the night--\n      And though my heart is awed\n    I do not quail before the sight\n      Or nearness of my God.\n\n    He speaks to me in every wind,\n      He smiles from every star;\n    He is not deaf to me, nor blind,\n      Nor absent, nor afar.\n\n    His hand, that shuts the flowers to sleep,\n      Each in its dewy fold,\n    Is strong my feeble life to keep,\n      And competent to hold.\n\n    I cannot walk in darkness long,\n      My light is by my side;\n    I cannot stumble or go wrong\n      While following such a guide.\n\n    He is my stay and my defense;\n      How shall I fail or fall?\n    My helper is Omnipotence!\n      My ruler ruleth all!\n\n    The powers below and powers above\n      Are subject to his care;\n    I cannot wander from his love\n      Who loves me everywhere.\n\n    Thus dowered, and guarded thus, with him\n      I walk this peaceful shade,\n    I hear his voice among the trees,\n      And I am not afraid.\n\n    --Caroline Atherton Mason.\n\n\n    From cellar unto attic all is clean:\n      Nothing there is that need evade the eye;\n    All the dark places, by the world unseen,\n      Are as well ordered as what open lie.\n\n    Ah! souls are houses; and to keep them well,\n      Nor, spring and autumn, mourn their wretched plight,\n    To daily toil must vigilance compel,\n      Right underneath God's scrutinizing light.\n\n\nSAINTSHIP\n\n    To heaven approached a Sufi saint,\n      From groping in the darkness late,\n    And, tapping timidly and faint,\n      Besought admission at God's gate.\n\n    Said God, \"Who seeks to enter here?\"\n      \"'Tis I, dear Friend,\" the saint replied,\n    And trembling much with hope and fear.\n      \"If it be _thou_, without abide.\"\n\n    Sadly to earth the poor saint turned,\n      To bear the scourging of life's rods;\n    But aye his heart within him yearned\n      To mix and lose its love in God's.\n\n    He roamed alone through weary years,\n      By cruel men still scorned and mocked,\n    Until from faith's pure fires and tears\n      Again he rose, and modest knocked.\n\n    Asked God: \"Who now is at the door?\"\n      \"It is thyself, beloved Lord,\"\n    Answered the saint, in doubt no more,\n      But clasped and rapt in his reward.\n\n    --From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.\n\n\nOPEN THOU OUR EYES\n\n(Luke 24. 15)\n\n    And he drew near and talked with them,\n      But they perceived him not,\n    And mourned, unconscious of that light,\n    The gloom, the darkness, and the night\n      That wrapt his burial spot.\n\n    Wearied with doubt, perplexed and sad,\n      They knew nor help nor guide;\n    While he who bore the secret key\n    To open every mystery,\n      Unknown was by their side.\n\n    Thus often when we feel alone,\n      Nor help nor comfort near,\n    'Tis only that our eyes are dim,\n    Doubting and sad we see not him\n      Who waiteth still to hear.\n\n    \"The darkness gathers overhead,\n      The morn will never come.\"\n    Did we but raise our downcast eyes,\n    In the white-flushing eastern skies\n      Appears the glowing sun.\n\n    In all our daily joys and griefs\n      In daily work and rest,\n    To those who seek him Christ is near,\n    Our bliss to calm, to soothe our care,\n      In leaning on his breast.\n\n    Open our eyes, O Lord, we pray,\n      To see our way, our Guide;\n    That by the path that here we tread,\n    We, following on, may still be led\n      In thy light to abide.\n\n\nMAN\n\n          My God, I heard this day\n    That none doth build a stately habitation\n      But he that means to dwell therein.\n      What house more stately hath there been,\n    Or can be, than is man? to whose creation\n          All things are in decay.\n\n          More servants wait on man\n    Than he'll take notice of: in every path\n      He treads down that which doth befriend him,\n      When sickness makes him pale and wan.\n    O mighty love! man is one world, and hath\n          Another to attend him.\n\n          For us the winds do blow,\n    The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;\n      Nothing we see but means our good,\n      As our delight or as our treasure;\n    The whole is either cupboard of our food,\n          Or cabinet of pleasure.\n\n          The stars have us to bed;\n    Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;\n      Music and light attend our head;\n      All things unto our flesh are kind\n    In their descent and being; to our mind,\n          In their ascent and cause.\n\n          Since then, my God, thou hast\n    So brave a palace built, O dwell in it\n      That it may dwell with thee at last.\n      Till then, afford us so much wit\n    That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,\n          And both thy servants be.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nEVER WITH THEE\n\n    I am with thee, my God--\n      Where I desire to be:\n    By day, by night, at home, abroad,\n      I always am with thee.\n\n    With thee when dawn comes on\n      And calls me back to care,\n    Each day returning to begin\n      With thee, my God, in prayer.\n\n    With thee amid the crowd\n      That throngs the busy mart;\n    I hear thy voice, when time's is loud,\n      Speak softly to my heart.\n\n    With thee when day is done\n      And evening calms the mind;\n    The setting as the rising sun\n      With thee my heart shall find.\n\n    With thee when darkness brings\n      The signal of repose;\n    Calm in the shadow of thy wings\n      Mine eyelids gently close.\n\n    With thee, in thee, by faith\n      Abiding I shall be;\n    By day, by night, in life, in death,\n      I always am with thee.\n\n    --James D. Burns, altered by J. M.\n\n\nSELF-EXAMINATION\n\n    By all means use sometime to be alone.\n      Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.\n    Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own;\n      And tumble up and down what thou findst there.\n    Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,\n    He breaks up homes, turns out of doors his mind.\n\n    Sum up by night what thou hast done by day;\n      And in the morning, what thou hast to do.\n    Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decay\n      And growth of it; if, with thy watch, that too\n    Be down, then wind up both; since we shall be\n    Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\n\"SHOW ME THY FACE\"\n\n        Show me thy face--\n        One transient gleam\n      Of loveliness divine\n    And I shall never think or dream\n      Of other love save thine.\n    All lesser light will darken quite,\n      All lower glories wane;\n    The beautiful of earth will scarce\n      Seem beautiful again!\n\n        Show me thy face--\n        My faith and love\n      Shall henceforth fixed be,\n    And nothing here have power to move\n      My soul's serenity.\n    My life shall seem a trance, a dream,\n      And all I feel and see\n    Illusive, visionary--thou\n      The one reality.\n\n        Show me thy face--\n        I shall forget\n      The weary days of yore;\n    The fretting ghosts of vain regret\n      Shall haunt my soul no more;\n    All doubts and fears for future years\n      In quiet rest subside,\n    And naught but blest content and calm\n      Within my breast reside.\n\n        Show me thy face--\n        The heaviest cross\n      Will then seem light to bear;\n    There will be gain in every loss,\n      And peace with every care.\n        With such light feet\n        The years will fleet,\n      Life seem as brief as blest,\n    Till I have laid my burden down\n      And entered into rest.\n\n        Show me thy face--\n        And I shall be\n      In heart and mind renewed;\n    With wisdom, grace, and energy\n      To work thy work endued.\n        Shine clear, though pale,\n        Behind the veil\n      Until, the veil removed,\n    In perfect glory I behold\n      The Face that I have loved!\n\n\n    I stand in the great Forever,\n      All things to me are divine;\n    I eat of the heavenly manna,\n      I drink of the heavenly wine.\n\n\nLISTENING FOR GOD\n\n    I hear it often in the dark,\n      I hear it in the light:\n    Where _is_ the voice that calls to me\n      With such a quiet might?\n    It seems but echo to my thought,\n      And yet beyond the stars;\n    It seems a heart-beat in a hush,\n      And yet the planet jars.\n\n    O may it be that, far within\n      My inmost soul, there lies\n    A spirit-sky that opens with\n      Those voices of surprise?\n    And can it be, by night and day,\n      That firmament serene\n    Is just the heaven where God himself,\n      The Father, dwells unseen?\n\n    O God within, so close to me\n      That every thought is plain,\n    Be judge, be friend, be Father still,\n      And in thy heaven reign!\n    Thy heaven is mine, my very soul!\n      Thy words are sweet and strong;\n    They fill my inward silences\n      With music and with song.\n\n    They send me challenges to right,\n      And loud rebuke my ill;\n    They ring my bells of victory,\n      They breathe my \"Peace, be still!\"\n    They even seem to say: \"My child,\n      Why seek me so all day?\n    Now journey inward to thyself,\n      And listen by the way.\"\n\n    --William C. Gannett.\n\n\nALLAH'S HOUSE\n\n    Nanac the faithful, pausing once to pray,\n    From holy Mecca turned his face away;\n    A Moslem priest who chanced to see him there,\n    Forgetful of the attitude in prayer,\n    Cried \"Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feet\n    Toward Allah's house--the sacred temple seat?\"\n    To whom the pious Nanac thus replied:\n    \"Knowest thou God's house is, as the world is, wide?\n    Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spot\n    Where mighty Allah's awful house is not.\"\n\n    --Frank Dempster Sherman.\n\n\nIF THE LORD SHOULD COME\n\n    If the Lord should come in the morning,\n      As I went about my work--\n    The little things and the quiet things\n      That a servant cannot shirk,\n    Though nobody ever sees them,\n      And only the dear Lord cares\n    That they always are done in the light of the sun--\n      Would he take me unawares?\n\n    If my Lord should come at noonday--\n      The time of the dust and heat,\n    When the glare is white and the air is still\n      And the hoof-beats sound in the street;\n    If my dear Lord came at noonday,\n      And smiled in my tired eyes,\n    Would it not be sweet his look to meet?\n      Would he take me by surprise?\n\n    If my Lord came hither at evening,\n      In the fragrant dew and dusk,\n    When the world drops off its mantle\n      Of daylight, like a husk,\n    And flowers, in wonderful beauty,\n      And we fold our hands in rest,\n    Would his touch of my hand, his low command,\n      Bring me unhoped-for zest?\n\n    Why do I ask and question?\n      He is ever coming to me,\n    Morning and noon and evening,\n      If I have but eyes to see.\n    And the daily load grows lighter,\n      The daily cares grow sweet,\n    For the Master is near, the Master is here,\n      I have only to sit at his feet.\n\n    --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.\n\n\n    The day is long and the day is hard;\n    We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;\n    Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,\n    Of days to live through, and of work to be done;\n    Tired of ourselves and of being alone.\n\n    And all the while, did we only see,\n    We walk in the Lord's own company;\n    We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;\n    He turns the arrows which else might harm,\n    And out of the storm he brings a calm.\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\nCOME TO ME\n\n    Come to me, come to me, O my God;\n      Come to me everywhere.\n    Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,\n      And the water and the air.\n\n    For thou art so far that I often doubt,\n      As on every side I stare,\n    Searching within and looking without,\n      If thou canst be anywhere.\n\n    How did men find thee in days of old?\n      How did they grow so sure?\n    They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,\n      They suffered and kept themselves pure.\n\n    But now they say--neither above the sphere\n      Nor down in the heart of man,\n    But only in fancy, ambition, and fear,\n      The thought of thee began.\n\n    If only that perfect tale were true\n      Which ages have not made old,\n    Of the endless many makes one anew,\n      And simplicity manifold!\n\n    But he taught that they who did his word,\n      The truth of it sure would know;\n    I will try to do it--if he be Lord\n      Again the old faith will glow.\n\n    Again the old spirit-wind will blow\n      That he promised to their prayer;\n    And obeying the Son, I too shall know\n      His Father everywhere.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    Out of the hardness of heart and of will\n    Out of the longings which nothing could fill;\n    Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife,\n    Out of myself and all I called life,\n    Into the having of all things with Him!\n    Into an ecstacy full to the brim!\n    Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!\n    Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!\n    Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!\n    Wonderful glory to which I belong!\n\n\nIF I HIM BUT HAVE\n\n    If I Him but have,\n      If he be but mine--\n    If my heart, hence to the grave,\n      Ne'er forgets his love divine--\n    Know I naught of sadness,\n    Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.\n\n    If I Him but have,\n      Glad with all I part;\n    Follow on my pilgrim staff,\n      My Lord, only, with true heart;\n    Leave them, nothing saying,\n    On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.\n\n    If I Him but have,\n      Glad I fall asleep;\n    Aye the flood that his heart gave\n      Strength within my heart shall keep;\n    And with soft compelling\n    Make it tender, through and through it swelling.\n\n    If I Him but have,\n      Mine the world I hail!\n    Glad as cherub smiling, grave,\n      Holding back the Virgin's veil.\n    Sunk and lost in seeing,\n    Earthly cares have died from all my being.\n\n    Where I have but Him\n      Is my Fatherland,\n    And all gifts and graces come\n      Heritage into my hand;\n    Brothers long deplored\n    I in his disciples find restored.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    Quiet from God! How beautiful to keep\n      This treasure the All-merciful hath given;\n    To feel, when we awake or when we sleep,\n      Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.\n\n    To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;\n      To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;\n    To bear about forever in the heart\n      The gladness which his spirit doth reveal.\n\n    --Sarah J. Williams.\n\n\nHIS CHOSEN ONES\n\n    Some souls there are, beloved of God,\n    Who, following where the saints have trod,\n    Learn such surrender of the will\n    They seem insensible of ill.\n\n    Yet, finely strung and sensitive,\n    They live far more than others live,\n    And grief's and pain's experience\n    Must be to them far more intense.\n\n    O mystery--that such can know\n    A life impregnable to woe!\n    O paradox that God alone\n    In secret proveth to his own!\n\n    It must be that supremest grace\n    So nerves them for the heavenly race\n    Their litanies are turned to psalms,\n    Their crosses, even here, to palms.\n\n    --Harriet McEwen Kimball.\n\n\n    When, courting slumber,\n    The hours I number,\n    And sad cares cumber\n      My weary mind,\n    This thought shall cheer me:\n    That thou art near me,\n    Whose ear to hear me\n      Is still inclined.\n\n    My soul thou keepest,\n    Who never sleepest;\n    'Mid gloom the deepest\n      There's light above;\n    Thine eyes behold me,\n    Thine arms enfold me;\n    Thy word has told me\n      That God is love.\n\n\n    We are not angels, but we may\n      Down in earth's corners kneel,\n    And multiply sweet acts of love,\n      And murmur what we feel.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\n    Through thee, meseems, the very rose is red,\n      From thee the violet steals its breath in May,\n      From thee draw life all things that grow not gray,\n    And by thy force the happy stars are sped.\n\n    --James Russell Lowell.\n\n\nCOME TO US, LORD\n\n    Come to us, Lord, as the daylight comes\n      When the darkling night has gone,\n    And the quickened East is tremulous\n      With the thrill of the wakened dawn.\n\n    Come to us, Lord, as the tide comes on\n      With the waves from the distant sea;\n    Come, till our desert places smile,\n      And our souls are filled with thee.\n\n\n    There are in this loud, stunning tide\n      Of human care and crime,\n    With whom the melodies abide\n      Of th' everlasting chime!\n    Who carry music in their heart\n    Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,\n    Plying their daily task with busier feet\n    Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\n            Earth's crammed with heaven,\n    And every common bush afire with God;\n    But only he who sees takes off his shoes.\n    The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,\n    And daub their natural faces unaware\n    More and more from the first similitude.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    O Name all other names above,\n      What art thou not to me,\n    Now I have learned to trust thy love\n      And cast my care on thee!\n    The thought of thee all sorrow calms;\n      Our anxious burdens fall;\n    His crosses turn to triumph palms\n      Who finds in God his all.\n\n    --Frederick Lucian Hosmer.\n\n\n    Far off thou art, but ever nigh,\n      I have thee still, and I rejoice,\n      I prosper circled with thy voice;\n    I shall not lose thee though I die.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    Let the Loved One but smile on this poor heart of mine,\n    I will sell the two worlds for one drop of his wine.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nCONFIDENCE\n\n    Thy presence, Lord, the place doth fill,\n      My heart is now thy throne,\n    Thy holy, just and perfect will\n      Now in my flesh is done.\n\n    My steadfast soul, from falling free,\n      Doth now no longer rove,\n    For Christ is all the world to me\n      And all my heart is love.\n\n    --Charles Wesley, altered by J. M.\n\n\n    Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sin\n      Forbids us to descry\n    The mystic heaven and earth within\n      Plain as the sea and sky.\n\n    Thou who hast given me eyes to see\n      And love this sight so fair,\n    Give me a heart to find out thee,\n      And read thee everywhere.\n\n    --John Keble.\n\n\n    Speak to him, thou, for he hears,\n      And spirit with spirit can meet;\n    Closer is he than breathing,\n      And nearer than hands and feet.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    Heaven above is softer blue,\n      Earth around is sweeter green,\n    Something lives in every hue\n      Christless eyes have never seen.\n\n    Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,\n      Flowers with deeper beauties shine;\n    Since I knew, as now I know,\n      I am his and he is mine.\n\n\n    Unheard, because our ears are dull,\n      Unseen, because our eyes are dim,\n    He walks the earth, the Wonderful,\n      And all good deeds are done to him.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    Where'er I look one Face alone I see,\n      With every attribute of beauty in it blent;\n    Still, still the Godhead's face entrances me,\n      Yielding transcendency of all that can be spent.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nIMMANENCE\n\n    Not only in the cataract and the thunder\n      Or in the deeps of man's uncharted soul,\n    But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonder\n      And in the whirling dust-mite the control.\n\n    --Charles G. D. Roberts.\n\n\n    'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours\n    And ask them what report they bore to heaven.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\n    A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,\n    Makes crowded houses holy solitude.\n\n    --Edwin Arnold.\n\n\n    But where will God be absent; in his face\n    Is light, and in his shadow healing, too.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    And good may ever conquer ill,\n      Health walk where pain has trod;\n    \"As a man thinketh, so is he\";\n      Rise, then, and think with God.\n\n\n    God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,\n    For, if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet his voice.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n    Whatever road I take, it joins the street\n    Which leadeth all who walk it thee to meet.\n\n\n    O work thy works in God.\n      He can rejoice in naught\n    Save only in himself\n      And what himself hath wrought.\n\n\n    To live, to live, is life's great joy; to feel\n      The living God within--to look abroad,\n    And, in the beauty that all things reveal,\n      Still meet the living God.\n\n    --Robert Leighton.\n\n\n\n\nJESUS\n\nHIS PRECIOUSNESS, AND BEAUTY, AND LOVE\n\n\nOUR MASTER\n\n    Immortal Love, forever full,\n      Forever flowing free,\n    Forever shared, forever whole,\n      A never-ebbing sea!\n\n    No fable old, nor mythic lore,\n      Nor dream of bards and seers,\n    No dead fact stranded on the shore\n      Of the oblivious years;--\n\n    But warm, sweet, tender, even yet\n      A present help is he;\n    And faith has still its Olivet,\n      And love its Galilee.\n\n    The healing of his seamless dress\n      Is by our beds of pain;\n    We touch him in life's throng and press,\n      And we are whole again.\n\n    Through him the first fond prayers are said\n      Our lips of childhood frame,\n    The last low whispers of our dead\n      Are burdened with his name.\n\n    O Lord and Master of us all!\n      Whate'er our name or sign,\n    We own thy sway, we hear thy call,\n      We test our lives by thine.\n\n    We faintly hear, we dimly see,\n      In differing phrase we pray;\n    But, dim or clear, we own in thee\n      The Light, the Truth, the Way!\n\n    To do thy will is more than praise,\n      As words are less than deeds,\n    And simple trust can find thy ways\n      We miss with chart of creeds.\n\n    No pride of self thy service hath,\n      No place for me and mine;\n    Our human strength is weakness, death,\n      Our life, apart from thine.\n\n    Apart from thee all gain is loss,\n      All labor vainly done;\n    The solemn shadow of thy cross\n      Is better than the sun.\n\n    Alone, O Love, ineffable!\n      Thy saving name is given:\n    To turn aside from thee is hell,\n      To walk with thee is heaven.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nMY HEART IS FIXED\n\n    I'll not leave Jesus,--never, never!\n      Ah, what can more precious be?\n    Rest and joy and light are ever\n      In his hand to give to me.\n    All things that can satisfy,\n    Having Jesus, those have I.\n\n    Love has bound me fast unto him,\n      I am his and he is mine;\n    Daily I for pardon sue him,\n      Answers he with peace divine.\n    On that Rock my trust is laid,\n    And I rest beneath its shade.\n\n    Without Jesus earth would weary,\n      Seem almost like hell to be;\n    But if Jesus I see near me\n      Earth is almost heaven to me.\n    Am I hungry, he doth give\n    Bread on which my soul can live.\n\n    Spent with him, one little hour\n      Giveth a year's worth of gain;\n    Grace and peace put forth their power\n      Joy doth wholly banish pain;\n    One faith-glance that findeth him\n    Maketh earthly crowns look dim.\n\n    O how light upon my shoulder\n      Lies my cross, now grown so small!\n    For the Lord is my upholder,\n      Fits it to me, softens all;\n    Neither shall it always stay,\n    Patience, it will pass away.\n\n    Those who faithfully go forward\n      In his changeless care shall go,\n    Nothing's doubtful or untoward,\n      To the flock who Jesus know.\n    Jesus always is the same;\n    True and faithful is his name.\n\n\nCHRIST'S SYMPATHY\n\n    If Jesus came to earth again,\n      And walked and talked in field and street,\n    Who would not lay his human pain\n      Low at those heavenly feet?\n\n    And leave the loom, and leave the lute,\n      And leave the volume on the shelf,\n    To follow him, unquestioning, mute,\n      If 'twere the Lord himself?\n\n    How many a brow with care o'erworn,\n      How many a heart with grief o'er-laden,\n    How many a man with woe forlorn,\n      How many a mourning maiden,\n\n    Would leave the baffling earthly prize,\n      Which fails the earthly weak endeavor,\n    To gaze into those holy eyes\n      And drink content forever!\n\n    His sheep along the cool, the shade,\n      By the still watercourse he leads;\n    His lambs upon his breast are laid;\n      His hungry ones he feeds.\n\n    And I where'er he went would go,\n      Nor question where the paths might lead;\n    Enough to know that here below\n      I walked with God indeed!\n\n    If it be thus, O Lord of mine,\n      In absence is thy love forgot?\n    And must I, when I walk, repine\n      Because I see thee not?\n\n    If this be thus, if this be thus,\n      Since our poor prayers yet reach thee, Lord,\n    Since we are weak, once more to us\n      Reveal the living Word!\n\n    O nearer to me, in the dark,\n      Of life's low house, one moment stand;\n    And give me keener eyes to mark\n      The moving of thy hand.\n\n    --Edward Bulwer Lytton.\n\n\n    There's not a craving in the mind\n      Thou dost not meet and still;\n    There's not a wish the heart can have\n      Which thou dost not fulfill.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nFINDING ALL IN JESUS\n\n    O Love that wilt not let me go,\n      I rest my weary soul on thee;\n    I give thee back the life I owe,\n    That in thine ocean depth its flow\n      May richer, fuller be.\n\n    O Light that followest all my way,\n      I yield my flickering torch to thee;\n    My heart restores its borrowed ray,\n    That in thy sunshine's blaze its day\n      May brighter, fairer be.\n\n    O Joy that seekest me through pain,\n      I cannot close my heart to thee;\n    I trace the rainbow through the rain,\n    And feel the promise is not vain,\n      That morn shall tearless be.\n\n    O Cross that liftest up my head,\n      I dare not ask to fly from thee;\n    I lay in dust life's glory dead,\n    And from the ground there blossoms red\n      Life that shall endless be.\n\n    --George Matheson.\n\n\nEAST LONDON\n\n    'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead\n      Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,\n      And the pale weaver, through his windows seen\n    In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited.\n\n    I met a preacher there I knew, and said:\n      \"Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?\"\n      \"Bravely!\" said he; \"for I of late have been\n    Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, _the living bread_.\"\n\n    O human soul! as long as thou canst so\n      Set up a mark of everlasting light\n    Above the howling senses' ebb and flow\n    To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam--\n      Not with lost toil thou laborest thro' the night!\n    Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\nPRECIOUSNESS OF CHRIST\n\n    Jesus, the very thought of thee\n      With sweetness fills the breast;\n    But sweeter far thy face to see,\n      And in thy presence rest.\n\n    No voice can sing, no heart can frame,\n      Nor can the memory find,\n    A sweeter sound than thy blest name,\n      O Saviour of mankind!\n\n    O hope of every contrite heart!\n      O joy of all the meek!\n    To those who ask how kind thou art,\n      How good to those who seek!\n\n    But what to those who find? Ah, this\n      Nor tongue nor pen can show;\n    The love of Jesus, what it is,\n      None but his loved ones know.\n\n    Jesus, our only joy be thou,\n      As thou our prize wilt be;\n    In thee be all our glory now,\n      And through eternity.\n\n    --Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Edward Caswall.\n\n\nA LITTLE TALK WITH JESUS\n\n    A little talk with Jesus,\n      How it smooths the rugged road!\n    How it seems to help me onward,\n      When I faint beneath my load;\n    When my heart is crushed with sorrow,\n      And my eyes with tears are dim,\n    There is naught can yield me comfort\n      Like a little talk with him.\n\n    Ah, this is what I'm wanting--\n      His lovely face to see;\n    And, I'm not afraid to say it,\n      I know he's wanting me.\n    He gave his life my ransom,\n      To make me all his own,\n    And he'll ne'er forget his promise\n      To me his purchased one.\n\n    I cannot live without him,\n      Nor would I if I could;\n    He is my daily portion,\n      My medicine and food.\n    He's altogether lovely,\n      None can with him compare;\n    Chiefest among ten thousand,\n      And fairest of the fair.\n\n    So I'll wait a little longer,\n      Till his appointed time,\n    And along the upward pathway\n      My pilgrim feet shall climb.\n    There in my Father's dwelling,\n      Where many mansions be,\n    I shall sweetly talk with Jesus,\n      And he will talk with me.\n\n\nNOTHING TO WISH OR TO FEAR\n\n    His name yields the richest perfume,\n      And sweeter than music his voice;\n    His presence disperses my gloom,\n      And makes all within me rejoice;\n    I should, were he always thus nigh,\n      Have nothing to wish or to fear;\n    No mortal so happy as I,\n      My summer would last all the year.\n\n    Content with beholding his face,\n      My all to his pleasure resigned,\n    No changes of season or place\n      Would make any change in my mind;\n    While blest with a sense of his love\n      A palace a toy would appear;\n    And prisons would palaces prove\n      If Jesus would dwell with me there.\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\nTHE HEART OF GOD\n\n    There is no love like the love of Jesus,\n      Never to fade or fall\n    Till into the fold of the peace of God\n      He has gathered us all.\n\n    There is no heart like the heart of Jesus,\n      Filled with a tender lore;\n    Not a throb or throe our hearts can know\n      But he suffered before.\n\n    There is no voice like the voice of Jesus;\n      Ah! how sweet its chime,\n    Like the musical ring of some rushing spring\n      In the summer-time!\n\n    O might we listen that voice of Jesus!\n      O might we never roam\n    Till our souls should rest, in peace, on his breast,\n      In the heavenly home!\n\n    --W. E. Littlewood.\n\n\nTHE TOUCH\n\n    \"He touched her hand, and the fever left her.\"\n      He touched her hand as he only can,\n    With the wondrous skill of the Great Physician,\n      With the tender touch of the Son of man,\n    And the fever-pain in the throbbing temples\n      Died out with the flush on brow and cheek,\n    And the lips that had been so parched and burning\n      Trembled with thanks that she could not speak,\n    And the eyes where the fever light had faded\n      Looked up, by her grateful tears made dim,\n    And she rose and ministered in her household;\n      She rose and ministered unto him.\n\n    \"He touched her hand, and the fever left her.\"\n      O blessed touch of the Man divine!\n    So beautiful to arise and serve him\n      When the fever is gone from your life and mine.\n    It may be the fever of restless serving\n      With heart all thirsty for love and praise,\n    And eyes all aching and strained with yearning\n      Toward self-set goals in the future days.\n    Or it may be fever of spirit anguish,\n      Some tempest of sorrow that does not down,\n    Till the cross at last is in meekness lifted\n      And the head stoops low for the thorny crown.\n    Or it may be a fever of pain and anger,\n      When the wounded spirit is hard to bear,\n    And only the Lord can draw forth the arrows\n      Left carelessly, cruelly rankling there.\n\n    Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it;\n      Whatever the tempest, his voice can still.\n    There is only a rest as we seek his pleasure,\n      There is only a rest as we choose his will.\n    And some day, after life's fitful fever,\n      I think we shall say, in the home on high,\n    \"If the hands that he touched but did his bidding,\n      How little it matters what else went by!\"\n    Ah, Lord, Thou knowest us altogether,\n      Each heart's sore sickness, whatever it be;\n    Touch thou our hands! Let the fever leave us,\n      And so shall we minister unto thee!\n\n\nJESUS OUR JOY\n\n    Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts!\n      Thou Fount of life! thou Light of men!\n    From the best bliss that earth imparts\n      We turn, unfilled, to thee again.\n\n    Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;\n      Thou savest those that on thee call;\n    To them that seek thee thou art good,\n      To them that find thee, all in all.\n\n    We taste thee, O thou Living Bread,\n      And long to feast upon thee still;\n    We drink of thee, the Fountain Head,\n      And thirst our souls from thee to fill!\n\n    Our restless spirits yearn for thee\n      Where'er our changeful lot is cast;\n    Glad, when thy gracious smile we see,\n      Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast.\n\n    O Jesus, ever with us stay;\n      Make all our moments calm and bright;\n    Chase the dark night of sin away;\n      Shed o'er the world thy holy light.\n\n    --Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Ray Palmer.\n\n\nFRIEND OF SOULS\n\n    O Friend of souls! how blest the time\n      When in thy love I rest!\n    When from my weariness I climb\n      E'en to thy tender breast!\n    The night of sorrow endeth there,\n      Thy rays outshine the sun;\n    And in thy pardon and thy care\n      The heaven of heavens is won.\n\n    The world may call itself my foe,\n      Or flatter and allure,\n    I care not for the world--I go\n      To this tried friend and sure.\n    And when life's fiercest storms are sent\n      Upon life's wildest sea,\n    My little bark is confident\n      Because it holdeth thee.\n\n    When the law threatens endless death\n      Upon the awful hill,\n    Straightway from her consuming breath\n      My soul goes higher still--\n    Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,\n      And maketh him her home,\n    Whence she will not go out again,\n      And where death cannnot come.\n\n    I do not fear the wilderness--\n      Where thou hast been before;\n    Nay, rather will I daily press\n      After thee, near thee, more.\n    Thou art my food, on thee I lean;\n      Thou makest my heart sing;\n    And to thy heavenly pastures green\n      All thy dear flock dost bring.\n\n    And if the gate that opens there\n      Be dark to other men,\n    It is not dark to those who share\n      The heart of Jesus then.\n    That is not losing much of life\n      Which is not losing thee,\n    Who art as present in the strife\n      As in the victory.\n\n    To others death seems dark and grim,\n      But not, O Lord, to me;\n    I know thou ne'er forsakest him\n      Who puts his trust in thee.\n    Nay, rather with a joyful heart\n      I welcome the release\n    From this dark desert, and depart\n      To thy eternal peace.\n\n    --Wolfgang C. Dessler.\n\n\nMY LORD AND I\n\n    I have a Friend so precious,\n      So very dear to me,\n    He loves me with such tender love,\n      He loves so faithfully,\n    I could not live apart from him,\n      I love to feel him nigh;\n    And so we dwell together,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    Sometimes I'm faint and weary;\n      He knows that I am weak,\n    And as he bids me lean on him\n      His help I gladly seek;\n    He leads me in the paths of light\n      Beneath a sunny sky,\n    And so we walk together,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    He knows how much I love him,\n      He knows I love him well,\n    But with what love he loveth me\n      My tongue can never tell.\n    It is an everlasting love\n      In ever rich supply,\n    And so we love each other,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    I tell him all my sorrows,\n      I tell him all my joys,\n    I tell him all that pleases me,\n      I tell him what annoys.\n    He tells me what I ought to do,\n      He tells me how to try,\n    And so we talk together,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    He knows how I am longing\n      Some weary soul to win,\n    And so he bids me go and speak\n      The loving word for him.\n    He bids me tell his wondrous love,\n      And why he came to die,\n    And so we work together,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    I have his yoke upon me,\n      And easy 'tis to bear;\n    In the burden which he carries\n      I gladly take a share;\n    For then it is my happiness\n      To have him always nigh;\n    We bear the yoke together,\n      My Lord and I.\n\n    --L. Shorey.\n\n\n    Ever, when tempted, make me see,\n      Beneath the olive's moon-pierced shade,\n    My God alone, outstretched and bruised,\n      And bleeding on the earth he made;\n    And make me feel it was my sin,\n      As though no other sin there were,\n    That was to him who bears the world\n      A load that he could scarcely bear.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nJESUS ALL-SUFFICIENT\n\n      If only he is mine--\n        If but this poor heart\n      Never more, in grief or joy,\n        May from him depart,\n    Then farewell to sadness;\n    All I feel is love, and hope, and gladness.\n\n      If only he is mine,\n        Then from all below,\n      Leaning on my pilgrim staff,\n        Gladly forth I go\n    From the crowd who follow,\n    In the broad, bright road, their pleasures false and hollow.\n\n      If only he is mine,\n        Then all else is given;\n      Every blessing lifts my eyes\n        And my heart to heaven.\n    Filled with heavenly love,\n    Earthly hopes and fears no longer tempt to move.\n\n      There, when he is mine,\n        Is my Fatherland,\n      And my heritage of bliss\n        Cometh from his hand.\n    Now I find again,\n    In his people, love long lost, and mourned in vain.\n\n    --Novalis.\n\n\nJESUS SUPREME\n\n    Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,\n      Live o'er again in me,\n    That, filled with love, I may become\n      A Christ in my degree.\n\n    Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,\n      My inmost being fill;\n    So shall I think as thou dost think,\n      And will as thou dost will.\n\n    Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,\n      Thy life transfigure mine;\n    And through this veil of mortal flesh\n      Here may thy glory shine.\n\n    Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,\n      Thy love's constraint I feel,\n    Thy cross I see, and mind and heart\n      Obey its mute appeal.\n\n    Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,\n      And when this life is o'er\n    May I be with thee where thou art,\n      Like thee, forever more.\n\n\nALL FOR JESUS\n\n    What shall I sing for thee,\n      My Lord and Light?\n    What shall I bring to thee,\n      Master, to-night?\n    O for the strong desire!\n    O for the touch of fire!\n    Then shall my tuneful lyre\n      Praise thee aright.\n\n    Thou hast given all for me,\n      Saviour divine!\n    I would give all to thee,\n      Evermore thine!\n    Let my heart cling to thee,\n    Let my lips sing for thee,\n    Let me just bring to thee\n      All that is mine!\n\n    Didst thou not die for me,\n      Ransom for sin?\n    Ascending on high for me,\n      Pleading within?\n    All shall be dross for thee,\n    All shall be loss for thee,\n    Welcome the cross for thee\n      I, too, shall win!\n\n    What can I do for thee,\n      Glorious Friend?\n    Let me be true to thee\n      Right to the end!\n    Close to thy bleeding side,\n    Washed in the crimson tide,\n    On till the waves divide,\n      Till I ascend!\n\n    Then a still sweeter song,\n      Jesus, I'll bring;\n    Up 'mid the ransomed throng\n      Thee will I sing!\n    Never to leave thee now,\n    Never to grieve thee now,\n    Low at thy feet to bow,\n      Wonderful King!\n\n    --Henry Burton.\n\n\nCHRIST OUR EXAMPLE\n\n    O who like thee, so calm, so bright,\n    Lord Jesus Christ, thou Light of light;\n    O who like thee did ever go\n    So patient through a world of woe?\n    O who like thee so humbly bore\n    The scorn, the scoffs of men, before;\n    So meek, so lowly, yet so high,\n    So glorious in humility?\n\n    Through all thy lifelong weary years,\n    A Man of sorrows and of tears,\n    The cross, where all our sins were laid,\n    Upon thy bending shoulders weighed;\n    And death, that sets the prisoner free,\n    Was pang and scoff and scorn to thee;\n    Yet love through all thy torture glowed,\n    And mercy with thy life-blood flowed.\n\n    O wondrous Lord, our souls would be\n    Still more and more conformed to thee!\n    Would lose the pride, the taint of sin,\n    That burns these fevered veins within?\n    And learn of thee, the lowly One,\n    And, like thee, all our journey run,\n    Above the world, and all its mirth,\n    Yet weeping still with weeping earth.\n\n    Be with us as we onward go;\n    Illumine all our way of woe;\n    And grant us ever on the road\n    To trace the footsteps of our God;\n    That when thou shalt appear, arrayed\n    In light, to judge the quick and dead,\n    We may to life immortal soar\n    Through thee, who livest evermore.\n\n    --Arthur Cleveland Coxe.\n\n\nIT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE\n\n    It passeth knowledge, that dear love of thine,\n    My Jesus! Saviour! Yet this soul of mine\n    Would of that love in all its depth and length,\n    Its height and breadth and everlasting strength,\n            Know more and more.\n\n    It passeth telling, that dear love of thine,\n    My Jesus! Saviour! yet these lips of mine\n    Would fain proclaim to sinners far and near\n    A love which can remove all guilty fear,\n            And love beget.\n\n    It passeth praises, that dear love of thine,\n    My Jesus! Saviour! yet this heart of mine\n    Would sing a love so rich, so full, so free,\n    Which brought an undone sinner, such as me,\n            Right home to God.\n\n    But ah! I cannot tell, or sing, or know,\n    The fulness of that love whilst here below,\n    Yet my poor vessel I may freely bring;\n    O thou who art of love the living spring,\n            My vessel fill.\n\n    I _am_ an empty vessel! scarce one thought\n    Or look of love to thee I've ever brought;\n    Yet, I may come and come again to thee\n    With this--the contrite sinner's truthful plea--\n            \"_Thou lovest me!_\"\n\n    Oh! _fill_ me, Jesus! Saviour! with thy love!\n    My woes but drive me to the fount above:\n    Thither may I in childlike faith draw nigh,\n    And never to another fountain fly\n            But unto thee!\n\n    And when, my Jesus, thy dear face I see,\n    When at that lofty throne I bend the knee,\n    Then of thy love--in all its breadth and length,\n    Its height and depth, and everlasting strength--\n            My soul shall sing.\n\n    --Mary Shekelnot.\n\n\nSEEING JESUS\n\n    I would see Jesus. As I muse, and, thinking,\n      Grow amazed--bewildered with a strange delight,\n    My faith is roused, my spirit seemeth drinking\n      A foretaste of that ever-longed-for sight.\n\n    I know that I _shall_ see him; in that hour\n      When he from fleshly bonds release doth give,\n    Earth's mists dispersing at his word of power,\n      Then shall I look upon my God and live!\n\n    O blessed hope! O glorious aspiration!\n      A little while and I the Christ shall see!\n    A patient waiting for the full salvation--\n      Then shall I know my Lord as he knows me.\n\n\n    I have seen the face of Jesus:\n      Tell me not of aught beside.\n    I have heard the voice of Jesus:\n      All my soul is satisfied.\n\n\nSHE BROUGHT HER BOX OF ALABASTER\n\n    She brought her box of alabaster;\n      The precious spikenard filled the room\n    With honor worthy of the Master,\n      A costly, rare, and rich perfume.\n\n    Her tears for sin fell hot and thickly\n      On his dear feet, outstretched and bare;\n    Unconscious how, she wiped them quickly\n      With the long ringlets of her hair.\n\n    And richly fall those raven tresses\n      Adown her cheek, like willow leaves,\n    As stooping still, with fond caresses,\n      She plies her task of love, and grieves.\n\n    Oh may we thus, like loving Mary,\n      Ever our choicest offerings bring,\n    Nor grudging of our toil, nor chary\n      Of costly service to our King.\n\n    Methinks I hear from Christian lowly\n      Some hallowed voice at evening rise,\n    Or quiet morn, or in the holy\n      Unclouded calm of Sabbath skies;\n\n    I bring my box of alabaster,\n      Of earthly loves I break the shrine,\n    And pour affections, purer, vaster,\n      On that dear head, those feet of thine.\n\n    The joys I prized, the hopes I cherished,\n      The fairest flowers my fancy wove,\n    Behold my fondest idols perished,\n      Receive the incense of my love!\n\n    What though the scornful world, deriding,\n      Such waste of love, of service, fears?\n    Still let me pour, through taunt and chiding,\n      The rich libation of my tears.\n\n    I bring my box of alabaster;\n      Accepted let the offering rise!\n    So grateful tears shall flow the faster,\n      In founts of gladness from mine eyes!\n\n    --C. L. Ford.\n\n\n    Not I but Christ be honored, loved, exalted,\n    Not I but Christ be seen, be known, be heard,\n    Not I but Christ in every look and action,\n    Not I but Christ in every thought and word.\n\n\nJESUS, I LOVE THEE\n\n    Jesus, I love thee, not because\n      I hope for heaven thereby,\n    Nor yet because, if I love not,\n      I must forever die.\n\n    I love thee, Saviour dear, and still\n      I ever will love thee,\n    Solely because my God, thou art,\n      Who first hast loved me.\n\n    For me to lowest depth of woe\n      Thou didst thyself abase;\n    For me didst bear the cross and shame,\n      And manifold disgrace;\n\n    For me didst suffer pain unknown,\n      Blood-sweat and agony--\n    Yea, death itself--all, all for me,\n      Who was thine enemy.\n\n    Then why, O blessed Saviour mine.\n      Should I not love thee well?\n    Not for the sake of winning heaven\n      Nor of escaping hell.\n\n    Not with the hope of gaining aught,\n      Nor seeking a reward;\n    But freely, fully, as thyself\n      Hast loved me, O Lord!\n\n    Even so I love thee, and will love,\n      And in thy praise will sing,\n    Solely because thou art my God\n      And my eternal king.\n\n    --Francis Xavier.\n\n\nI'VE FOUND A JOY IN SORROW\n\n    I've found a joy in sorrow,\n      A secret balm for pain,\n    A beautiful to-morrow\n      Of sunshine after rain;\n    I've found a branch of healing\n      Near every bitter spring,\n    A whispered promise stealing\n      O'er every broken string.\n\n    I've found a glad hosanna\n      For every woe and wail,\n    A handful of sweet manna\n      When grapes of Eschol fail;\n    I've found a Rock of Ages\n      When desert wells were dry;\n    And, after weary stages,\n      I've found an Elim nigh--\n\n    An Elim with its coolness,\n      Its fountains, and its shade;\n    A blessing in its fullness\n      When buds of promise fade;\n    O'er tears of soft contrition\n      I've seen a rainbow light;\n    A glory and fruition\n      So near!--yet out of sight.\n\n    My Saviour, thee possessing,\n      I have the joy, the balm.\n    The healing and the blessing.\n      The sunshine and the psalm;\n    The promise for the fearful,\n      The Elim for the faint,\n    The rainbow for the tearful,\n      The glory for the saint!\n\n\nPATIENCE OF JESUS\n\n    What grace, O Lord, and beauty shone\n      Around thy steps below!\n    What patient love was seen in all\n      Thy life and death of woe!\n\n    For ever on thy burdened heart\n      A weight of sorrow hung;\n    Yet no ungentle, murmuring word\n      Escaped thy silent tongue.\n\n    Thy foes might hate, despise, revile,\n      Thy friends unfaithful prove;\n    Unwearied in forgiveness still,\n      Thy heart could only love.\n\n    O give us hearts to love like thee,\n      Like thee, O Lord, to grieve\n    Far more for others' sins than all\n      The wrongs that we receive.\n\n    One with thyself, may every eye\n      In us, thy brethren, see\n    That gentleness and grace that spring\n      From union, Lord, with thee.\n\n    --Edward Denny.\n\n\n    True wisdom is in leaning\n      On Jesus Christ, our Lord;\n    True wisdom is in trusting\n      His own life-giving word;\n    True wisdom is in living\n      Near Jesus every day;\n    True wisdom is in walking\n      Where he shall lead the way.\n\n\nTELL ME ABOUT THE MASTER\n\n    Tell me about the Master!\n      I am weary and worn to-night,\n    The day lies behind me in shadow,\n      And only the evening is light;\n    Light with a radiant glory\n      That lingers about the west;\n    My poor heart is aweary, aweary,\n      And longs, like a child, for rest.\n\n    Tell me about the Master!\n      Of the hills he in loneliness trod,\n    When the tears and the blood of his anguish\n      Dropped down on Judea's sod.\n    For to me life's numerous milestones\n      But a sorrowful journey mark;\n    Rough lies the hill country before me,\n      The mountains behind me are dark.\n\n    Tell me about the Master!\n      Of the wrong he freely forgave:\n    Of his love and tender compassion,\n      Of his love that is mighty to save;\n    For my heart is aweary, aweary\n      Of the woes and temptations of life,\n    Of the error that stalks in the noonday,\n      Of falsehood and malice and strife.\n\n    Yet I know that, whatever of sorrow\n      Or pain or temptation befall,\n    The infinite Master has suffered,\n      And knoweth and pitieth all.\n    So tell me the sweet old story,\n      That falls on each wound like a balm,\n    And my heart that was bruised and broken\n      Shall grow patient and strong and calm.\n\n\nJESU\n\n    Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name\n    Is deeply carved there; but the other week\n    A great affliction broke the little frame,\n    E'en all to pieces; which I went to seek;\n    And first I found the corner where was J,\n    After where ES, and next where U was graved.\n    When I had got these parcels, instantly\n    I sat me down to spell them, and perceived\n    That to my broken heart he was I EASE YOU,\n          And to my whole is JESU.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nSEALED\n\n    I am thine own, O Christ--\n      Henceforth entirely thine;\n    And life from this glad hour,\n          New life, is mine!\n\n    No earthly joy shall lure\n      My quiet soul from thee;\n    This deep delight, so pure,\n          Is heaven to me.\n\n    My little song of praise\n      In sweet content I sing;\n    To thee the note I raise,\n          My King, my King!\n\n    I cannot tell the art\n      By which such bliss is given;\n    I know thou hast my heart,\n          And I--have heaven!\n\n    O peace! O holy rest!\n      O balmy breath of love!\n    O heart divinest, best,\n          Thy depth I prove.\n\n    I ask this gift of thee--\n      A life all lily fair,\n    And fragrant as the gardens be\n          Where seraphs are.\n\n    --Helen Bradley.\n\n\nJESUS, MY GOD AND MY ALL\n\n    O Jesus! Jesus! dearest Lord!\n      Forgive me if I say\n    For very love thy sacred name\n      A thousand times a day.\n\n    I love thee so, I know not how\n      My transports to control;\n    Thy love is like a burning fire\n      Within my very soul.\n\n    O wonderful! that thou shouldst let\n      So vile a heart as mine\n    Love thee with such a love as this,\n      And make so free with thine.\n\n    The craft of this wise world of ours\n      Poor wisdom seems to me;\n    Ah! dearest Jesus! I have grown\n      Childish with love of thee!\n\n    For thou to me art all in all,\n      My honor and my wealth,\n    My heart's desire, my body's strength,\n      My soul's eternal health.\n\n    Burn, burn, O Love! within my heart\n      Burn fiercely night and day,\n    'Till all the dross of earthly loves\n      Is burned, and burned away.\n\n    O light in darkness, joy in grief,\n      O heaven begun on earth!\n    Jesus! my love! my treasure! who\n      Can tell what thou art worth?\n\n    O Jesus! Jesus! sweetest Lord!\n      What art thou not to me?\n    Each hour brings joys before unknown,\n      Each day new liberty!\n\n    What limit is there to thee, love?\n      Thy flight where wilt thou stay?\n    On! on! our Lord is sweeter far\n      To-day than yesterday.\n\n    O love of Jesus! blessed love!\n      So will it ever be;\n    Time cannot hold thy wondrous growth,\n      No, nor eternity.\n\n    --Frederick William Faber.\n\n\nLOVE--JOY\n\n    As on a window late I cast mine eye,\n    I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C\n    Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by\n    Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth\n    To spend my judgment) said it seem'd to me\n    To be the body and the letters both\n    Of Joy and Charity. Sir, you have not miss'd,\n    The man replied; it figures JESUS CHRIST.\n\n    --George Herbert.\n\n\nWHY NOT?\n\n    Why not leave them all with Jesus--\n            All thy cares,\n    All the things that fret thee daily,\n            Earth's affairs?\n    Pour out all thy sin and longing;\n            He has felt\n    Need of human love as thou hast,\n            And has knelt\n    At his Father's feet, imploring,\n            For the day,\n    Strength to guard against temptation\n            By the way.\n\n    Why not leave them all with Jesus--\n            On his breast\n    Find a balm for all earth-suffering,\n            Peace and rest?\n    Ah! he knows that thou hast striven\n            To walk right;\n    Longs to make the thorny pathway\n            Clear and bright.\n    See, he bathes thy feet, all bleeding,\n            With his tears!\n    Give to him thyself, thy burden,\n            And thy fears.\n\n\nJESUS ON THE SEA\n\n    When the storm of the mountains on Galilee fell\n      And lifted its waters on high--\n    And the faithless disciples were bound in the spell\n      Of mysterious alarm--their terrors to quell\n    Jesus whispered, \"Fear not: it is I.\"\n\n    The storm could not bury that word in the wave,\n      For 'twas taught through the tempest to fly;\n    It shall reach his disciples in every clime,\n      And his voice shall be near, in each troublous time,\n    Saying, \"Be not afraid: it is I.\"\n\n    When the spirit is broken with sickness or sorrow,\n      And comfort is ready to die;\n    The darkness shall pass and, in gladness to-morrow,\n      The wounded complete consolation shall borrow\n    From his life-giving word, \"It is I.\"\n\n    When death is at hand, and the cottage of clay\n      Is left with a tremulous sigh,\n    The gracious forerunner is smoothing the way\n      For its tenant to pass to unchangeable day,\n    Saying, \"Be not afraid: it is I.\"\n\n    When the waters are passed, and the glories unknown\n      Burst forth on the wondering eye,\n    The compassionate \"Lamb in the midst of the throne\"\n      Shall welcome, encourage, and comfort his own,\n    And say, \"Be not afraid: it is I.\"\n\n\nLET US SEE JESUS\n\n    We would see Jesus--for the shadows lengthen\n      Across the little landscape of our life;\n    We would see Jesus--our weak faith to strengthen\n      For the last weariness, the mortal strife.\n\n    We would see Jesus--for life's hand hath rested\n      With its dark touch on weary heart and brow;\n    And though our souls have many billows breasted\n      Others are rising in the distance now.\n\n    We would see Jesus--other lights are paling\n      Which for long years we have rejoiced to see;\n    The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing--\n      We would not mourn them, for we come to thee.\n\n    We would see Jesus--yet the spirit lingers\n      Round the dear object it has loved so long,\n    And earth from earth will scarce unclose its fingers,\n      Our love for thee makes not this love less strong.\n\n    We would see Jesus--the strong Rock-foundation\n      Whereon our feet are set by sovereign grace;\n    Not life or death, with all their agitation,\n      Can thence remove us if we seek his face.\n\n    We would see Jesus--sense is all too blinding,\n      And heaven appears too dim and far away;\n    We would see Jesus--to gain the sweet reminding\n      That thou hast promised our great debt to pay.\n\n    We would see Jesus--that is all we're needing,\n      Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight;\n    We would see Jesus--dying, risen, pleading--\n      Then welcome day, and farewell mortal night!\n\n    --Anna B. Warner.\n\n\nA SONG OF LOVE\n\n    To thee, O dear, dear Saviour!\n      My spirit turns for rest;\n    My peace is in thy favor,\n      My pillow on thy breast;\n    Though all the world deceive me,\n      I know that I am thine,\n    And thou wilt never leave me,\n      O blessed Saviour mine!\n\n    In thee my trust abideth,\n      On thee my hope relies,\n    O thou whose love provideth\n      For all beneath the skies!\n    O thou whose mercy found me,\n      From bondage set me free,\n    And then forever bound me\n      With threefold cords to thee!\n\n    My grief is in the dullness\n      With which this sluggish heart\n    Doth open to the fullness\n      Of all thou wouldst impart;\n    My joy is in thy beauty\n      Of holiness divine,\n    My comfort in the duty\n      That binds my life to thine.\n\n    Alas! that I should ever\n      Have fail'd in love to thee,\n    The only One who never\n      Forgot or slighted me.\n    O for a heart to love thee\n      More truly as I ought,\n    And nothing place above thee\n      In deed, or word, or thought.\n\n    O for that choicest blessing\n      Of living in thy love,\n    And thus on earth possessing\n      The peace of heaven above!\n    O for the bliss that by it\n      The soul securely knows,\n    The holy calm and quiet\n      Of faith's serene repose!\n\n    --John Samuel Bewley Monsell.\n\n\nTHE UNFAILING FRIEND\n\n    O Jesus! Friend unfailing,\n      How dear art thou to me!\n    Are cares and fears assailing?\n      I find my strength in thee!\n    Why should my feet grow weary\n      Of this my pilgrim way?\n    Rough though the path, and dreary,\n      It ends in perfect day.\n\n    Naught, naught I count as treasure;\n      Compared, O Christ, with thee!\n    Thy sorrow without measure\n      Earned peace and joy for me.\n    I love to own, Lord Jesus,\n      Thy claims o'er me and mine;\n    Bought with thy blood most precious,\n      Whose can I be but thine?\n\n    What fills my soul with gladness?\n      'Tis thine abounding grace!\n    Where can I look in sadness,\n      But, Jesus, in thy face?\n    My all is thy providing;\n      Thy love can ne'er grow cold;\n    In thee, my refuge, hiding,\n      No good wilt thou withhold.\n\n    Why should I droop in sorrow?\n      Thou'rt ever by my side:\n    Why, trembling, dread the morrow?\n      What ill can e'er betide?\n    If I my cross have taken,\n      'Tis but to follow thee;\n    If scorned, despised, forsaken,\n      Naught severs me from thee!\n\n    Oh, worldly pomp and glory!\n      Your charms are spread in vain!\n    I've heard a sweeter story,\n      I've found a truer gain!\n    Where Christ a place prepareth,\n      There is my loved abode;\n    There shall I gaze on Jesus,\n      There shall I dwell with God!\n\n    For every tribulation,\n      For every sore distress,\n    In Christ I've full salvation,\n      Sure help, and quiet rest.\n    No fear of foes prevailing!\n      I triumph, Lord, in thee!\n    O Jesus! Friend unfailing!\n      How dear art thou to me!\n\n\nTHE SONG OF A HEATHEN\n\n(Sojourning in Galilee, A. D. 32)\n\n    If Jesus Christ is a man--\n      And only a man--I say\n    That of all mankind I cleave to him,\n      And to him will I cleave alway.\n\n    If Jesus Christ is a God--\n      And the only God--I swear\n    I will follow him through heaven and hell,\n      The earth, the sea, the air.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n\"IT IS TOWARD EVENING\"\n\n    Abide with me, O Christ; thou must not go\n      For life's brief day is now far down the west;\n    In dark'ning clouds my sun is sinking low;\n      Lord, stay and soothe thy fretted child to rest.\n\n    Abide with me; ere I can fall on sleep\n      My throbbing head must on thy breast recline,\n    That I may hear anew thy voice, and feel\n      The thrill of thy pierced hands in touch with mine.\n\n    Abide with me; so then shall I have peace\n      The world can never give nor take from me;\n    Nor life nor death can that calm peace disturb,\n      Since life and death alike are gain through thee.\n\n    If life, 'tis well; for though in paths of pain,\n      In desert place afar, I'm led aside,\n    Yet here 'tis joy my Master's cup to share;\n      And so I pray, O Christ, with me abide.\n\n    'Tis gain if death; for in that far-off land--\n      No longer far--no veil of flesh will dim\n    For me the wondrous beauty of my King,\n      As he abides with me and I with him.\n\n    Abide with me; I have toiled gladly on,\n      A little while, in stir of care and strife;\n    The task is laid aside at thy command,\n      Make thou it perfect with thy perfect life.\n\n\nTHE BLESSED FACE\n\n    Jesus, these eyes have never seen\n      That radiant form of thine;\n    The veil of sense hangs dark between\n      Thy blessed face and mine.\n\n    I see thee not, I hear thee not,\n      Yet art thou oft with me;\n    And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot\n      As where I meet with thee.\n\n    Like some bright dream that comes unsought\n      When slumbers o'er me roll,\n    Thine image ever fills my thought\n      And charms my ravished soul.\n\n    Yet though I have not seen, and still\n      Must rest in faith alone,\n    I love thee, dearest Lord, and will,\n      Unseen but not unknown.\n\n    When death these mortal eyes shall seal,\n      And still this throbbing heart,\n    The rending veil shall thee reveal,\n      All-glorious as thou art.\n\n    --Ray Palmer.\n\n\nTO THEE\n\n    I bring my sins to thee\n      The sins I cannot count,\n    That all may cleansed be\n      In thy once-opened fount.\n    I bring them, Saviour, all to thee;\n    The burden is too great for me.\n\n    My heart to thee I bring,\n      The heart I cannot read;\n    A faithless, wandering thing,\n      An evil heart indeed.\n    I bring it, Saviour, now to thee,\n    That fixed and faithful it may be\n\n    To thee I bring my care,\n      The care I cannot flee;\n    Thou wilt not only share,\n      But take it all for me.\n    O loving Saviour, now to thee,\n    I bring the load that wearies me.\n\n    I bring my grief to thee,\n      The grief I cannot tell;\n    No words shall needed be,\n      Thou knowest all so well.\n    I bring the sorrow laid on me,\n    O suffering Saviour! all to thee.\n\n    My joys to thee I bring,\n      The joys thy love has given,\n    That each may be a wing\n      To lift me nearer heaven.\n    I bring them, Saviour, all to thee,\n    Who hast procured them all for me.\n\n    My life I bring to thee,\n      I would not be my own;\n    O Saviour! let me be\n      Thine ever, thine alone!\n    My heart, my life, my all, I bring\n    To thee, my Saviour and my King.\n\n\nWE LONG TO SEE JESUS\n\n    We would see Jesus! we have longed to see him\n      Since first the story of his love was told;\n    We would that he might sojourn now among us,\n      As once he sojourned with the Jews of old.\n\n    We would see Jesus! see the infant sleeping,\n      As on our mother's knees we, too, have slept;\n    We would see Jesus! see him gently weeping,\n      As we, in infancy, ourselves have wept.\n\n    We would behold him, as he wandered lowly--\n      No room for him, too often, in the inn--\n    Behold that life, the beautiful, the holy,\n      The only sinless in this world of sin.\n\n    We would see Jesus! we would have him with us,\n      A guest beloved and honored at our board;\n    How blessed were our bread if it were broken\n      Before the sacred presence of the Lord!\n\n    We would see Jesus! we would have him with us,\n      Friend of our households and our children dear,\n    Who still, should death and sorrow come among us,\n      Would hasten to us, and would touch the bier.\n\n    We would see Jesus! not alone in sorrow,\n      But we would have him with us in our mirth;\n    He, at whose right hand are joys forever,\n      Doth not disdain to bless the joys of earth.\n\n    We would see Jesus! but the wish is faithless;\n      Thou still art with us, who hast loved us well;\n    Thy blessed promise, \"I am with you always,\"\n      Is ever faithful, O Immanuel!\n\n    --Anna E. Hamilton.\n\n\n\"TELL JESUS\"\n\n    When thou wakest in the morning,\n      Ere thou tread the untried way\n    Of the lot that lies before thee,\n      Through the coming busy day,\n    Whether sunbeams promise brightness,\n      Whether dim forebodings fall,\n    Be thy dawning glad or gloomy,\n      Go to Jesus--tell him all!\n\n    In the calm of sweet communion\n      Let thy daily work be done;\n    In the peace of soul outpouring,\n      Care be banished, patience won;\n    And if earth, with its enchantments,\n      Seek the spirit to enthrall,\n    Ere thou listen, ere thou answer,\n      Turn to Jesus--tell him all.\n\n    Then, as hour by hour glides by thee,\n      Thou wilt blessed guidance know;\n    Thine own burdens being lightened,\n      Thou canst bear another's woe;\n    Thou canst help the weak ones onward,\n      Thou canst raise up those that fall;\n    But remember, while thou servest,\n      Still tell Jesus--tell him all!\n\n    And if weariness creep o'er thee\n      As the day wears to its close,\n    Or if sudden fierce temptation\n      Brings thee face to face with foes,\n    In thy weakness, in thy peril,\n      Raise to heaven a trustful call;\n    Strength and calm for every crisis\n      Come--in telling Jesus all.\n\n\nANYWHERE WITH JESUS\n\n    Anywhere with Jesus,\n      Says the Christian heart;\n    Let him take me where he will,\n      So we do not part.\n    Always sitting at his feet\n      There's no cause for fears;\n    Anywhere with Jesus,\n      In this vale of tears.\n\n    Anywhere with Jesus,\n      Though he leadeth me\n    Where the path is rough and long.\n      Where the dangers be;\n    Though he taketh from my heart\n      All I love below,\n    Anywhere with Jesus\n      Will I gladly go.\n\n    Anywhere with Jesus--\n      Though he please to bring\n    Into floods or fiercest flames,\n      Into suffering;\n    Though he bid me work or wait,\n      Only bear for him--\n    Anywhere with Jesus,\n      This shall be my hymn.\n\n    Anywhere with Jesus;\n      For it cannot be\n    Dreary, dark, or desolate\n      When he is with me;\n    He will love me to the end,\n      Every need supply;\n    Anywhere with Jesus,\n      Should I live or die.\n\n\nOUR ROCK\n\n    If life's pleasures cheer thee,\n      Give them not thy heart,\n    Lest the gifts ensnare thee\n      From thy God to part;\n    His praises speak, his favor seek,\n      Fix there thy hope's foundation,\n    Love him, and he shall ever be\n      The Rock of thy salvation.\n\n    If sorrow e'er befall thee,\n      Painful though it be,\n    Let not fear appall thee:\n      To thy Saviour flee;\n    He, ever near, thy prayer will hear,\n      And calm thy perturbation;\n    The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow\n      The Rock of thy salvation.\n\n    Death shall never harm thee,\n      Shrink not from his blow,\n    For thy God shall arm thee\n      And victory bestow;\n    For death shall bring to thee no sting,\n      The grave no desolation;\n    'Tis gain to die with Jesus nigh--\n      The Rock of thy salvation.\n\n    --Francis Scott Key.\n\n\n    The dearest thing on earth to me\n          Is Jesus' will;\n    Whate'er I do, where'er I be,\n          To do his will.\n    Worldly pleasures cannot charm me,\n    Powers of evil cannot harm me,\n    Death itself cannot alarm me,\n          For 'tis his will.\n\n\nSWEET PROMISES\n\n    O Jesus, I have promised,\n      To serve thee to the end;\n    Be thou forever near me,\n      My Master and my Friend.\n    I shall not fear the battle\n      If thou art by my side,\n    Nor wander from the pathway\n      If thou wilt be my guide.\n\n    O let me feel thee near me;\n      The world is ever near;\n    I see the sights that dazzle,\n      The tempting sounds I hear;\n    My foes are ever near me,\n      Around me and within;\n    But, Jesus, draw thou nearer,\n      And shield my soul from sin.\n\n    O Jesus, thou hast promised\n      To all who follow thee,\n    That where thou art in glory\n      There shall thy servant be;\n    And, Jesus, I have promised\n      To serve thee to the end;\n    O give me grace to follow\n      My Master and my Friend.\n\n    --John E. Bode.\n\n\nTHE KING OF LOVE\n\n    The King of love my Shepherd is,\n      Whose goodness faileth never;\n    I nothing lack if I am his,\n      And he is mine forever.\n\n    Where streams of living water flow\n      My ransomed soul he leadeth,\n    And where the verdant pastures grow\n      With food celestial feedeth.\n\n    Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,\n      But yet in love he sought me,\n    And on his shoulder gently laid,\n      And home rejoicing brought me.\n\n    In death's dark vale I fear no ill,\n      With thee, dear Lord, beside me;\n    Thy rod and staff my comfort still,\n      Thy cross before to guide me.\n\n    And so, through all the length of day,\n      Thy goodness faileth never;\n    Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise\n      Within thy house forever.\n\n    --Henry W. Baker.\n\n\nWE WOULD SEE JESUS\n\n    We would see Jesus when our hopes are brightest\n      And all that earth can grant is at its best;\n    When not a drift of shadow, even the lightest,\n      Blurs our clear atmosphere of perfect rest.\n\n    We would see Jesus when the joy of living\n      Holds all our senses in a realm of bliss,\n    That we may know he hath the power of giving\n      Enduring rapture more supreme than this.\n\n    We would see Jesus when our pathway darkens,\n      Beneath the dread of some impending ill;\n    When the discouraged soul no longer harkens\n      To hope, who beckons in the distance still.\n\n    We would see Jesus when the stress of sorrow\n      Strains to their utmost tension heart and brain;\n    That he may teach us how despair may borrow\n      From faith the one sure antidote of pain.\n\n    We would see Jesus when our best are taken,\n      And we must meet, unshared, all shocks of woe;\n    Because he bore for us, alone, forsaken,\n      Burdens whose weight no human heart could know.\n\n    We would see Jesus when our fading vision,\n      Lost to the consciousness of earth and sky,\n    Has only insight for the far elysian;\n      We would see Jesus when we come to die!\n\n    --Margaret J. Preston.\n\n\nALL THINGS IN JESUS\n\n    Jesus, the calm that fills my breast,\n      No other heart than thine can give;\n    This peace unstirred, this joy of rest,\n      None but thy loved ones can receive.\n\n    My weary soul has found a charm\n      That turns to blessedness my woe;\n    Within the shelter of thine arm\n      I rest secure from storm and foe.\n\n    In desert wastes I feel no dread,\n      Fearless I walk the trackless sea;\n    I care not where my way is led,\n      Since all my life is life with thee.\n\n    O Christ, through changeful years my Guide,\n      My Comforter in sorrow's night,\n    My Friend, when friendless--still abide,\n      My Lord, my Counsellor, my Light.\n\n    My time, my powers, I give to thee;\n      My inmost soul 'tis thine to move;\n    I wait for thy eternity,\n      I wait in peace, in praise, in love.\n\n    --Frank Mason North.\n\n\nEVERYWHERE WITH JESUS\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      O how sweet the thought!\n    Filling all my soul with joy,\n      Deep with comfort fraught.\n    Never absent far from him,\n      Always at his side;\n    Everywhere with Jesus,\n      Trusting him to guide.\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      For no place can be\n    Where I may not find him near,\n      Very near to me;\n    Closer than the flesh I wear--\n      In my inmost heart--\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      We shall never part.\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      Do whate'er I may,\n    Work, or talk, or walk abroad,\n      Study, preach, or pray,\n    Still I find him, full of love,\n      Ready ere I call.\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      He's my all in all.\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      Let the world assail,\n    Naught can shake my sure repose.\n      He will never fail.\n    I am weak, but he is strong,\n      Mighty to defend;\n    Everywhere with Jesus,\n      Safe with such a friend.\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus;\n      Careful should I be\n    Lest some secret thought of guile\n      His pure eye may see.\n    Holy, harmless, undefiled,\n      He no sin can know;\n    Everywhere with Jesus\n      Spotless I may go.\n\n    Everywhere with Jesus\n      Would that all might say;\n    Happy then beyond compare,\n      Glad by night and day,\n    All would taste of joy sublime,\n      Perfect peace and rest:\n    Everywhere with Jesus,\n      Nothing could molest.\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\nTHE DEAREST FRIEND\n\n    Do not I love thee, O my Lord?\n      Then let me nothing love;\n    Dead be my heart to every joy,\n      When Jesus cannot move.\n\n    Is not thy name melodious still\n      To mine attentive ear?\n    Doth not each pulse with pleasure bound\n      My Saviour's voice to hear?\n\n    Hast thou a lamb in all thy flock\n      I would disdain to feed?\n    Hast thou a foe before whose face\n      I fear thy cause to plead?\n\n    Would not mine ardent spirit vie\n      With angels round the throne\n    To execute thy sacred will,\n      And make thy glory known?\n\n    Thou know'st I love thee, dearest Lord,\n      But O I long to soar\n    Far from the sphere of mortal joys,\n      And learn to love thee more.\n\n    --Philip Doddridge.\n\n\n    As by the light of opening day\n      The stars are all concealed,\n    So earthly pleasures fade away\n      When Jesus is revealed.\n\n    Creatures no more divide my choice;\n      I bid them all depart:\n    His name, his love, his gracious voice,\n      Have fixed my roving heart.\n\n    --John Newton.\n\n\nFAIREST LORD JESUS\n\n          Fairest Lord Jesus!\n          Ruler of all nature!\n    O thou of God and man the Son!\n          Thee will I cherish,\n          Thee will I honor,\n    Thee, my soul's glory, joy, and crown.\n\n          Fair are the meadows,\n          Fairer still the woodlands,\n    Robed in the blooming garb of spring;\n          Jesus is fairer,\n          Jesus is purer,\n    Who makes the woeful heart to sing.\n\n          Fair is the sunshine,\n          Fairer still the moonlight,\n    And all the twinkling starry host;\n          Jesus shines brighter,\n          Jesus shines purer\n    Than all the angels heaven can boast.\n\n    --From the German.\n\n\nTHE CALL OF JESUS\n\n    Jesus calls us; o'er the tumult\n      Of our life's wild, restless sea,\n    Day by day his sweet voice soundeth,\n      Saying, Christian, follow me!\n\n    Jesus calls us from the worship\n      Of the vain world's golden store;\n    From each idol that would keep us;\n      Saying, Christian, love me more!\n\n    In our joys and in our sorrows,\n      Days of toil and hours of ease,\n    Still he calls, in cares and pleasures,\n      Christian, love me more than these!\n\n    Jesus calls us! by thy mercies,\n      Saviour, may we hear thy call;\n    Give our hearts to thy obedience,\n      Serve and love thee best of all.\n\n    --Cecil Frances Alexander.\n\n\n    If washed in Jesus' blood,\n      Then bear his likeness too,\n    And as you onward press\n      Ask, What would Jesus do?\n    Be brave to do the right,\n      And scorn to be untrue;\n    When fear would whisper, Yield,\n      Ask, What would Jesus do?\n\n\n\n\nLIFE\n\nTIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER\n\n\nWITHOUT HASTE AND WITHOUT REST\n\n    Without haste and without rest;\n    Bind the motto to thy breast.\n    Bear it with thee as a spell,\n    Storm or sunshine, guard it well!\n    Heed not flowers that round thee bloom;\n    Bear it onward to the tomb!\n\n    Haste not--let no thoughtless deed\n    Mar the spirit's steady speed;\n    Ponder well, and know the right,\n    Onward, then, with all thy might;\n    Haste not--years can ne'er atone\n    For one reckless action done!\n\n    Rest not--life is sweeping by.\n    Do and dare before you die;\n    Something worthy and sublime\n    Leave behind to conquer time;\n    Glorious 'tis to live for aye,\n    When these forms have passed away.\n\n    Haste not--rest not. Calm in strife\n    Meekly bear the storms of life;\n    Duty be thy polar guide;\n    Do the right, whate'er betide;\n    Haste not--rest not. Conflicts past,\n    God shall crown thy work at last!\n\n    --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.\n\n\nWHY DO I LIVE?\n\n    I live for those who love me;\n      For those I know are true;\n    For the heaven that smiles above me\n      And awaits my spirit too;\n    For all human ties that bind me,\n    For the task my God assigned me,\n    For the bright hope left behind me,\n      And the good that I can do.\n\n    I live to learn their story\n      Who suffered for my sake,\n    To emulate their glory\n      And follow in their wake;\n    Bards, martyrs, patriots, sages,\n    The nobles of all ages.\n    Whose deeds crown History's pages\n      And time's great volume make.\n\n    I live to hail the season--\n      By gifted minds foretold--\n    When man shall live by reason,\n      And not alone for gold;\n    When man to man united,\n    And every wrong thing righted,\n    The whole world shall be lighted\n      As Eden was of old.\n\n    I live to hold communion\n      With all that is divine,\n    To feel that there is union\n      'Twixt nature's heart and mine;\n    To profit by affliction,\n    Reap truth from fields of fiction,\n    Grow wiser from conviction,\n      Fulfilling God's design.\n\n    I live for those who love me,\n      For those who know me true,\n    For the heaven that smiles above me\n      And awaits my spirit too;\n    For the wrongs that need resistance,\n    For the cause that needs assistance,\n    For the future in the distance,\n      And the good that I can do.\n\n    --George Linnaeus Banks.\n\n\nBEAUTIFUL THINGS\n\n    Beautiful faces are those that wear--\n    It matters little if dark or fair--\n    Whole-souled honesty printed there.\n\n    Beautiful eyes are those that show\n    Like crystal panes where hearth fires glow,\n    Beautiful thoughts that burn below.\n\n    Beautiful lips are those whose words\n    Leap from the heart like songs of birds,\n    Yet whose utterances prudence girds.\n\n    Beautiful hands are those that do\n    Work that is earnest, and brave, and true,\n    Moment by moment the long day through.\n\n    Beautiful feet are those that go\n    On kindly ministries to and fro--\n    Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.\n\n    Beautiful shoulders are those that bear\n    Ceaseless burdens of homely care\n    With patient grace and daily prayer.\n\n    Beautiful lives are those that bless--\n    Silent rivers of happiness\n    Whose hidden fountain but few may guess.\n\n    Beautiful twilight, at set of sun;\n    Beautiful goal, with race well won;\n    Beautiful rest, with work well done.\n\n    Beautiful graves, where grasses creep,\n    Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep\n    Over worn-out hands--O, beautiful sleep.\n\n\nAT SUNSET\n\n    It isn't the thing you do, dear,\n      It's the thing you've left undone\n    Which gives you a bit of heartache\n      At the setting of the sun.\n    The tender word forgotten,\n      The letter you did not write,\n    The flower you might have sent, dear,\n      Are your haunting ghosts to-night.\n\n    The stone you might have lifted\n      Out of a brother's way,\n    The bit of heartsome counsel\n      You were hurried too much to say,\n    The loving touch of the hand, dear,\n      The gentle and winsome tone\n    That you had no time or thought for,\n      With troubles enough of your own.\n\n    The little act of kindness,\n      So easily out of mind;\n    Those chances to be angels,\n      Which every mortal finds--\n    They come in night and silence--\n      Each chill, reproachful wraith--\n    When hope is faint and flagging,\n      And a blight has dropped on faith.\n\n    For life is all too short, dear,\n      And sorrow is all too great,\n    To suffer our slow compassion\n      That tarries until too late;\n    And it's not the thing you do, dear,\n      It's the thing you leave undone,\n    Which gives you the bit of heartache\n      At the setting of the sun.\n\n    --Margaret E. Sangster.\n\n\nTHE BUILDERS\n\n    All are architects of Fate,\n      Working in these walls of Time;\n    Some with massive deeds and great,\n      Some with ornaments of rhyme.\n\n    Nothing useless is, or low;\n      Each thing in its place is best;\n    And what seems but idle show\n      Strengthens and supports the rest.\n\n    For the structure that we raise\n      Time is with material filled;\n    Our to-days and yesterdays\n      Are the blocks with which we build.\n\n    Truly shape and fashion these;\n      Leave no yawning gaps between;\n    Think not, because no man sees,\n      Such things will remain unseen.\n\n    In the elder days of Art\n      Builders wrought with greatest care\n    Each minute and unseen part;\n      For the gods see everywhere.\n\n    Let us do our work as well,\n      Both the unseen and the seen;\n    Make the house where gods may dwell\n      Beautiful, entire, and clean;\n\n    Else our lives are incomplete,\n      Standing in these walls of Time,\n    Broken stairways, where the feet\n      Stumble as they seek to climb.\n\n    Build to-day, then, strong and sure,\n      With a firm and ample base;\n    And ascending and secure\n      Shall to-morrow find its place.\n\n    Thus alone can we attain\n      To those turrets where the eye\n    Sees the world as one vast plain\n      And one boundless reach of sky.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    The stars shall fade away, the sun himself\n    Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,\n    But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,\n    Unhurt amid the war of elements,\n    The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.\n\n    --Joseph Addison.\n\n\nRETROSPECTION\n\n    He was better to me than all my hopes,\n      He was better than all my fears;\n    He made a road of my broken works\n      And a rainbow of my tears.\n    The billows that guarded my sea girt path\n      But carried my Lord on their crest;\n    When I dwell on the days of my wilderness march\n      I can lean on his love for the rest.\n\n    He emptied my hands of my treasured store\n      And his covenant love revealed;\n    There was not a wound in my aching heart\n      But the balm of his breath hath healed.\n    Oh! tender and true was the chastening sore,\n      In wisdom, that taught and tried,\n    Till the soul that he sought was trusting in him\n      And in nothing on earth beside.\n\n    He guided by paths that I could not see,\n      By ways that I have not known,\n    The crooked was straight and the rough made plain,\n      As I followed the Lord alone.\n    I praise him still for the pleasant palms\n      And the water springs by the way;\n    For the glowing pillars of flame by night\n      And the sheltering clouds by day.\n\n    There is light for me on the trackless wild\n      As the wonders of old I trace,\n    When the God of the whole earth went before\n      To search me a resting place.\n    Has he changed for me? Nay! He changes not.\n      He will bring me by some new way,\n    Through fire and flood and each crafty foe,\n      As safely as yesterday.\n\n    And if to warfare he calls me forth,\n      He buckles my armor on;\n    He greets me with smiles and a word of cheer\n      For battles his sword hath won;\n    He wipes my brows as I droop and faint,\n      He blesses my hand to toil;\n    Faithful is he as he washes my feet,\n      From the trace of each earthly soil.\n\n    Never a watch on the dreariest halt\n      But some promise of love endears;\n    I read from the past that my future shall be\n      Far better than all my fears.\n    Like the golden pot of the wilderness bread,\n      Laid up with the blossoming rod,\n    All safe in the ark, with the law of the Lord,\n      Is the covenant care of my God.\n\n    --Anna Shipton.\n\n\nONE DAY'S SERVICE\n\n          O to serve God for a day!\n    From jubilant morn to the peace and the calm of the night\n    To tread no path but his happy and blossoming way,\n          To seek no delight\n    But the joy that is one with the joy at heaven's heart;\n          Only to go where thou art,\n    O God of all blessing and beauty! to love, to obey\n    With obedience sweetened by love and love made strong by the right;\n    Not once, not once to be drunken with self,\n      Or to play the hypocrite's poisoned part,\n    Or to bend the knee of my soul to the passion for pelf,\n      Or the glittering gods of the mart;\n    Through each glad hour to lay on the wings of its flight\n      Some flower for the angels' sight;\n    Some fragrant fashion of service, scarlet and white--\n    White for the pure intent, and red where the pulses start.\n    O, if thus I could serve him, could perfectly serve him one day,\n    I think I could perfectly serve him forever--forever and aye!\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\n    Life is a burden; bear it.\n    Life is a duty; dare it.\n    Life is a thorn crown; wear it.\n      Though it break your heart in twain,\n      Though the burden crush you down,\n      Close your lips and hide the pain;\n        First the cross and then the crown.\n\n\nBETTER THINGS\n\n    Better to smell the violet cool than sip the glowing wine;\n    Better to hark a hidden brook than watch a diamond shine.\n\n    Better the love of gentle heart than beauty's favors proud,\n    Better the rose's living seed than roses in a crowd.\n\n    Better to love in loneliness than bask in love all day;\n    Better the fountain in the heart than the fountain by the way.\n\n    Better be fed by a mother's hand than eat alone at will;\n    Better to trust in God than say, My goods my storehouse fill.\n\n    Better to be a little wise than in knowledge to abound;\n    Better to teach a child than toil to fill perfection's round.\n\n    Better sit at a master's feet than thrill a listening state;\n    Better suspect that thou art proud than be sure that thou art great.\n\n    Better to walk in the realm unseen than watch the hour's event;\n    Better the _well done_ at the last than the air with shoutings rent.\n\n    Better to have a quiet grief than a hurrying delight;\n    Better the twilight of the dawn than the noonday burning bright.\n\n    Better to sit at the water's birth than a sea of waves to win;\n    To live in the love that floweth forth than the love that cometh in.\n\n    Better a death when work is done than earth's most favored birth;\n    Better a child in God's great house than the king of all the earth.\n\n    --George Macdonald.\n\n\n    Time is indeed a precious boon,\n      But with the boon a task is given:\n    The heart must learn its duty well\n      To man on earth and God in heaven.\n\n    --Eliza Cook.\n\n\nTHE LENGTH OF LIFE\n\n    Are your sorrows hard to bear?\n            Life is short!\n    Do you drag the chain of care?\n            Life is short!\n    Soon will come the glad release\n    Into rest and joy and peace;\n    Soon the weary thread be spun,\n    And the final labor done.\n    Keep your courage! Hold the fort!\n            Life is short!\n\n    Are you faint with hope delayed?\n            Life is long!\n    Tarries that for which you prayed?\n            Life is long!\n    What delights may not abide--\n    What ambitions satisfied--\n    What possessions may not be\n    In God's great eternity?\n    Lift the heart! Be glad and strong!\n            Life is long!\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\nIS LIFE WORTH LIVING?\n\n    Is life worth living? Yes, so long\n      As there is wrong to right,\n    Wail of the weak against the strong,\n      Or tyranny to fight;\n    Long as there lingers gloom to chase,\n      Or streaming tear to dry,\n    One kindred woe, one sorrowing face,\n      That smiles as we draw nigh;\n    Long as a tale of anguish swells\n      The heart and lids grow wet,\n    And at the sound of Christmas bells\n      We pardon and forget;\n    So long as Faith with Freedom reigns\n      And loyal Hope survives,\n    And gracious Charity remains\n      To leaven lowly lives;\n    While there is one untrodden tract\n      For Intellect or Will,\n    And men are free to think and act,\n      Life is worth living still.\n\n    --Alfred Austin.\n\n\n    The Moving Finger writes, and having writ\n    Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit\n    Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,\n    Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.\n\n    --Omar Khayyam.\n\n\nLENGTH OF DAYS\n\n    He liveth long who liveth well;\n      All other life is short and vain;\n    He liveth longest who can tell\n      Of living most for heavenly gain.\n\n    He liveth long who liveth well;\n      All else is being flung away;\n    He liveth longest who can tell\n      Of true things truly done each day.\n\n    Waste not thy being; back to him\n      Who freely gave it, freely give;\n    Else is that being but a dream;\n      'Tis but to _be_, and not to _live_.\n\n    Be wise, and use thy wisdom well;\n      Who wisdom _speaks_ must _live_ it too;\n    He is the wisest who can tell\n      How first he lived, then spoke the true.\n\n    Be what thou seemest! live thy creed!\n      Hold up to earth the torch divine;\n    Be what thou prayest to be made;\n      Let the great Master's steps be thine.\n\n    Fill up each hour with what will last;\n      Buy up the moments as they go;\n    The life above, when this is past,\n      Is the ripe fruit of life below.\n\n    Sow truth if thou the true wouldst reap;\n      Who sows the false shall reap the vain;\n    Erect and sound thy conscience keep;\n      From hollow words and deeds refrain.\n\n    Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure;\n      Sow peace and reap its harvest bright;\n    Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,\n      And find a harvest-home of light.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nREDEEMING THE TIME\n\n    We would fill the hours with the sweetest things\n      If we had but a day;\n    We should drink alone at the purest springs\n      In our upward way;\n    We should love with a lifetime's love in an hour\n      If the hours were few;\n    We should rest not for dreams, but for fresher power\n      To be and to do.\n\n    We should guide our wayward or wearied wills\n      By the clearest light;\n    We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills\n      If they lay in sight;\n    We should trample the pride and the discontent\n      Beneath our feet;\n    We should take whatever a good God sent,\n      With a trust complete.\n\n    We should waste no moments in weak regret\n      If the day were but one;\n    If what we remember and what we forget\n      Went out with the sun;\n    We should be from our clamorous selves set free\n      To work and to pray,\n    And to be what the Father would have us to be,\n      If we had but a day.\n\n    --Mary Lowe Dickinson.\n\n\nMORAL COSMETICS\n\n    Ye who would have your features florid,\n    Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead,\n    From age's devastation horrid,\n            Adopt this plan--\n    'Twill make, in climate cold or torrid,\n            A hale old man:\n\n    Avoid in youth luxurious diet;\n    Restrain the passion's lawless riot;\n    Devoted to domestic quiet,\n            Be wisely gay;\n    So shall ye, spite of age's fiat,\n            Resist decay.\n\n    Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure,\n    But find your richest, dearest treasure\n    In God, his word, his work; not leisure.\n            The mind, not sense,\n    Is the sole scale by which to measure\n            Your opulence.\n\n    This is the solace, this the science,\n    Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance,\n    That disappoints not man's reliance,\n            Whate'er his state;\n    But challenges, with calm defiance,\n            Time, fortune, fate.\n\n    --Horace Smith.\n\n\nSTRENGTH FOR TO-DAY\n\n    Strength for to-day is all that we need,\n      As there never will be a to-morrow;\n    For to-morrow will prove but another to-day,\n      With its measure of joy and sorrow.\n\n    Then why forecast the trials of life\n      With such sad and grave persistence,\n    And watch and wait for a crowd of ills\n      That as yet have no existence?\n\n    Strength for to-day--what a precious boon\n      For the earnest souls who labor,\n    For the willing hands that minister\n      To the needy friend and neighbor.\n\n    Strength for to-day--that the weary hearts\n      In the battle for right may quail not,\n    And the eyes bedimmed with bitter tears\n      In their search for light may fail not.\n\n    Strength for to-day, on the down-hill track,\n      For the travelers near the valley,\n    That up, far up, the other side\n      Ere long they may safely rally.\n\n    Strength for to-day--that our precious youth\n      May happily shun temptation,\n    And build, from the rise to the set of the sun,\n      On a strong and sure foundation.\n\n    Strength for to-day, in house and home,\n      To practice forbearance sweetly;\n    To scatter kind deeds and loving words\n      Still trusting in God completely.\n\n\nFAITHFUL\n\n        Like the star\n        That shines afar\n        Without haste\n        And without rest,\n    Let each man wheel with steady sway\n    Round the task that rules the day,\n        And do his best!\n\n    --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.\n\n\n    Who learns and learns, and acts not what he knows,\n    Is one who plows and plows, but never sows.\n\n\nMORNING\n\n    Lo here hath been dawning\n      Another blue day;\n    Think; wilt thou let it\n      Slip useless away?\n    Out of eternity\n      This new day is born;\n    Into eternity\n      At night will return.\n    Behold it aforetime\n      No eye ever did;\n    So soon it forever\n      From all eyes is hid.\n    Here hath been dawning\n      Another blue day;\n    Think; wilt thou let it\n      Slip useless away?\n\n    --Thomas Carlyle.\n\n\nJUST FOR TO-DAY\n\n    Lord, for to-morrow and its needs\n            I do not pray;\n    Keep me, my God, from stain of sin\n            Just for to-day.\n    Help me to labor earnestly,\n            And duly pray;\n    Let me be kind in word and deed,\n            Father, to-day.\n\n    Let me no wrong or idle word\n            Unthinking say;\n    Set thou a seal upon my lips\n            Through all to-day.\n    Let me in season, Lord, be grave,\n            In season gay;\n    Let me be faithful to thy grace,\n            Dear Lord, to-day.\n\n    And if, to-day, this life of mine\n            Should ebb away,\n    Give me thy sacrament divine,\n            Father, to-day.\n    So for to-morrow and its needs\n            I do not pray;\n    Still keep me, guide me, love me, Lord,\n            Through each to-day.\n\n    --Ernest R. Wilberforce.\n\n\n    That life is long which answers life's great end;\n    The time that bears no fruit deserves no name;\n    The man of wisdom is the man of years.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\nJUST ONE DAY\n\n    If I could live to God for just one day,\n      One blessed day, from rosy dawn of light\n      Till purple twilight deepened into night,\n      A day of faith unfaltering, trust complete,\n      Of love unfeigned and perfect charity,\n    Of hope undimmed, of courage past dismay,\n      Of heavenly peace, patient humility--\n      No hint of duty to constrain my feet,\n      No dream of ease to lull to listlessness,\n      Within my heart no root of bitterness,\n    No yielding to temptation's subtle sway,\n      Methinks, in that one day would so expand\n      My soul to meet such holy, high demand\n      That never, never more could hold me bound\n      This shriveling husk of self that wraps me round.\n    So might I henceforth live to God alway.\n\n    --Susan E. Gammons.\n\n\nNOW\n\n    Forget the past and live the present hour;\n      Now is the time to work, the time to fill\n      The soul with noblest thoughts, the time to will\n    Heroic deeds, to use whatever dower\n    Heaven has bestowed, to test our utmost power.\n      Now is the time to live, and, better still,\n      To serve our loved ones; over passing ill\n    To rise triumphant; thus the perfect flower\n    Of life shall come to fruitage; wealth amass\n      For grandest giving ere the time be gone.\n      Be glad to-day--to-morrow may bring tears;\n    Be brave to-day; the darkest night will pass\n      And golden days will usher in the dawn;\n      Who conquers now shall rule the coming years.\n\n    --Sarah Knowles Bolton.\n\n\nTHE HOURS\n\n    The hours are viewless angels,\n      That still go gliding by,\n    And bear each minute's record up\n      To him who sits on high;\n    And we who walk among them,\n      As one by one departs,\n    See not that they are hovering\n      Forever round our hearts.\n\n    Like summer bees that hover\n      Around the idle flowers,\n    They gather every act and thought,\n      Those viewless angel-hours;\n    The poison or the nectar\n      The heart's deep flower cups yield,\n    A sample still they gather swift,\n      And leave us in the field.\n\n    And some flit by on pinions\n      Of joyous gold and blue,\n    And some flag on with drooping wing\n      Of sorrow's darker hue;\n    But still they steal the record\n      And bear it far away;\n    Their mission-flight, by day and night,\n      No magic power can stay.\n\n    And as we spend each minute\n      That God to us has given,\n    The deeds are known before his throne,\n      The tale is told in heaven.\n    Those bee-like hours we see not,\n      Nor hear their noiseless wings;\n    We often feel--too oft--when flown\n      That they have left their stings.\n\n    So teach me, heavenly Father,\n      To meet each flying hour,\n    That as they go they may not show\n      My heart a poison flower!\n    So, when death brings its shadows,\n      The hours that linger last\n    Shall bear my hopes on angels' wings,\n      Unfettered by the past.\n\n    --Christopher Pearse Cranch.\n\n\nTO-DAY\n\n    The hours of rest are over,\n      The hours of toil begin;\n    The stars above have faded,\n      The moon has ceased to shine.\n    The earth puts on her beauty\n      Beneath the sun's red ray;\n    And I must rise to labor.\n      What is my work to-day?\n\n    To search for truth and wisdom,\n      To live for Christ alone,\n    To run my race unburdened,\n      The goal my Father's throne;\n    To view by faith the promise,\n      While earthly hopes decay;\n    To serve the Lord with gladness--\n      This is my work to-day.\n\n    To shun the world's allurements,\n      To bear my cross therein,\n    To turn from all temptation,\n      To conquer every sin;\n    To linger, calm and patient,\n      Where duty bids me stay,\n    To go where God may lead me--\n      This is my work to-day.\n\n    To keep my troth unshaken,\n      Though others may deceive;\n    To give with willing pleasure,\n      Or still with joy receive;\n    To bring the mourner comfort,\n      To wipe sad tears away;\n    To help the timid doubter--\n      This is my work to-day.\n\n    To bear another's weakness,\n      To soothe another's pain;\n    To cheer the heart repentant,\n      And to forgive again;\n    To commune with the thoughtful,\n      To guide the young and gay;\n    To profit all in season--\n      This is my work to-day.\n\n    I think not of to-morrow,\n      Its trial or its task;\n    But still, with childlike spirit,\n      For present mercies ask.\n    With each returning morning\n      I cast old things away;\n    Life's journey lies before me;\n      My prayer is for TO-DAY.\n\n\nLIFE'S MIRROR\n\n    There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,\n      There are souls that are pure and true;\n    Then give to the world the best you have.\n      And the best will come back to you.\n\n    Give love, and love to your life will flow,\n      And strength in your inmost needs;\n    Have faith, and a score of hearts will show\n      Their faith in your work and deeds.\n\n    Give truth, and your gifts will be paid in kind,\n      And song a song will meet;\n    And the smile which is sweet will surely find\n      A smile that is just as sweet.\n\n    Give pity and sorrow to those who mourn;\n      You will gather in flowers again\n    The scattered seeds from your thought outborne,\n      Though the sowing seemed in vain.\n\n    For life is the mirror of king and slave,\n      'Tis just what we are and do;\n    Then give to the world the best you have\n      And the best will come back to you.\n\n    --Madeline S. Bridges.\n\n\nWHEN I HAVE TIME\n\n    When I have time so many things I'll do\n    To make life happier and more fair\n    For those whose lives are crowded now with care;\n    I'll help to lift them from their low despair\n          When I have time.\n\n    When I have time the friend I love so well\n    Shall know no more these weary, toiling days;\n    I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always\n    And cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise,\n          When I have time.\n\n    When you have time! The friend you hold so dear\n    May be beyond the reach of all your sweet intent;\n    May never know that you so kindly meant\n    To fill her life with sweet content\n          When you had time.\n\n    Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer wait\n    To scatter loving smiles and words of cheer\n    To those around whose lives are now so drear;\n    They may not need you in the coming year--\n          Now is the time!\n\n\nSOME RULES OF LIFE\n\n_Have Faith in God_\n\n    What though the dark close round, the storm increase,\n    Though friends depart, all earthly comforts cease;\n    Hath He not said, I give my children peace?\n            Believe his word.\n\n_Complain of Naught_\n\n    To murmur, fret, repine, lament, bemoan--\n    How sinful, stupid, wrong! God's on the throne,\n    Does all in wisdom, ne'er forgets his own.\n            Be filled with praise.\n\n_Watch Unto Prayer_\n\n    Think much of God, 'twill save thy soul from sin;\n    Without his presence let no act begin;\n    Look up, keep vigil, fear not; thou shalt win.\n            See him in all.\n\n_Go Armed with Christ_\n\n    He said, \"I come, O God, to do thy will.\"\n    Shall we not, likewise, all his word fulfill,\n    And find a weapon firm 'gainst every ill?\n            Put on the Lord.\n\n_Be True, Be Sweet_\n\n    Let not the conflict make thee sour or sad;\n    Swerve not from battle: faithful, loyal, glad--\n    The likeness of our Saviour may be had.\n            Aim high, press on!\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\n    Forenoon and afternoon and night,--Forenoon,\n    And afternoon, and night,--Forenoon, and--what?\n    The empty song repeats itself. No more?\n    Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime,\n    This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,\n    And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nI PACK MY TRUNK\n\n    What shall I pack up to carry\n      From the old year to the new?\n    I'll leave out the frets that harry,\n      Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.\n\n    Angry words--ah, how I rue them!\n      Selfish deeds and choices blind;\n    Any one is welcome to them!\n      I shall leave them all behind.\n\n    Plans? the trunk would need be double.\n      Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid.\n    Sharp ambitions? last year's stubble!\n      Take them, old year! Keep them hid!\n\n    All my fears shall be forsaken,\n      All my failures manifold;\n    Nothing gloomy shall be taken\n      To the new year from the old.\n\n    But I'll pack the sweet remembrance\n      Of dear Friendship's least delight;\n    All my jokes--I'll carry _them_ hence;\n      All my store of fancies bright;\n\n    My contentment--would 'twere greater!\n      All the courage I possess;\n    All my trust--there's not much weight there!\n      All my faith, or more, or less;\n\n    All my tasks; I'll not abandon\n      One of these--nay pride, my health;\n    Every trivial or grand one\n      Is a noble mine of wealth.\n\n    And I'll pack my choicest treasures:\n      Smiles I've seen and praises heard,\n    Memories of unselfish pleasures,\n      Cheery looks, the kindly word.\n\n    Ah, my riches silence cavil!\n      To my rags I bid adieu!\n    Like a Croesus I shall travel\n      From the old year to the new!\n\n    --Amos R. Wells.\n\n\n    The stars shine over the earth,\n      The stars shine over the sea;\n    The stars look up to the mighty God,\n      The stars look down on me.\n    The stars have lived for a million years\n      A million years and a day;\n    But God and I shall love and live\n      When the stars have passed away.\n\n\nOPPORTUNITY RENEWED\n\n    They do me wrong who say I come no more\n      When once I knock and fail to find you in;\n    For every day I stand outside your door\n      And bid you wake and ride to fight and win.\n    Wail not for precious chances passed away,\n      Weep not for golden ages on the wane!\n    Each night I burn the records of the day;\n      At sunrise every soul is born again.\n    Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,\n      To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;\n    My judgments seal the dead past with its dead\n      But never bind a moment yet to come.\n    Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep;\n      I lend my arm to all who say \"I can!\"\n    No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep\n      But yet might rise and be again a man.\n    Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?\n      Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?\n    Then turn from blotted archives of the past\n      And find the future's pages white as snow.\n    Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!\n      Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven!\n    Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,\n      Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.\n\n    --Walter Malone.\n\n\n    Though life is made up of mere bubbles\n      'Tis better than many aver,\n    For while we've a whole lot of troubles\n      The most of them never occur.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    A happy lot must sure be his--\n      The lord, not slave, of things--\n    Who values life by what it is\n      And not by what it brings.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\nA BUILDER'S LESSON\n\n    \"How shall I a habit break?\"\n    As you did that habit make.\n    As you gathered you must lose;\n    As you yielded, now refuse.\n\n    Thread by thread the strands we twist\n    Till they bind us neck and wrist;\n    Thread by thread the patient hand\n    Must untwine ere free we stand.\n    As we builded, stone by stone,\n    We must toil--unhelped, alone--\n    Till the wall is overthrown.\n\n    But remember: as we try,\n    Lighter every test goes by;\n    Wading in, the stream grows deep\n    Toward the center's downward sweep;\n    Backward turn--each step ashore\n    Shallower is than that before.\n\n    Ah, the precious years we waste\n    Leveling what we raised in haste;\n    Doing what must be undone\n    Ere content or love be won!\n    First across the gulf we cast\n    Kite-borne threads, till lives are passed,\n    And habit builds the bridge at last!\n\n\nBUILDING\n\n    We are building every day\n    In a good or evil way,\n    And the structure, as it grows,\n    Will our inmost self disclose,\n\n    Till in every arch and line\n    All our faults and failings shine;\n    It may grow a castle grand,\n    Or a wreck upon the sand.\n\n    Do you ask what building this\n    That can show both pain and bliss,\n    That can be both dark and fair?\n    Lo, its name is character!\n\n    Build it well, whate'er you do;\n    Build it straight and strong and true;\n    Build it clear and high and broad;\n    Build it for the eye of God.\n\n    --I. E. Dickenga.\n\n\n    Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest\n    Live well, how long or short permit to heaven.\n\n    --John Milton.\n\n\nHOLY HABITS\n\n    Slowly fashioned, link by link,\n      Slowly waxing strong,\n    Till the spirit never shrink,\n      Save from touch of wrong.\n\n    Holy habits are thy wealth,\n      Golden, pleasant chains;\n    Passing earth's prime blessing--health,\n      Endless, priceless gains.\n\n    Holy habits give thee place\n      With the noblest, best,\n    All most godlike of thy race,\n      And with seraphs blest.\n\n    Holy habits are thy joy,\n      Wisdom's pleasant ways,\n    Yielding good without alloy,\n      Lengthening, too, thy days.\n\n    Seek them, Christian, night and morn;\n      Seek them noon and even;\n    Seek them till thy soul be born\n      Without stains--in heaven.\n\n    --Thomas Davis.\n\n\nMAKE HASTE, O MAN! TO LIVE\n\n    Make haste, O man! to live,\n      For thou so soon must die;\n    Time hurries past thee like the breeze;\n      How swift its moments fly.\n        Make haste, O man! to live.\n\n    Make haste, O man! to do\n      Whatever must be done,\n    Thou hast no time to lose in sloth,\n      Thy day will soon be gone.\n        Make haste, O man! to live.\n\n    To breathe, and wake, and sleep,\n      To smile, to sigh, to grieve,\n    To move in idleness through earth,\n      This, this is not to live.\n        Make haste, O man! to live.\n\n    The useful, not the great;\n      The thing that never dies,\n    The silent toil that is not lost,\n      Set these before thine eyes.\n        Make haste, O man! to live.\n\n    Make haste, O man! to live.\n      Thy time is almost o'er;\n    Oh! sleep not, dream not, but arise,\n      The Judge is at the door.\n        Make haste, O man! to live.\n\n    --Horatius Bonar.\n\n\nTEACH ME TO LIVE\n\n    Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die--\n      Gently and silently pass away--\n    On earth's long night to close the heavy eye\n      And waken in the glorious realms of day.\n\n    Teach me that harder lesson--how to live;\n      To serve thee in the darkest paths of life;\n    Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor give,\n      And make me more than conqueror in the strife.\n\n    Teach me to live thy purpose to fulfill;\n      Bright for thy glory let my taper shine;\n    Each day renew, remold this stubborn will;\n      Closer round thee my heart's affections twine.\n\n    Teach me to live for self and sin no more;\n      But use the time remaining to me yet;\n    Not mine own pleasure seeking as before,\n      Wasting no precious hours in vain regret.\n\n    Teach me to live; no idler let me be,\n      But in thy service hand and heart employ.\n    Prepared to do thy bidding cheerfully--\n      Be this my highest and my holiest joy.\n\n    Teach me to live--my daily cross to bear,\n      Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load.\n    Only be with me, let me feel thee near,\n      Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road.\n\n    Teach me to live and find my life in thee,\n      Looking from earth and earthly things away.\n    Let me not falter, but untiringly\n      Press on, and gain new strength and power each day.\n\n    Teach me to live with kindly words for all,\n      Wearing no cold repulsive brow of gloom,\n    Waiting with cheerful patience till thy call\n      Summons my spirit to her heavenly home.\n\n\nOPPORTUNITY\n\n    Master of human destinies am I,\n    Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait,\n    Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate\n    Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by\n    Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late\n    I knock, unbidden, once at every gate!\n    If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise--before\n    I turn away. It is the hour of fate,\n    And they who follow me reach every state\n    Mortals desire, and conquer every foe\n    Save death; but those who doubt, or hesitate,\n    Condemned to failure, penury, and woe,\n    Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;\n    I answer not, and I return no more.\n\n    --John James Ingalls.\n\n\nTHREE DAYS\n\n    So much to do; so little done!\n    Ah! yesternight I saw the sun\n    Sink beamless down the vaulted gray--\n    The ghastly ghost of yesterday.\n\n    So little done; so much to do!\n    Each morning breaks on conflicts new;\n    But eager, brave, I'll join the fray,\n    And fight the battle of to-day.\n\n    So much to do; so little done!\n    But when it's o'er--the victory won--\n    O then, my soul, this strife and sorrow\n    Will end in that great, glad to-morrow!\n\n    --James Roberts Gilmore.\n\n\nJUSTICE\n\n    Three men went out one summer night;\n      No care had they or aim.\n    They dined and drank. Ere we go home\n      We'll have, they said, a game.\n\n    Three girls began that summer night\n      A life of endless shame,\n    And went through drink, disease, and death\n      As swift as racing flame.\n\n    Lawless, homeless, foul, they died;\n      Rich, loved, and praised, the men.\n    But when they all shall meet with God,\n      And Justice speaks, what then?\n\n    --Stopford Augustus Brooke.\n\n\nOPPORTUNITY IMPROVED\n\n    This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:\n    There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;\n    And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged\n    A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords\n    Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner\n    Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.\n    A craven hung along the battle's edge,\n    And thought, \"Had I a sword of keener steel--\n    That blue blade that the king's son bears--but this\n    Blunt thing----!\" he snapt and flung it from his hand,\n    And lowering crept away and left the field.\n    Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,\n    And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,\n    Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,\n    And ran and snatched it and, with battle-shout\n    Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down,\n    And saved a great cause that heroic day.\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nDUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS\n\n    Live while you live, the epicure would say,\n    And seize the pleasures of the passing day!\n    Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries,\n    And give to God each moment as it flies!\n    Lord, in my views let both united be;\n    I live in pleasure when I live to thee.\n\n    --Philip Doddridge.\n\n\n    It is bad to have an empty purse,\n    But an empty head is a whole lot worse.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Shut your mouth, and open your eyes,\n    And you're sure to learn something to make you wise.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\nTHE COMMON LOT\n\n    Once, in the flight of ages past,\n      There lived a man, and who was he?\n    Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,\n      That man resembled thee.\n\n    Unknown the region of his birth;\n      The land in which he died unknown;\n    His name has perished from the earth;\n      This truth survives alone:\n\n    That joy and grief and hope and fear,\n      Alternate triumphed in his breast;\n    His bliss and woe--a smile, a tear!\n      Oblivion hides the rest.\n\n    He suffered--but his pangs are o'er;\n      Enjoyed--but his delights are fled;\n    Had friends--his friends are now no more;\n      And foes--his foes are dead.\n\n    He saw whatever thou hast seen;\n      Encountered all that troubles thee;\n    He was--whatever thou hast been;\n      He is--what thou shalt be.\n\n    The rolling seasons, day and night,\n      Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and man,\n    Erewhile his portion, life, and light,\n      To him exist in vain.\n\n    The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye\n      That once their shades and glory threw,\n    Have left in yonder silent sky\n      No vestige where they flew.\n\n    The annals of the human race,\n      Their ruins, since the world began,\n    Of him afford no other trace\n      Than this--there lived a man.\n\n    --James Montgomery.\n\n\n    Happy the man, and happy he alone,\n    He who can call to-day his own;\n    He who, secure within, can say,\n    \"To-morrow, do thy worst; for I have lived to-day.\n    Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,\n    The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.\n    Not heaven itself upon the past has power,\n    But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.\"\n\n    --Horace, tr. by John Dryden.\n\n\nPROEM\n\n    If this little world to-night\n      Suddenly should fall through space\n    In a hissing, headlong flight,\n      Shriveling from off its face,\n    As it falls into the sun,\n      In an instant every trace\n    Of the little crawling things--\n      Ants, philosophers, and lice,\n    Cattle, cockroaches, and kings,\n      Beggars, millionaires, and mice,\n    Men and maggots--all as one\n      As it falls into the sun--\n    Who can say but at the same\n      Instant, from some planet far,\n    A child may watch us and exclaim,\n      \"See the pretty shooting star!\"\n\n    --Oliver Herford.\n\n\nDOING AND BEING\n\n    Think not alone to _do_ right, and fulfill\n      Life's due perfection by the simple worth\n      Of lawful actions called by justice forth,\n    And thus condone a world confused with ill!\n    But fix the high condition of thy will\n      To _be_ right, that its good's spontaneous birth\n      May spread like flowers springing from the earth\n    On which the natural dews of heaven distill;\n    For these require no honors, take no care\n      For gratitude from men--but more are blessed\n    In the sweet ignorance that they are fair;\n      And through their proper functions live and rest,\n    Breathing their fragrance out with joyous air,\n      Content with praise of bettering what is best.\n\n    --William Davies.\n\n\n    And, since we needs must hunger, better for man's love\n    Than God's truth! better for companions sweet\n    Than great convictions! let us bear our weights\n    Preferring dreary hearths to desert souls.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\nRICHES\n\n    Since all the riches of this world\n      May be gifts from the devil and earthly kings,\n    I should suspect that I worshiped the devil\n      If I thanked my God for worldly things.\n\n    --William Blake.\n\n\n    Trust to the Lord to hide thee,\n    Wait on the Lord to guide thee,\n    So shall no ill betide thee\n            Day by day.\n    Rise with his fear before thee,\n    Tell of the love he bore thee,\n    Sleep with his shadow o'er thee,\n            Day by day.\n\n\n    Four things a man must learn to do\n    If he would make his record true:\n    To think without confusion clearly;\n    To love his fellow-men sincerely;\n    To act from honest motives purely;\n    To trust in God and heaven securely.\n\n    --Henry van Dyke.\n\n\n    Each moment holy is, for out from God\n    Each moment flashes forth a human soul.\n    Holy each moment is, for back to him\n    Some wandering soul each moment home returns.\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n    At thirty man suspects himself a fool;\n    Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;\n    At fifty chides his infamous delay,\n    Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;\n    In all the magnanimity of thought\n    Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\n    Abundance is the blessing of the wise;\n    The use of riches in discretion lies;\n    Learn this, ye men of wealth: a heavy purse\n    In a fool's pocket is a heavy curse.\n\n    --From the Greek.\n\n\nFRIEND AND FOE\n\n    Dear is my friend, but my foe too\n      Is friendly to my good;\n    My friend the thing shows I _can_ do,\n      My foe the thing I should.\n\n    --Johann C. F. von Schiller.\n\n\n    How does the soul grow? Not all in a minute;\n    Now it may lose ground, and now it may win it;\n    Now it resolves, and again the will faileth;\n    Now it rejoiceth, and now it bewaileth;\n    Now its hopes fructify, then they are blighted;\n    Now it walks sunnily, now gropes benighted;\n    Fed by discouragements, taught by disaster,\n    So it goes forward, now slower, now faster;\n    Till, all the pain past and failure made whole,\n    It is full grown, and the Lord rules the soul.\n\n    --Susan Coolidge.\n\n\n    Life is too short to waste\n    In critic peep or cynic bark,\n    Quarrel, or reprimand.\n    'Twill soon be dark;\n    Up! mind thine own aim, and\n    God speed the mark!\n\n    --Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\n    Pleasures are like poppies spread,\n    You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;\n    Or like the snow-fall in the river,\n    A moment white--then melts forever;\n    Or like the borealis race,\n    That flit ere you can point their place;\n    Or like the rainbow's lovely form,\n    Evanishing amid the storm.\n\n    --Robert Burns.\n\n\n    I saw a farmer plow his land who never came to sow;\n    I saw a student filled with truth to practice never go;\n    In land or mind I never saw the ripened harvest grow.\n\n    --Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.\n\n\nCARES AND DAYS\n\n    To those who prattle of despair\n      Some friend, methinks, might wisely say:\n    Each day, no question, has its care,\n      But also every care its day.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\n            What imports\n    Fasting or feasting? Do thy day's work; dare\n    Refuse no help thereto; since help refused\n    Is hindrance sought and found.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n          I go to prove my soul!\n    I see my way as birds their trackless way.\n    I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first,\n    I ask not; but unless God send his hail\n    Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,\n    In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:\n    He guides me and the bird. In his good time.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n    Art thou in misery, brother? Then, I pray,\n    Be comforted; thy grief shall pass away.\n\n    Art thou elated? Ah! be not too gay;\n    Temper thy joy; this, too, shall pass away.\n\n    Whate'er thou art, where'er thy footsteps stray,\n    Heed the wise words: \"This, too, shall pass away.\"\n\n\n    We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths,\n    In feelings, not in figures on a dial.\n    We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives\n    Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.\n    Life's but a means unto an end; that end\n    Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God.\n\n    --Philip James Bailey.\n\n\nWE DEFER THINGS\n\n    We say, and we say, and we say,\n      We promise, engage, and declare,\n    Till a year from to-morrow is yesterday\n      And yesterday is--where?\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\n    To be sincere. To look life in the eyes\n      With calm, undrooping gaze. Always to mean\n      The high and truthful thing. Never to screen\n    Behind the unmeant word the sharp surprise\n    Of cunning; never tell the little lies\n      Of look or thought. Always to choose between\n      The true and small, the true and large, serene\n    And high above Life's cheap dishonesties.\n\n    The soul that steers by this unfading star\n    Needs never other compass. All the far,\n    Wide waste shall blaze with guiding light, though rocks\n      And sirens meet and mock its straining gaze.\n    Secure from storms and all Life's battle-shocks\n      It shall not veer from any righteous ways.\n\n    --Maurice Smiley.\n\n\n    The lily's lips are pure and white without a touch of fire;\n    The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened with desire.\n    In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the gladdest lives are those\n    Whose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is like the rose.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    We shape ourselves the joy or fear\n      Of which the coming life is made,\n    And fill our future's atmosphere\n      With sunshine or with shade.\n\n    The tissue of the life to be\n      We weave with colors all our own,\n    And in the field of destiny\n      We reap as we have sown.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nTHE ROUND OF THE WHEEL\n\n    The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller;\n    So death feeds life, and life, too, feeds its killer.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\n    If I were dead I think that you would come\n      And look upon me, cold and white, and say,\n      \"Poor child! I'm sorry you have gone away.\"\n\n    But just because my body has to live\n      Through hopeless years, you do not come and say,\n      \"Dear child, I'm glad that you are here to-day.\"\n\n\n    Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell him\n      The scope of our mind can but trifles achieve;\n    The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him--\n      The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave.\n\n    --John Boyle O'Reilly.\n\n\n    A pious friend one day of Rabia asked\n      How she had learned the truth of Allah wholly;\n    By what instructions was her memory tasked?\n      How was her heart estranged from the world's folly?\n\n    She answered, \"Thou who knowest God in parts\n      Thy spirit's moods and processes canst tell:\n    I only know that in my heart of hearts\n      I have despised myself and loved him well.\"\n\n\n    There is a tide in the affairs of men\n    Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;\n    Omitted, all the voyage of their life\n    Is bound in shallows and in miseries.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\nTHE DESERT'S USE\n\n    Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone?\n    To show what all would be if she were gone.\n\n    --John Sterling.\n\n\n    So live that, when thy summons comes to join\n    The innumerable caravan which moves\n    To that mysterious realm where each shall take\n    His chamber in the silent halls of death,\n    Thou go not like the quarry slave at night\n    Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed\n    By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave\n    Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch\n    About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.\n\n    --William Cullen Bryant.\n\n\n          The time is short.\n    If thou wouldst work for God it must be now.\n    If thou wouldst win the garlands for thy brow,\n          Redeem the time.\n\n    I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender;\n      And soon with me the labor will be wrought;\n    Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender;\n          The time is short.\n\n\n    The man who idly sits and thinks\n      May sow a nobler crop than corn;\n    For thoughts are seeds of future deeds,\n      And when God thought, the world was born.\n\n    --George John Romanes.\n\n\n    Thought is deeper than all speech,\n      Feeling deeper than all thought;\n    Souls to souls can never teach\n      What unto themselves was taught.\n\n    --Christopher Pearse Cranch.\n\n\n    That thou mayst injure no man dovelike be,\n    And serpentlike that none may injure thee.\n\n\n    The poem hangs on the berry bush\n      When comes the poet's eye.\n    The street begins to masquerade\n      When Shakespeare passes by.\n\n    --William C. Gannett.\n\n\n    Be thou a poor man and a just\n      And thou mayest live without alarm;\n    For leave the good man Satan must,\n      The poor the Sultan will not harm.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea,\n    Blame not the ocean; the fault is in thee!\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    All habits gather by unseen degrees;\n    As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.\n\n    --John Dryden.\n\n\n    Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive\n    To strip them off 'tis being flayed alive.\n\n    --William Cowper.\n\n\n    So live that when the mighty caravan,\n    Which halts one night-time in the Vale of Death,\n    Shall strike its white tents for the morning march,\n    Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills,\n    Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed\n    Like the strong eagle's for the upward flight.\n\n\n    And see all sights from pole to pole,\n    And glance and nod and bustle by,\n    And never once possess our soul\n      Before we die.\n\n    --Matthew Arnold.\n\n\n    Catch, then, O catch the transient hour;\n    Improve each moment as it flies;\n    Life's a short summer--man a flower.\n\n    --Dr. Samuel Johnson.\n\n\n            This world's no blot for us\n    Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good:\n    To find its meaning is my meat and drink.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n            What is life?\n    'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,\n    Or gaze upon the sun. 'Tis to be free.\n\n    --Joseph Addison.\n\n\n    I see the right, and I approve it too,\n    Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.\n\n    --Ovid.\n\n\n    God asks not \"To what sect did he belong?\"\n    But, \"Did he do the right, or love the wrong?\"\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,\n    Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;\n    So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,\n    Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    One wept all night beside a sick man's bed:\n    At dawn the sick was well, the mourner dead.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant,\n    O life, not death, for which we pant;\n    More life and fuller that I want.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n\n\nAGE AND DEATH\n\nMATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN\n\n\nA DEFIANCE TO OLD AGE\n\n    Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time,\n      Of all my blessings or my joy;\n    I have some jewels in my heart\n      Which thou art powerless to destroy.\n\n    Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength,\n      And leave my temples seamed and bare;\n    Deprive mine eyes of passion's light,\n      And scatter silver o'er my hair.\n\n    But never, while a book remains,\n      And breathes a woman or a child,\n    Shalt thou deprive me whilst I live\n      Of feelings fresh and undefiled.\n\n    No, never while the earth is fair,\n      And Reason keeps its dial bright,\n    Whate'er thy robberies, O Time,\n      Shall I be bankrupt of delight.\n\n    Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame,\n      Thou canst not cheat me of this truth:\n    That, though the limbs may faint and fail,\n      The spirit can renew its youth.\n\n    So, thievish Time, I fear thee not;\n      Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine;\n    My precious jewels are my own,\n      'Tis but the settings that are thine.\n\n    --Charles Mackay.\n\n\nSIMPLE FAITH\n\n    You say, \"Where goest thou?\" I cannot tell\n    And still go on. If but the way be straight\n    I cannot go amiss! Before me lies\n    Dawn and the Day! the Night behind me; that\n    Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see,\n    And nothing more; believe, and nothing less.\n    My future is not one of my concerns.\n\n\nA MORNING THOUGHT\n\n    What if some morning, when the stars were paling,\n      And the dawn whitened, and the East was clear,\n    Strange peace and rest fell on me from the presence\n      Of a benignant Spirit standing near,\n\n    And I should tell him, as he stood beside me,\n      \"This is our Earth--most friendly Earth, and fair;\n    Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadow\n      Faithful it turns, robed in its azure air;\n\n    \"There is blest living here, loving and serving,\n      And quest of truth, and serene friendships dear;\n    But stay not, Spirit! Earth has one destroyer--\n      His name is Death; flee, lest he find thee here!\"\n\n    And what if then, while the still morning brightened,\n      And freshened in the elm the summer's breath,\n    Should gravely smile on me the gentle angel,\n      And take my hand and say, \"My name is Death.\"\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\n    On parent knees, a naked, new-born child,\n    Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:\n    So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,\n    Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\nEMMAUS\n\n    Abide with us, O wondrous guest!\n    A stranger still, though long possessed;\n    Our hearts thy love unknown desire,\n    And marvel how the sacred fire\n    Should burn within us while we stray\n    From that sad spot where Jesus lay.\n\n    So when our youth, through bitter loss\n    Or hopes deferred, draws near the cross,\n    We lose the Lord our childhood knew\n    And God's own word may seem untrue;\n    Yet Christ himself shall soothe the way\n    Towards the evening of our day.\n\n    And though we travel towards the west\n    'Tis still for toil, and not for rest;\n    No fate except that life is done;\n    At Emmaus is our work begun;\n    Then let us watch lest tears should hide\n    The Lord who journeys by our side.\n\n\nNOT NOW BUT THEN\n\n    Take the joys and bear the sorrows--neither with extreme concern!\n    Living here means nescience simply; 'tis next life that helps to learn.\n    Shut those eyes next life will open--stop those ears next life will\n      teach\n    Hearing's office; close those lips next life will give the power of\n      speech!\n    Or, if action more amuse thee than the passive attitude,\n    Bravely bustle through thy being, busy thee for ill or good,\n    Reap this life's success or failure! Soon shall things be unperplexed,\n    And the right or wrong, now tangled, lie unraveled in the next.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nCHEERFUL OLD AGE\n\n    Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,\n      And don't be sorrowful, pray;\n    For taking the year together, my dear,\n      There isn't more night than day.\n\n    'Tis rainy weather, my darling;\n      Time's waves they heavily run;\n    But taking the year together, my dear,\n      There isn't more cloud than sun.\n\n    We are old folks now, my darling,\n      Our heads are growing gray;\n    And taking the year together, my dear,\n      You will always find the May.\n\n    We have had our May, my darling,\n      And our roses long ago;\n    And the time of year is coming, my dear,\n      For the silent night and snow.\n\n    And God is God, my darling,\n      Of night as well as day,\n    And we feel and know that we can go\n      Wherever he leads the way.\n\n    Ay, God of night, my darling;\n      Of the night of death so grim;\n    The gate that leads out of life, good wife,\n      Is the gate that leads to him.\n\n\n    For age is opportunity no less\n    Than youth itself, though in another dress,\n    And as the evening twilight fades away\n    The sky is filled with stars invisible by day.\n\n\n    At sixty-two life has begun;\n      At seventy-three begin once more;\n    Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun,\n      And brighter shine at eighty-four.\n            At ninety-five\n            Shouldst thou arrive,\n    Still wait on God, and work and thrive.\n\n    --Oliver Wendell Holmes.\n\n\n    For what is age but youth's full bloom,\n    A riper, more transcendent youth?\n    A weight of gold is never old.\n\n\n    Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,\n    Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,\n    A melancholy slave;\n    But an old age serene and bright,\n    And lovely as a Lapland night,\n    Shall lead thee to thy grave.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n    Fill, brief or long, my granted years\n    Of life with love to thee and man;\n    Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest,\n    But let my last days be my best.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\n    An age so blest that, by its side,\n    Youth seems the waste instead.\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE\n\n    At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time,\n    When you set your fancies free,\n    Will they pass to where--by death, fools think, imprisoned--\n    Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you love so,\n              --Pity me?\n\n    O to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!\n    What had I on earth to do\n    With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?\n    Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel\n              --Being--who?\n\n    One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,\n    Never doubted clouds would break,\n    Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,\n    Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,\n              Sleep to wake.\n\n    No, at noonday, in the bustle of man's work-time,\n    Greet the unseen with a cheer!\n    Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,\n    \"Strive and thrive!\" cry, \"Speed,--fight on, fare ever\n              There as here!\"\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\n                  Let no one till his death\n    Be called unhappy. Measure not the work\n    Until the day's out and the labor done;\n    Then bring your gauges.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\nI WOULD LIVE LONGER\n\nPhil. i. 23.\n\n    O I would live longer, I gladly would stay,\n    Though \"storm after storm rises dark o'er the way\";\n    Temptations and trials beset me, 'tis true,\n    Yet gladly I'd stay where there's so much to do.\n\n    O I would live longer--not \"away from my Lord\"--\n    For ever he's with me, fulfilling his word;\n    In sorrow I lean on his arm, for he's near,\n    In darkness he speaks, and my spirit doth cheer.\n\n    Yes, I would live longer some trophy to win,\n    Some soul to lead back from the dark paths of sin;\n    Some weak one to strengthen, some faint one to cheer,\n    And heaven will be sweeter for laboring here.\n\n    But--would I live longer? How can I decide,\n    With Jesus in glory, still here to abide?\n    O Lord, leave not the decision to me,\n    Where best I can serve thee, Lord, there let me be.\n\n    --L. Kinney.\n\n\nTHERE IS NO DEATH\n\n    There is no death! the stars go down\n      To rise upon some fairer shore,\n    And bright in heaven's jeweled crown\n      They shine forever more.\n\n    There is no death! the dust we tread\n      Shall change, beneath the summer showers,\n    To golden grain, or mellow fruit,\n      Or rainbow-tinted flowers.\n\n    There is no death! the leaves may fall,\n      The flowers may fade and pass away--\n    They only wait, through wintry hours,\n      The warm sweet breath of May.\n\n    There is no death! the choicest gifts\n      That Heaven hath kindly lent to earth\n    Are ever first to seek again\n      The country of their birth;\n\n    And all things that, for grief or joy,\n      Are worthy of thy love and care,\n    Whose loss has left us desolate,\n      Are safely garnered there.\n\n    * * * * *\n\n    They are not dead! they have but passed\n      Beyond the mists that blind us here,\n    Into the new and larger life\n      Of that serener sphere.\n\n    They have but dropped their robe of clay\n      To put their shining raiment on;\n    They have not wandered far away--\n      They are not \"lost\" or \"gone.\"\n\n    Though disenthralled and glorified,\n      They still are here and love us yet;\n    The dear ones they have left behind\n      They never can forget.\n\n    --J. C. McCreery.\n\n\nPROSPICE (LOOK FORWARD)\n\n    Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat,\n      The mist in my face;\n    When the snows begin, and the blasts denote\n      I am nearing the place,\n    The power of the night, the press of the storm,\n      The post of the foe;\n    Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form?\n      Yet the strong man must go;\n    For the journey is done and the summit attained,\n      And the barriers fall--\n    Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,\n      The reward of it all.\n    I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more,\n      The best and the last!\n    I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,\n      And bade me creep past.\n    No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,\n      The heroes of old,\n    Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears\n      Of pain, darkness, and cold.\n    For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,\n      The black minute's at end,\n    And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave,\n      Shall dwindle, shall blend,\n    Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain,\n      Then a light, then thy breast,\n    O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,\n      And with God be the rest!\n\n    --Robert Browning.\n\n\nOUR HOME ABOVE\n\n    We thank thee, gracious Father,\n      For many a pleasant day,\n    For bird and flower, and joyous hour,\n      For friends, and work, and play.\n    Of blessing and of mercy\n      Our life has had its share;\n    This world is not a wilderness,\n      Thou hast made all things fair.\n\n    But fairer still, and sweeter,\n      The things that are above;\n    We look and long to join the song\n      In the land of light and love.\n    We trust the Word which tells us\n      Of that divine abode;\n    By faith we bring its glories nigh,\n      While hope illumes the road.\n\n    So death has lost its terrors;\n      How can we fear it now?\n    Its face, once grim, now leads to him\n      At whose command we bow.\n    His presence makes us happy,\n      His service is delight,\n    The many mansions gleam and glow,\n      The saints our souls invite.\n\n    We welcome that departure\n      Which brings us to our Lord;\n    We hail with joy the blest employ\n      Those wondrous realms afford.\n    We call it home up yonder;\n      Down here we toil and strain\n    As in some mine's dark, danksome depths;\n      There sunshine bright we gain.\n\n    To God, then, sound the timbrel!\n      There's naught can do us harm;\n    Our greatest foe has been laid low;\n      What else can cause alarm?\n    For freedom and for victory\n      Our hearts give loud acclaim;\n    Whate'er befall, on him we call;\n    North, South, East, West, in him we rest;\n      All glory to his name!\n\n    --James Mudge.\n\n\nAT LAST\n\n    When on my day of life the night is falling,\n      And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown,\n    I hear far voices out of darkness calling\n      My feet to paths unknown;\n\n    Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,\n      Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;\n    O Love Divine, O Helper ever present,\n      Be thou my strength and stay!\n\n    Be near me when all else is from me drifting:\n      Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine,\n    And kindly faces to my own uplifting\n      The love which answers mine.\n\n    I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spirit\n      Be with me then to comfort and uphold;\n    No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,\n      Nor street of shining gold.\n\n    Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned,\n      And both forgiven through thy abounding grace--\n    I find myself by hands familiar beckoned\n      Unto my fitting place.\n\n    Some humble door among thy many mansions,\n      Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease,\n    And flows forever through heaven's green expansions\n      The river of thy peace.\n\n    There, from the music round about me stealing,\n      I fain would learn the new and holy song,\n    And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing,\n      The life for which I long.\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nREADY\n\n    I would be ready, Lord,\n      My house in order set,\n    None of the work thou gavest me\n      To do unfinished yet.\n\n    I would be watching, Lord,\n      With lamp well trimmed and clear,\n    Quick to throw open wide the door,\n      What time thou drawest near.\n\n    I would be waiting, Lord,\n      Because I cannot know\n    If in the night or morning watch\n      I may be called to go.\n\n    I would be waking, Lord,\n      Each day, each hour for thee;\n    Assured that thus I wait thee well,\n      Whene'er thy coming be.\n\n    I would be living, Lord,\n      As ever in thine eye;\n    For whoso lives the nearest thee\n      The fittest is to die.\n\n    --Margaret J. Preston.\n\n\nTHALASSA! THALASSA!\n\n    I stand upon the summit of my life,\n    Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,\n    The battle and the burden; vast, afar\n    Beyond these weary ways, behold the Sea!\n    The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves;\n    By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breath\n    Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.\n\n    Palter no question of the horizon dim--\n    Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest;\n    Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,\n    A widening heaven, a current without care,\n    Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course,\n    Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.\n\n    --Brownlee Brown.\n\n\nAT END\n\n    At end of love, at end of life,\n    At end of hope, at end of strife,\n    At end of all we cling to so,\n    The sun is setting--must we go?\n\n    At dawn of love, at dawn of life,\n    At dawn of peace that follows strife,\n    At dawn of all we long for so,\n    The sun is rising--let us go!\n\n    --Louise Chandler Moulton.\n\n\nWHAT IS DEATH\n\n    It is not death to die--\n      To leave this weary road,\n    And, 'mid the brotherhood on high,\n      To be at home with God.\n\n    It is not death to close\n      The eye long dimmed by tears,\n    And wake in glorious repose\n      To spend eternal years.\n\n    It is not death to bear\n      The wrench that sets us free\n    From dungeon chain, to breathe the air\n      Of boundless liberty.\n\n    It is not death to fling\n      Aside this sinful dust,\n    And rise on strong exulting wing\n      To live among the just.\n\n    Jesus, thou Prince of life,\n      Thy chosen cannot die!\n    Like thee they conquer in the strife\n      To reign with thee on high.\n\n    --Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Washington Bethune.\n\n\nUPHILL\n\n    Does the road wind uphill all the way?\n      _Yes, to the very end._\n    Will the day's journey take the whole long day?\n      _From morn to night, my friend._\n\n    But is there for the night a resting-place?\n      _A roof for when the slow dark hours begin._\n    May not the darkness hide it from my face?\n      _You cannot miss the inn._\n\n    Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?\n      _Those who have gone before._\n    Then must I knock or call when just in sight?\n      _They will not keep you standing at the door._\n\n    Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?\n      _Of labor you shall find the sum._\n    Will there be beds for me and all who seek?\n      _Yes, beds for all who come._\n\n    --Christina G. Rossetti.\n\n\nON SECOND THOUGHT\n\n    The end's so near,\n      It is all one\n    What track I steer,\n      What work's begun,\n      It is all one\n      If _nothing's_ done,\n    The end's so near!\n\n    The end's so near,\n      It is all one\n    _What_ track thou steer,\n      _What_ work's begun--\n      _Some_ deed, _some_ plan,\n      As thou'rt a man!\n    The end's so near!\n\n    --Edward Rowland Sill.\n\n\nTHE VOICE CALLING\n\n      In the hush of April weather,\n      With the bees in budding heather,\n    And the white clouds floating, floating,\n        and the sunshine falling broad;\n      While my children down the hill\n      Run and leap, and I sit still,\n    Through the silence, through the silence\n        art thou calling, O my God?\n\n      Through my husband's voice that prayeth,\n      Though he knows not what he sayeth,\n    Is it thou who, in thy holy word, hast\n        solemn words for me?\n      And when he clasps me fast,\n      And smiles fondly o'er the past,\n    And talks hopeful of the future, Lord,\n        do I hear only thee?\n\n      Not in terror nor in thunder\n      Comes thy voice, although it sunder\n    Flesh from spirit, soul from body,\n        human bliss from human pain;\n      All the work that was to do,\n      All the joys so sweet and new,\n    Which thou shew'dst me in a vision,\n        Moses-like, and hid'st again.\n\n      From this Pisgah, lying humbled,\n      The long desert where I stumbled\n    And the fair plains I shall never reach\n        seem equal, clear, and far:\n      On this mountain-top of ease\n      Thou wilt bury me in peace;\n    While my tribes march onward, onward\n        unto Canaan and to war.\n\n\n      In my boy's loud laughter ringing,\n      In the sigh, more soft than singing,\n    Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast,\n      After every voice most dear,\n      Comes a whisper, \"Rest not here.\"\n    And the rest thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?\n\n      Lord, a little, little longer!\n      Sobs the earth love, growing stronger;\n    He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days,\n      And heaven were scarcely heaven\n      If these lambs that thou hast given\n    Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.\n\n      Lord, it is not fear of dying,\n      Nor an impious denying\n    Of thy will--which evermore on earth, in heaven, be done;\n      But a love that, desperate, clings\n      Unto these, my precious things,\n    In the beauty of the daylight, and glory of the sun.\n\n      Ah! thou still art calling, calling,\n      With a soft voice unappalling;\n    And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;\n      When thou knockest, even so!\n      I will arise and go:\n    What, my little ones, more violets? nay, be patient; mother hears!\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\nTHE \"SILVER CORD IS LOOSED\"\n\n    In the June twilight, in the soft, gray twilight,\n    The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,\n    As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,\n    \"All these things for ever, for ever thou must leave.\"\n\n    My love she sank down quivering like a pine in tempest shivering,\n    \"I have had so little happiness as yet beneath the sun;\n    I have called the shadow sunshine, and the merest frosty moonshine\n    I have, weeping, blessed the Lord for as if daylight had begun.\n\n    \"Till he sent a sudden angel, with a glorious sweet evangel,\n    Who turned all my tears to pearl-gems, and crowned _me_--so little\n      worth;\n    _Me!_ and through the rainy even changed my poor earth into heaven\n    Or, by wondrous revelation, brought the heavens down to earth.\n\n    \"O the strangeness of the feeling!--O the infinite revealing,--\n    To think how God must love me to have made me so content!\n    Though I would have served him humbly, and patiently, and dumbly,\n    Without any angel standing in the pathway that I went.\"\n\n    In the June twilight, in the lessening twilight,\n    My love cried from my bosom an exceeding bitter cry:\n    \"Lord, wait a little longer, until my soul is stronger!\n    O wait till thou hast taught me to be content to die!\"\n\n    Then the tender face, all woman, took a glory superhuman,\n    And she seemed to watch for something, or see some I could not see:\n    From my arms she rose full-statured, all transfigured,\n      queenly-featured,--\n    \"As thy will is done in heaven, so on earth still let it be!\"\n\n    I go lonely, I go lonely, and I feel that earth is only\n    The vestibule of places whose courts we never win;\n    Yet I see my palace shining, where my love sits amaranths twining,\n    And I know the gates stand open, and I shall enter in!\n\n    --Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.\n\n\nCROSSING THE BAR\n\n    Sunset and evening star,\n      And one clear call for me!\n    And may there be no moaning of the bar\n      When I put out to sea,\n\n    But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,\n      Too full for sound and foam,\n    When that which drew from out the boundless deep\n      Turns again home.\n\n    Twilight and evening bell,\n      And after that the dark!\n    And may there be no sadness of farewell\n      When I embark;\n\n    For though from out our bourne of Time and Place\n      The flood may bear me far,\n    I hope to see my Pilot face to face\n      When I have crossed the bar.\n\n    --Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nLAUS MORTIS\n\n        Nay, why should I fear Death,\n    Who gives us life, and in exchange takes breath?\n\n        He is like cordial spring,\n    That lifts above the soil each buried thing;\n\n        Like autumn, kind and brief,\n    The frost that chills the branches frees the leaf;\n\n        Like winter's stormy hours,\n    That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers;\n\n        The lordliest of all things!--\n    Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings.\n\n        Fearing no covert thrust,\n    Let me walk onward, armed in valiant trust;\n\n        Dreading no unseen knife,\n    Across Death's threshold step from life to life!\n\n        O all ye frightened folk,\n    Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,\n\n        Laid in one equal bed,\n    When once your coverlet of grass is spread,\n\n        What daybreak need you fear?\n    The Love will rule you there that guides you here.\n\n        Where Life, the sower, stands,\n    Scattering the ages from his swinging hands,\n\n        Thou waitest, reaper lone,\n    Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.\n\n        Scythe-bearer, when thy blade\n    Harvests my flesh, let me be unafraid.\n\n        God's husbandman thou art,\n    In his unwithering sheaves, O, bind my heart!\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nIMMANUEL'S LAND\n\n    The sands of time are sinking,\n      The dawn of heaven breaks,\n    The summer morn I've sighed for--\n      The fair, sweet morn awakes.\n    Dark, dark hath been the midnight,\n      But dayspring is at hand,\n    And glory, glory dwelleth\n      In Immanuel's land.\n\n    I've wrestled on toward heaven\n      'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide,\n    Now, like a weary traveler\n      That leaneth on his guide,\n    Amid the shades of evening,\n      While sinks life's lingering sand,\n    I hail the glory dawning\n      From Immanuel's land.\n\n    Deep waters crossed life's pathway;\n      The hedge of thorns was sharp;\n    Now these lie all behind me.\n      O for a well-tuned harp!\n    O to join the Hallelujah\n      With yon triumphant band\n    Who sing where glory dwelleth--\n      In Immanuel's land!\n\n    With mercy and with judgment\n      My web of time he wove,\n    And aye the dews of sorrow\n      Were lustered with his love;\n    I'll bless the hand that guided,\n      I'll bless the heart that planned,\n    When throned where glory dwelleth--\n      In Immanuel's land.\n\n    --Annie R. Cousin.\n\n\n    The grave itself is but a covered bridge\n    Leading from light to light through a brief darkness.\n\n    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n    I hold that, since by death alone\n      God bids my soul go free,\n    In death a richer blessing is\n      Than all the world to me.\n\n    --Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\nDEATH\n\n    Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust;\n      Still the star-worlds roll.\n    Fearest death? sayest, \"Dust to dust\"?\n      No; say \"Soul to Soul!\"\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\nTHE TENANT\n\n    This body is my house--it is not I;\n    Herein I sojourn till, in some far sky,\n    I lease a fairer dwelling, built to last\n    Till all the carpentry of time is past.\n    When from my high place viewing this lone star,\n    What shall I care where these poor timbers are?\n    What though the crumbling walls turn dust and loam--\n    I shall have left them for a larger home.\n    What though the rafters break, the stanchions rot,\n    When earth has dwindled to a glimmering spot!\n    When thou, clay cottage, fallest, I'll immerse\n    My long-cramp'd spirit in the universe.\n    Through uncomputed silences of space\n    I shall yearn upward to the leaning Face.\n    The ancient heavens will roll aside for me,\n    As Moses monarch'd the dividing sea.\n    This body is my house--it is not I.\n    Triumphant in this faith I live, and die.\n\n    --Frederic Lawrence Knowles.\n\n\nTO OUR BELOVED\n\n    It singeth low in every heart,\n      We hear it, each and all--\n    A song of those who answer not,\n      However we may call;\n    They throng the silence of the breast,\n      We see them as of yore--\n    The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,\n      Who walk with us no more.\n\n    'Tis hard to take the burden up\n      When these have laid it down;\n    They brightened all the joy of life,\n      They softened every frown;\n    But, O, 'tis good to think of them\n      When we are troubled sore!\n    Thanks be to God that such have been,\n      Though they are here no more.\n\n    More homelike seems the vast unknown\n      Since they have entered there;\n    To follow them were not so hard,\n      Wherever they may fare;\n    They cannot be where God is not,\n      On any sea or shore;\n    Whate'er betides, thy love abides,\n      Our God, for evermore.\n\n    --John White Chadwick.\n\n\nA DEATH BED\n\n    As I lay sick upon my bed\n    I heard them say \"in danger\";\n    The word seemed very strange to me\n    Could any word seem stranger?\n\n    \"In danger\"--of escape from sin\n    For ever and for ever!\n    Of entering that most holy place\n    Where evil entereth never!\n\n    \"In danger\"--of beholding him\n    Who is my soul's salvation!\n    Whose promises sustain my soul\n    In blest anticipation!\n\n    \"In danger\"--of soon shaking off\n    Earth's last remaining fetter!\n    And of departing hence to be\n    \"With Christ,\" which is far better!\n\n    It _is_ a solemn thing to die,\n    To face the king Immortal,\n    And each forgiven sinner should\n    Tread softly o'er the portal.\n\n    But when we have confessed our sins\n    To him who can discern them,\n    And God has given pardon, peace,\n    Tho' we could ne'er deserve them,\n\n    Then, dying is no dangerous thing;\n    Safe in the Saviour's keeping,\n    The ransomed soul is gently led\n    Beyond the reach of weeping.\n\n    So tell me with unfaltering voice\n    When Hope is really dawning;\n    I should not like to sleep away\n    My few hours till the morning.\n\n\n    Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,\n    (Since he who knows our need is just,)\n    That somehow, somewhere meet we must.\n    Alas for him who never sees\n    The stars shine through his cypress trees!\n    Who hopeless lays his dead away,\n    Nor looks to see the breaking day\n    Across the mournful marbles play;\n    Who hath not learned in hours of faith\n    This truth to flesh and sense unknown;\n    That Life is ever lord of death,\n    And Love can never lose its own!\n\n    --John Greenleaf Whittier.\n\n\nAFTERWARD\n\n    There _is_ no vacant chair. The loving meet--\n      A group unbroken--smitten, who knows how?\n    One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;\n      We gave him once that freedom. Why not now?\n\n    Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;\n      He needed it too often, nor could we\n    Bestow. God gave it, knowing how to do it best.\n      Which of us would disturb him? Let him be.\n\n    There is no vacant chair. If he will take\n      The mood to listen mutely, be it done.\n    By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache,\n      Plead not nor question! Let him have this one.\n\n    Death is a mood of life. It is no whim\n      By which life's Giver wrecks a broken heart.\n    Death is life's reticence. Still audible to him,\n      The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart.\n\n    There is no vacant chair. To love is still\n      To have. Nearer to memory than to eye,\n    And dearer yet to anguish than to comfort, will\n      We hold him by our love, that shall not die,\n\n    For while it doth not, thus he cannot. Try!\n      Who can put out the motion or the smile?\n    The old ways of being noble all with him laid by?\n      Because we love he is. Then trust awhile.\n\n    --Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward.\n\n\nOUR TWO GIFTS\n\n    Two gifts God giveth, and he saith\n      One shall be forfeit in the strife--\n      The one no longer needed: life,\n    No hand shall take the other, death.\n\n    --John Vance Cheney.\n\n\nATHANASIA\n\n        The ship may sink,\n        And I may drink\n    A hasty death in the bitter sea;\n        But all that I leave\n        In the ocean grave\n    Can be slipped and spared, and no loss to me.\n\n        What care I\n        Though falls the sky\n    And the shriveling earth to a cinder turn;\n        No fires of doom\n        Can ever consume\n    What never was made nor meant to burn!\n\n        Let go the breath!\n        There is no death\n    To a living soul, nor loss, nor harm.\n        Not of the clod\n        Is the life of God--\n    Let it mount, as it will, from form to form.\n\n    --Charles Gordon Ames.\n\n\nLIFE\n\n    Life! I know not what thou art,\n    But know that thou and I must part;\n    And when, or how, or where we met\n    I own to me's a secret yet.\n\n    But this I know--when thou art fled,\n    Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,\n    No clod so valueless shall be\n    As all that there remains of me.\n    O whither, whither dost thou fly?\n      Where bend unseen thy trackless course?\n      And in this strange divorce,\n    Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I?\n\n    Life! we've been long together,\n    Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;\n    'Tis hard to part when friends are dear.\n    Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;\n    Then steal away, give little warning,\n      Choose thine own time;\n      Say not \"Good Night,\" but in some brighter clime\n    Bid me \"Good Morning.\"\n\n    --Anna Letitia Barbauld.\n\n\nTHE STRUGGLE\n\n    \"Body, I pray you, let me go!\"\n    (It is a soul that struggles so.)\n    \"Body, I see on yonder height\n    Dim reflex of a solemn light;\n    A flame that shineth from the place\n    Where Beauty walks with naked face;\n    It is a flame you cannot see--\n    Lie down, you clod, and set me free.\n\n    \"Body, I pray you, let me go!\"\n    (It is a soul that striveth so.)\n    \"Body, I hear dim sounds afar\n    Dripping from some diviner star;\n    Dim sounds of joyous harmony,\n    It is my mates that sing, and I\n    Must drink that song or break my heart--\n    Body, I pray you, let us part.\n\n    \"Comrade, your frame is worn and frail,\n    Your vital powers begin to fail;\n    I long for life, but you for rest;\n    Then, Body, let us both be blest.\n    When you are lying 'neath the dew\n    I'll come sometimes, and sing to you;\n    But you will feel no pain nor woe--\n    Body, I pray you, let me go.\"\n\n    Thus strove a Being. Beauty fain,\n    He broke his bonds and fled amain.\n    He fled: the Body lay bereft,\n    But on its lips a smile was left,\n    As if that spirit, looking back,\n    Shouted upon his upward track,\n    With joyous tone and hurried breath,\n    Some message that could comfort Death.\n\n    --Danske Dandridge.\n\n\nTHE THREE FRIENDS\n\n    Man in his life hath three good friends--\n      Wealth, family, and noble deeds;\n    These serve him in his days of joy\n      And minister unto his needs.\n\n    But when the lonely hour of death\n      With sad and silent foot draws nigh,\n    Wealth, then, and family take their wings,\n      And from the dying pillow fly.\n\n    But noble deeds in love respond,\n      \"Ere came to thee the fatal day,\n    We went before, O gentle friend,\n      And smoothed the steep and thorny way.\"\n\n    --From the Hebrew, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.\n\n\nAN OLD LATIN HYMN\n\n    How far from here to heaven?\n    Not very far, my friend;\n    A single hearty step\n    Will all thy journey end.\n\n    Hold, there! where runnest thou?\n    Know heaven is _in_ thee!\n    Seek'st thou for God elsewhere?\n    His face thou'lt never see.\n\n    Go out, God will go in;\n    Die thou, and let him live;\n    Be not, and he will be;\n    Wait, and he'll all things give.\n\n    I don't believe in death.\n    If hour by hour I die,\n    'Tis hour by hour to gain\n    A better life thereby.\n\n    --Angelus Silesius, A. D. 1620.\n\n\n    The chamber where the good man meets his fate\n    Is privileged beyond the common walk\n    Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.\n\n    --Edward Young.\n\n\n    Life-embarked, out at sea, 'mid the wave-tumbling roar,\n    The poor ship of my body went down to the floor;\n    But I broke, at the bottom of death, through a door,\n    And, from sinking, began for ever to soar.\n\n    --From the Persian.\n\n\n    Truths that wake to perish never;\n    Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,\n            Nor man, nor boy,\n    Nor all that is at enmity with joy\n    Can utterly abolish or destroy!\n      Hence in a season of calm weather,\n            Though inland far we be,\n    Our souls have sight of that immortal sea\n            Which brought us hither;\n      Can in a moment travel thither\n    And see the children sport upon the shore,\n    And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nMISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS\n\n\nBE STRONG![1]\n\n              Be strong!\n    We are not here to play, to dream, to drift,\n    We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.\n    Shun not the struggle, face it, 'tis God's gift.\n\n              Be strong!\n    Say not the days are evil--who's to blame?\n    And fold the hands and acquiesce--O shame!\n    Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.\n\n              Be strong!\n    It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,\n    How hard the battle goes, the day, how long;\n    Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the song.\n\n    --Maltbie D. Babcock.\n\n\nNOT TO BE MINISTERED UNTO\n\n        O Lord, I pray\n        That for this day\n    I may not swerve\n        By foot or hand\n        From thy command,\n    Not to be served, but to serve.\n\n        This, too, I pray,\n        That for this day\n    No love of ease\n        Nor pride prevent\n        My good intent,\n    Not to be pleased, but to please.\n\n        And if I may\n        I'd have this day\n    Strength from above\n        To set my heart\n        In heavenly art,\n    Not to be loved, but to love.\n\n    --Maltbie D. Babcock.\n\n\nCOMPANIONSHIP\n\n    No distant Lord have I,\n      Loving afar to be;\n    Made flesh for me, he cannot rest\n      Unless he rests in me.\n\n    Brother in joy and pain,\n      Bone of my bone was he,\n    Now--intimacy closer still,\n      He dwells himself in me.\n\n    I need not journey far\n      This dearest Friend to see;\n    Companionship is always mine,\n      He makes his home with me.\n\n    I envy not the twelve,\n      Nearer to me is he;\n    The life he once lived here on earth\n      He lives again in me.\n\n    Ascended now to God,\n      My witness there to be,\n    His witness here am I, because\n      His Spirit dwells in me.\n\n    O glorious Son of God,\n      Incarnate Deity,\n    I shall forever be with thee\n      Because thou art with me.\n\n    --Maltbie D. Babcock.\n\n\n\"WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?\"\n\n    If I lay waste and wither up with doubt\n    The blessed fields of heaven where once my faith\n    Possessed itself serenely safe from death;\n    If I deny the things past finding out;\n    Or if I orphan my own soul of One\n    That seemed a Father, and make void the place\n    Within me where He dwelt in power and grace,\n    What do I gain that am myself undone?\n\n    --William Dean Howells.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: The poems by the Rev. Maltbie D. Babcock on this and the\nfollowing page are reprinted, by special permission, from \"Thoughts for\nEvery Day Living,\" copyright, 1901, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]\n\n\nEMANCIPATION\n\n    Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!\n    Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!\n\n    Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.\n    Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?\n\n    Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are dead\n    Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.\n\n    Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,\n    Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?\n\n    The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind.\n    A day--and you will meet,--a night--and you will greet!\n\n    This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath\n    And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,\n\n    And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,\n    And work, nor care nor rest, and find the last the best.\n\n    --Maltbie D. Babcock.\n\n\nSCHOOL DAYS\n\n    Lord, let me make this rule:\n    To think of life as school,\n        And try my best\n        To stand each test,\n        And do my work\n        And nothing shirk.\n\n    Should some one else outshine\n    This dullard head of mine,\n        Should I be sad?\n        I will be glad.\n        To do my best\n        Is thy behest.\n\n    If weary with my book\n    I cast a wistful look\n        Where posies grow,\n        Oh, let me know\n        That flowers within\n        Are best to win.\n\n    Dost take my book away\n    Anon to let me play,\n        And let me out\n        To run about?\n        I grateful bless\n        Thee for recess.\n\n    Then recess past, alack,\n    I turn me slowly back,\n        On my hard bench,\n        My hands to clench,\n        And set my heart\n        To learn my part.\n\n    These lessons thou dost give\n    To teach me how to live,\n        To do, to bear,\n        To get and share,\n        To work and pray\n        And trust alway.\n\n    What though I may not ask\n    To choose my daily task,\n        Thou hast decreed\n        To meet my need.\n        What pleases thee\n        That shall please me.\n\n    Some day the bell will sound,\n    Some day my heart will bound,\n        As with a shout,\n        That school is out,\n        And, lessons done,\n        I homeward run.\n\n    --Maltbie D. Babcock.\n\n\nCATHOLIC LOVE\n\n    Weary of all this wordy strife,\n      These notions, forms, and modes, and names,\n    To Thee, the Way, the Truth, the Life,\n      Whose love my simple heart inflames,\n    Divinely taught, at last I fly,\n    With Thee, and Thine, to live and die.\n\n    Redeemed by Thine almighty grace,\n      I taste my glorious liberty,\n    With open arms the world embrace,\n      But cleave to those who cleave to Thee;\n    But only in thy saints delight,\n    Who walk with God in purest white.\n\n    My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these,\n      Who do my heavenly Father's will;\n    Who aim at perfect holiness,\n      And all Thy counsels to fulfill,\n    Athirst to be whate'er Thou art\n    And love their God with all their heart.\n\n    --Charles Wesley.\n\n\nWHAT MATTER\n\n    What matter, friend, though you and I\n      May sow and others gather?\n    We build and others occupy,\n      Each laboring for the other?\n    What though we toil from sun to sun,\n      And men forget to flatter\n    The noblest work our hands have done--\n      If God approves, what matter?\n\n    What matter, though we sow in tears,\n      And crops fail at the reaping?\n    What though the fruit of patient years\n      Fast perish in our keeping?\n    Upon our hoarded treasures, floods\n      Arise, and tempests scatter--\n    If faith beholds, beyond the clouds,\n      A clearer sky, what matter?\n\n    What matter, though our castles fall,\n      And disappear while building;\n    Though \"strange handwritings on the wall\"\n      Flame out amid the gilding?\n    Though every idol of the heart\n      The hand of death may shatter,\n    Though hopes decay and friends depart,\n      If heaven be ours, what matter?\n\n    --H. W. Teller.\n\n\nJOHN WESLEY\n\n    In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold\n    The very soul that over England flamed!\n    Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill;\n    Convicting men of sin; making faith live;\n    And,--this the mightiest miracle of all,--\n    Creating God again in human hearts.\n\n    What courage of the flesh and of the spirit!\n    How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve!\n    What wisdom his to know the boundless might\n    Of banded effort in a world like ours!\n    How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm!\n    A silent figure when men idly raged\n    In murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm,--\n    Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent,\n    When spiritual lightnings struck men down\n    And brought, by violence, the sense of sin,\n    And violently oped the gates of peace.\n\n    O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night,\n    In church and abbey whose most ancient walls\n    Not for a thousand years such accents knew!\n    On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea;\n    'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields;\n    'Mid clamor, vile attack,--or deep-awed hush,\n    Wherein celestial visitants drew near\n    And secret ministered to troubled souls!\n\n    Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice,\n    Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still--\n    Chief prophet voice through nigh a century's span!\n    Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns,\n    Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment trump,\n    And ever with a sound like that of old\n    Which, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes,\n    Or, round about storied Jerusalem,\n    Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spake\n    The words of life.\n\n              Let not that image fade\n    Ever, O God! from out the minds of men,\n    Of him thy messenger and stainless priest,\n    In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time,\n    Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven;\n    In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme,--\n    Driven on forever, back and forth the world,\n    By that divine, omnipotent desire--\n    The hunger and the passion for men's souls!\n\n    --Richard Watson Gilder.\n\n\n\"WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS\"\n\n    It fortifies my soul to know\n    That, though I perish, Truth is so:\n    That, howsoe'er I stray and range,\n    Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.\n    I steadier step when I recall\n    That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.\n\n    --Arthur Hugh Clough.\n\n\nHER GLADNESS\n\n    My darling went\n    Unto the seaside long ago. Content\n    I stayed at home, for O, I was so glad\n    Of all the little outings that she had!\n    I knew she needed rest. I loved to stay\n    At home a while that she might go away.\n    \"How beautiful the sea! How she enjoys\n    The music of the waves! No care annoys\n    Her pleasures,\" thought I; \"O, it is so good\n    That she can rest a while. I wish she could\n    Stay till the autumn leaves are turning red.\"\n    \"Stay longer, sister,\" all my letters said.\n    \"If you are growing stronger every day,\n    I am so very glad to have you stay.\"\n\n    My darling went\n    To heaven long ago. Am I content\n    To stay at home? Why can I not be glad\n    Of all the glories that she there has had?\n    She needed change. Why am I loath to stay\n    And do her work and let her go away?\n    The land is lovely where her feet have been;\n    Why do I not rejoice that she has seen\n    Its beauties first? That she will show to me\n    The City Beautiful? Is it so hard to be\n    Happy that she is happy? Hard to know\n    She learns so much each day that helps her so?\n    Why can I not each night and morning say,\n    \"I am so glad that she is glad to-day?\"\n\n\n\"OUT OF REACH\"\n\n    You think them \"out of reach,\" your dead?\n      Nay, by my own dead, I deny\n    Your \"out of reach.\"--Be comforted;\n      'Tis not so far to die.\n\n    O by their dear remembered smiles,\n      And outheld hands and welcoming speech,\n    They wait for us, thousands of miles\n      This side of \"out of reach.\"\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nSORROWFUL, YET REJOICING\n\n    I lift my head and walk my ways\n      Before the world without a tear,\n    And bravely unto those I meet\n      I smile a message of good cheer;\n    I give my lips to laugh and song,\n      And somehow get me through each day;\n    But, oh, the tremble in my heart\n      Since she has gone away!\n\n    Her feet had known the stinging thorns,\n      Her eyes the blistering tears;\n    Bent were her shoulders with the weight\n      And sorrow of the years;\n    The lines were deep upon her brow,\n      Her hair was thin and gray;\n    And, oh, the tremble in my heart\n      Since she has gone away!\n\n    I am not sorry; I am glad;\n      I would not have her here again;\n    God gave her strength life's bitter cup\n      Unto the bitterest dreg to drain;\n    I will not have less strength than she,\n      I proudly tread my stony way;\n    But, oh, the tremble in my heart\n      Since she has gone away!\n\n\nIN THE HOSPITAL\n\n    I lay me down to sleep\n      With little thought or care\n    Whether my waking find\n      Me here or there.\n\n    A bowing, burdened head,\n      That only asks to rest,\n    Unquestioning, upon\n      A loving breast.\n\n    My good right hand forgets\n      Its cunning now;\n    To march the weary march\n      I know not how.\n\n    I am not eager, bold,\n      Nor strong--all that is past;\n    I'm ready not to do\n      At last, at last.\n\n    My half-day's work is done,\n      And this is all my part;\n    I give a patient God\n      My patient heart,\n\n    And grasp his banner still,\n      Though all its blue be dim;\n    These stripes, no less than stars,\n      Lead after Him.\n\n    --M. W. Howland.\n\n\nFATHER OF MERCIES\n\n    Father of mercies, thy children have wandered\n      Far from thy bosom, their home;\n    Most of their portion of goods they have squandered;\n      Farther and farther they roam.\n\n    We are thy children, and we have departed\n      To the lone country afar,\n    We would arise, we come back broken-hearted;\n      Take us back just as we are.\n\n    Not for the ring or the robe we entreat thee,\n      Nor for high place at the feast;\n    Only to see thee, to touch thee, to greet thee,\n      Ranked with the last and the least.\n\n    But for thy mercy we dare not accost thee,\n      But for thy Son who has come\n    Seeking his brothers who left thee and lost thee,\n      Seeking to gather them home.\n\n    Father of mercies, thy holiness awes us;\n      Yet thou dost wait to receive!\n    Jesus, the light of thy countenance charms us,\n      Father of him, we believe.\n\n    Back in the home of thy heart, may we labor\n      Others to bring from the wild,\n    Counting each creature that needs us our neighbor,\n      Claiming each soul as thy child.\n\n    --Robert F. Horton.\n\n\nANGELS\n\n    How shall we tell an angel\n      From another guest?\n    How, from common worldly herd,\n      One of the blest?\n\n    Hint of suppressed halo,\n      Rustle of hidden wings,\n    Wafture of heavenly frankincense--\n      Which of these things?\n\n    The old Sphinx smiles so subtly:\n      \"I give no golden rule--\n    Yet would I warn thee, World: treat well\n      Whom thou call'st fool.\"\n\n    --Gertrude Hall.\n\n\nHIS PILGRIMAGE\n\n    Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,\n      My staff of faith to walk upon,\n    My scrip of joy, immortal diet,\n      My bottle of salvation,\n    My gown of glory, hope's true gage;\n    And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.\n\n    Blood must be my body's balmer;\n      No other balm will there be given;\n    Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,\n      Traveleth toward the land of heaven;\n    Over the silver mountains,\n    Where spring the nectar fountains,\n            There will I kiss\n            The bowl of bliss,\n    And drink mine everlasting fill\n    Upon every milken hill.\n    My soul will be a-dry before;\n    But after, it will thirst no more.\n\n    Then by that happy, blissful day,\n      More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,\n    That have cast off their rags of clay,\n      And walk appareled fresh like me.\n            I'll take them first\n            To quench their thirst\n    And taste of nectar suckets,\n            At those clear wells\n            Where sweetness dwells,\n    Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.\n\n    --Sir Walter Raleigh.\n\n\nOUR WORDS\n\n    O Sentinel at the loose-swung door of my impetuous lips,\n    Guard close to-day! Make sure no word unjust or cruel slips\n    In anger forth, by folly spurred or armed with envy's whips;\n          Keep clear the way to-day.\n\n    And Watchman on the cliff-scarred heights that lead from heart to mind,\n    When wolf-thoughts clothed in guile's soft fleece creep up, O be not\n      blind!\n    But may they pass whose foreheads bear the glowing seal-word, \"kind\";\n          Bid them Godspeed, I pray.\n\n    And Warden of my soul's stained house, where love and hate are born,\n    O make it clean, if swept must be with pain's rough broom of thorn!\n    And quiet impose, so straining ears with world-din racked and torn,\n          May catch what God doth say.\n\n\nA GOOD MAN\n\n    A good man never dies--\n      In worthy deed and prayer,\n    And helpful hands, and honest eyes,\n      If smiles or tears be there;\n    Who lives for you and me--\n      Lives for the world he tries\n    To help--he lives eternally.\n      A good man never dies.\n\n    Who lives to bravely take\n      His share of toil and stress,\n    And, for his weaker fellows' sake\n      Makes every burden less--\n    He may, at last, seem worn--\n      Lie fallen--hands and eyes\n    Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn,\n      A good man never dies.\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nTHE IMMANENT GOD\n\nEACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE\n\n    A fire-mist and a planet,\n      A crystal and a cell,\n    A jellyfish and a saurian,\n      And caves where the cavemen dwell;\n    Then a sense of law and beauty,\n      And a face turned from the clod--\n    Some call it Evolution\n      And others call it God.\n\n    A haze on the far horizon,\n      The infinite, tender sky,\n    The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,\n      And the wild geese sailing high--\n    And all over upland and lowland\n      The charm of the golden rod--\n    Some of us call it Autumn,\n      And others call it God.\n\n    Like tides on a crescent sea beach,\n      When the moon is new and thin,\n    Into our hearts high yearnings\n      Come welling and surging in--\n    Come from the mystic ocean,\n      Whose rim no foot has trod--\n    Some of us call it Longing,\n      And others call it God.\n\n    A picket frozen on duty--\n      A mother starved for her brood--\n    Socrates drinking the hemlock,\n      And Jesus on the rood;\n    And millions who, humble and nameless,\n      The straight, hard pathway trod--\n    Some call it Consecration,\n      And others call it God.\n\n    --William Herbert Carruth.\n\n\nTHE HIGHER FELLOWSHIP\n\n          Do you go to my school?\n          Yes, you go to my school,\n    And we've learned the big lesson--Be strong!\n          And to front the loud noise\n          With a spirit of poise,\n    And drown down the noise with a song.\n    We have spelled the first line in the Primer of Fate;\n      We have spelled it, and dare not to shirk--\n    For its first and its greatest commandment to men\n      Is \"Work, and rejoice in your work.\"\n    Who is learned in this Primer will not be a fool--\n    You are one of my classmates. You go to my school.\n\n          You belong to my club?\n          Yes, you're one of my club,\n    And this is our program and plan:\n          To each do his part\n          To look into the heart\n    And get at the good that's in man.\n    Detectives of virtue and spies of the good\n      And sleuth-hounds of righteousness we.\n    Look out there, my brother! we're hot on your trail,\n      We'll find out how good you can be.\n    We would drive from our hearts the snake, tiger, and cub;\n    We're the Lodge of the Lovers. You're one of my club.\n\n          You belong to my church?\n          Yes, you go to my church--\n    Our names on the same old church roll--\n          The tide-waves of God\n          We believe are abroad\n    And flow into the creeks of each soul.\n    And the vessel we sail on is strong as the sea\n      That buffets and blows it about;\n    For the sea is God's sea as the ship is God's ship,\n      So we know not the meaning of doubt;\n    And we know howsoever the vessel may lurch\n    We've a Pilot to trust in. You go to my church.\n\n    --Sam Walter Foss.\n\n\n    Never elated while one man's oppressed;\n    Never dejected while another's blessed.\n\n    --Alexander Pope.\n\n\nTHE OTHER FELLOW'S JOB\n\n    There's a craze among us mortals that is cruel hard to name;\n    Wheresoe'er you find a human you will find the case the same;\n    You may seek among the worst of men or seek among the best,\n    And you'll find that every person is precisely like the rest:\n    Each believes his real calling is along some other line\n    Than the one at which he's working--take, for instance, yours and mine.\n    From the meanest \"me-too\" creature to the leader of the mob,\n    There's a universal craving for \"the other fellow's job.\"\n\n    There are millions of positions in the busy world to-day,\n    Each a drudge to him who holds it, but to him who doesn't, play;\n    Every farmer's broken-hearted that in youth he missed his call,\n    While that same unhappy farmer is the envy of us all.\n    Any task you care to mention seems a vastly better lot\n    Than the one especial something which you happen to have got.\n    There's but one sure way to smother Envy's heartache and her sob:\n    Keep too busy at your own to want \"the other fellow's job.\"\n\n    --Strickland W. Gilliland.\n\n\nTHE SCORN OF JOB\n\n    \"If I have eaten my morsel alone,\"\n      The patriarch spoke in scorn.\n    What would he think of the Church were he shown\n      Heathendom--huge, forlorn,\n    Godless, Christless, with soul unfed,\n    While the Church's ailment is fullness of bread,\n      Eating her morsel alone?\n\n    \"Freely as ye have received, so give,\"\n      He bade who hath given us all.\n    How shall the soul in us longer live\n      Deaf to their starving call,\n    For whom the blood of the Lord was shed,\n    And his body broken to give them bread,\n      If we eat our morsel alone?\n\n    --Archbishop Alexander.\n\n\nGREATNESS\n\n    What makes a man great? Is it houses and lands?\n      Is it argosies dropping their wealth at his feet?\n      Is it multitudes shouting his name in the street?\n    Is it power of brain? Is it skill of hand?\n    Is it writing a book? Is it guiding the State?\n    Nay, nay, none of these can make a man great.\n\n    The crystal burns cold with its beautiful fire,\n      And is what it is; it can never be more;\n      The acorn, with something wrapped warm at the core,\n    In quietness says, \"To the oak I aspire.\"\n    That something in seed and in tree is the same--\n    What makes a man great is his greatness of aim.\n\n    What is greatness of aim? Your purpose to trim\n      For bringing the world to obey your behest?\n      O no, it is seeking God's perfect and best,\n    Making something the same both in you and in him.\n    Love what he loves, and, child of the sod,\n    Already you share in the greatness of God.\n\n    --Samuel V. Cole.\n\n\nA SAFE FIRM\n\n    When the other firms show dizziness\n      Here's a house that does not share it.\n    Wouldn't you like to join the business?\n      Join the firm of Grin and Barrett?\n    Give your strength that does not murmur,\n      And your nerve that does not falter,\n    And you've joined a house that's firmer\n      Than the old rock of Gibraltar.\n    They have won a good prosperity;\n      Why not join the firm and share it?\n    Step, young fellow, with celerity;\n      Join the firm of Grin and Barrett.\n            Grin and Barrett,\n            Who can scare it?\n      Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?\n\n    --Sam Walter Foss.\n\n\nJOHN MILTON\n\n    Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:\n      England hath need of thee: she is a fen\n      Of stagnant waters: altars, sword, and pen,\n    Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,\n    Have forfeited their ancient English dower\n      Of inward happiness. We are selfish men.\n      O! raise us up, return to us again;\n    And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.\n      Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:\n    Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:\n    Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,\n    So didst thou travel on life's common way,\n      In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart\n    The lowliest duties on herself did lay.\n\n    --William Wordsworth.\n\n\nSUMMUM BONUM\n\n    For radiant health I praise not when I pray,\n    Nor for routine of toil well-pleasing every way,\n    Though these gifts, Lord, more priceless grow each day.\n\n    Not for congenial comrades, garnered store\n    Of worldly wealth, nor vision that sees o'er\n    Such sordid mass, mind's plumed eagles soar.\n\n    Not even, Lord, for love that eases stress\n    Of storm, contention, hope's unconquerableness,\n    Nor faith's abiding peace, nor works that bless.\n\n    But this, dear Lord, stir inner depths divine,\n    That day by day, though slowly! line on line\n    My will begins--begins--to merge in thine.\n\n    --Charles L. Story.\n\n\nTHE AIM\n\n    O Thou who lovest not alone\n      The swift success, the instant goal,\n    But hast a lenient eye to mark\n      The failures of the inconstant soul,\n\n    Consider not my little worth--\n      The mean achievement, scamped in act--\n    The high resolve and low result,\n      The dream that durst not face the fact.\n\n    But count the reach of my desire--\n      Let this be something in thy sight;\n    I have not, in the slothful dark,\n      Forgot the vision and the height.\n\n    Neither my body nor my soul\n      To earth's low ease will yield consent.\n    I praise thee for the will to strive;\n      I bless thy goad and discontent.\n\n    --Charles G. D. Roberts.\n\n\nSAY SOMETHING GOOD\n\n    When over the fair fame of friend or foe\n      The shadow of disgrace shall fall, instead\n    Of words of blame or proof of thus and so,\n      Let something good be said!\n\n    Forget not that no fellow-being yet\n      May fall so low but love may lift his head;\n    Even the cheek of shame with tears is wet,\n      If something good be said.\n\n    No generous heart may vainly turn aside\n      In ways of sympathy; no soul so dead\n    But may awaken, strong and glorified,\n      If something good be said.\n\n    And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown,\n      And by the cross on which the Saviour bled,\n    And by your own soul's hope of fair renown,\n      Let something good be said!\n\n    --James Whitcomb Riley.\n\n\nWHEN TO BE HAPPY\n\n    Why do we cling to the skirts of sorrow?\n      Why do we cloud with care the brow?\n    Why do we wait for a glad to-morrow--\n      Why not gladden the precious Now?\n    Eden is yours! Would you dwell within it?\n      Change men's grief to a gracious smile,\n    And thus have heaven here this minute\n      And not far-off in the afterwhile.\n\n    Life, at most, is a fleeting bubble,\n      Gone with the puff of an angel's breath.\n    Why should the dim hereafter trouble\n      Souls this side of the gates of death?\n    The crown is yours! Would you care to win it?\n      Plant a song in the hearts that sigh,\n    And thus have heaven here this minute\n      And not far-off in the by-and-by.\n\n    Find the soul's high place of beauty,\n      Not in a man-made book of creeds,\n    But where desire ennobles duty\n      And life is full of your kindly deeds.\n    The bliss is yours! Would you fain begin it?\n      Pave with love each golden mile,\n    And thus have heaven here this minute\n      And not far-off in the afterwhile.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;\n    Corruption wins not more than honesty.\n    Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,\n    To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:\n    Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,\n    Thy God's, and truth's.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\n    Sweet are the uses of adversity;\n    Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,\n    Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;\n    And this our life, exempt from public haunt,\n    Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,\n    Sermons in stones, and good in everything.\n\n    --William Shakespeare.\n\n\nWORSHIP\n\n    But let my due feet never fail\n    To walk the studious cloister's pale,\n    And love the high embowed roof\n    With antique pillars massy proof,\n    And storied windows richly dight,\n    Casting a dim religious light.\n    There let the pealing organ blow,\n    To the full-voiced choir below,\n    In service high, and anthems clear,\n    As may with sweetness, through mine ear,\n    Dissolve me into ecstasies,\n    And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.\n\n    --John Milton.\n\n\n            Give us men!\n        Strong and stalwart ones:\n    Men whom highest hope inspires,\n    Men whom purest honor fires,\n    Men who trample Self beneath them,\n    Men who make their country wreathe them\n        As her noble sons,\n        Worthy of their sires,\n    Men who never shame their mothers,\n    Men who never fail their brothers;\n    True, however false are others:\n        Give us Men--I say again,\n        Give us Men!\n\n    --Bishop of Exeter.\n\n\n    I will not doubt though all my ships at sea\n      Come drifting home with broken masts and sails,\n      I will believe the Hand which never fails,\n    From seeming evil worketh good for me;\n    And though I weep because those sails are tattered,\n    Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered,\n                \"I trust in Thee.\"\n\n\n    The wounds I might have healed,\n      The human sorrow and smart!\n    And yet it never was in my soul\n      To play so ill a part.\n    But evil is wrought by want of thought\n      As well as want of heart.\n\n    --Thomas Hood.\n\n\nDON'T FEAR--GOD'S NEAR!\n\n    Feel glum? Keep mum.\n    Don't grumble. Be humble.\n    Trials cling? Just sing.\n    Can't sing? Just cling.\n    Don't fear--God's near!\n    Money goes--He knows.\n    Honor left--Not bereft.\n    Don't rust--Work! Trust!\n\n    --Ernest Bourner Allen.\n\n\n    A rose to the living is more\n      Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead;\n    In filling love's infinite store,\n    A rose to the living is more,\n    If graciously given before\n      The hungering spirit is fled--\n    A rose to the living is more\n      Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Canst thou see no beauty nigh?\n    Cure thy dull, distempered eye.\n    Canst thou no sweet music hear?\n    Tune thy sad, discordant ear.\n    Earth has beauty everywhere\n    If the eye that sees is fair.\n    Earth has music to delight\n    If the ear is tuned aright.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Anew we pledge ourselves to Thee,\n      To follow where thy Truth shall lead;\n    Afloat upon its boundless sea,\n      Who sails with God is safe indeed.\n\n\n    O, though oft depressed and lonely\n      All my fears are laid aside,\n    If I but remember only\n      Such as these have lived and died.\n\n\n    It was only a glad \"Good morning,\"\n      As she passed along the way;\n    But it spread the morning's glory\n      Over the livelong day.\n\n\n    For the right against the wrong,\n    For the weak against the strong,\n    For the poor who've waited long,\n        For the brighter age to be.\n\n\nRECOMPENSE\n\n    The gifts that to our breasts we fold\n      Are brightened by our losses.\n    The sweetest joys a heart can hold\n      Grow up between its crosses.\n    And on life's pathway many a mile\n      Is made more glad and cheery,\n    Because, for just a little while,\n      The way seemed dark and dreary.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    Wherever now a sorrow stands,\n    'Tis mine to heal His nail-torn hands.\n    In every lonely lane and street,\n    'Tis mine to wash His wounded feet--\n    'Tis mine to roll away the stone\n    And warm His heart against my own.\n    Here, here on earth I find it all--\n    The young archangels, white and tall,\n    The Golden City and the doors,\n    And all the shining of the floors!\n\n\n    I sent my soul through the Invisible,\n    Some letter of that After-life to spell;\n    And by and by my soul returned to me,\n    And answered, \"I myself am Heaven and Hell.\"\n\n    --Omar Khayyam.\n\n\n    Count that day really worse than lost\n      You might have made divine,\n    Through which you scattered lots of frost\n      And ne'er a speck of shine.\n\n    --Nixon Waterman.\n\n\n    O, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,\n    And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness,\n          Round our restlessness, His rest.\n\n    --Elizabeth Barrett Browning.\n\n\n    If by one word I help another,\n    A struggling and despairing brother,\n        Or ease one bed of pain;\n    If I but aid some sad one weeping,\n    Or comfort one, lone vigil keeping,\n        I have not lived in vain.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO AUTHORS\n\n\nAdams, Sarah F., 214.\n\nAddison, Joseph, 251, 266.\n\nAeschylus, 94.\n\nAkers, Elizabeth, 101.\n\nAlbert of Brandenburg, 216.\n\nAlcott, L. M., 25.\n\nAldrich, Anne R., 155.\n\nAldrich, Thomas B., 146.\n\nAlexander, Archbishop, 284.\n\nAlexander, Cecil Frances, 36, 249.\n\nAlford, Henry, 17, 187.\n\nAlger, William R., 114, 130, 207, 227.\n\nAllen, Ernest B., 287.\n\nAllen, Freda H., 92.\n\nAmes, Charles G., 121, 276.\n\nAnstice, Joseph, 195.\n\nArabic, from the, 112, 130, 157, 218, 218.\n\nArchilochos, 92.\n\nArnold, Edwin, 30, 34, 47, 112, 177, 183, 232, 266.\n\nArnold, Matthew, 1, 7, 12, 93, 234, 266.\n\nAtkinson, Mary E., 125.\n\nAustin, Alfred, 112, 253.\n\n\nBabcock, Maltbie D., 278, 278, 278, 279, 279.\n\nBailey, Philip J., 186, 264.\n\nBaillie, Joanna, 17.\n\nBaker, Henry W., 247.\n\nBanks, George L., 250.\n\nBarbauld, Anna L., 276.\n\nBarker, Noah, 33.\n\nBarr, Lillian E., 210.\n\nBarry, Michael J., 12.\n\nBathurst, William H., 180.\n\nBaxter, Richard, 79, 87, 106.\n\nBeattie, James, 99.\n\nBeatty, Pakenham, 22.\n\nBernard of Clairvaux, 235, 236.\n\nBethune, George W., 272.\n\nBickersteth, Edward H., 90.\n\nBlake, William, 263.\n\nBliss, Philip Paul, 120.\n\nBode, John E., 247.\n\nBolton, Sarah K., 1, 35, 37, 48, 63, 73, 77, 105, 111, 178, 199, 256.\n\nBonar, Horatius, 26, 43, 83, 90, 91, 93, 101, 151, 153, 254, 260.\n\nBorthwick, J., 212.\n\nBradley, Helen, 242.\n\nBrainard, Mary G., 192.\n\nBridges, Madeline S., 257.\n\nBridges, Robert, 100.\n\nBronte, Emily, 21, 23.\n\nBrooke, Stopford A., 261.\n\nBrooks, Charles T., 60, 142.\n\nBrooks, Phillips, 137.\n\nBrown, Brownlee, 271.\n\nBrowning, Elizabeth Barrett, 64, 65, 93, 114, 127, 158, 161, 231, 262,\n269, 287.\n\nBrowning, Ophelia G., 124, 213.\n\nBrowning, Robert, 3, 16, 21, 21, 25, 31, 33, 34, 39, 40, 40, 40, 40, 40,\n64, 120, 148, 162, 176, 182, 183, 208, 208, 214, 232, 264, 264, 266,\n268, 268, 269, 270.\n\nBryant, William C., 14, 76, 265.\n\nBuckham, James, 54, 87.\n\nBunyan, John, 96.\n\nBurgess, Frank G., 181.\n\nBurleigh, George S., 127.\n\nBurleigh, William H., 196.\n\nBurns, James D., 228.\n\nBurns, Robert, 24, 68, 102, 263.\n\nBurr, William N., 60.\n\nBurroughs, John, 171.\n\nBurton, Henry, 84, 171, 221, 238.\n\nBurton, John, 126.\n\nButler, Mary, 117.\n\nButts, Mary F., 198.\n\nByrd, William, 104.\n\nByrom, John, 106.\n\nByron, George Gordon, 1, 38, 122.\n\n\nCarlyle, Thomas, 255.\n\nCarruth, William H., 283.\n\nCary, Alice, 38, 146.\n\nCaswall, Edward, 87, 235.\n\nChadwick, John W., 210, 275.\n\nCharles, Elizabeth R., 72, 172.\n\nCheney, John Vance, 27, 111, 113, 113, 274, 276.\n\nClark, Luella, 125.\n\nClarke, James Freeman, 38, 69, 73, 130, 203, 218, 220, 263.\n\nClough, Arthur Hugh, 172, 280.\n\nCole, Samuel V., 284.\n\nColeridge, Hartley, 124, 184.\n\nColeridge, Samuel T., 33, 130.\n\nColesworthy, D. C., 8, 19.\n\nConder, Josiah, 112.\n\nCook, Eliza, 102, 253.\n\nCook, Mary Ann W., 110, 183.\n\nCooke, Edmund Vance, 5.\n\nCooke, Rose Terry, 52.\n\nCoolidge, Susan, 47, 131, 174, 214, 229, 263.\n\nCoppee, Francois, 43.\n\nCorneille, Pierre, 121.\n\nCotton, 198.\n\nCousin, Annie R., 274.\n\nCowper, William, 98, 108, 126, 159, 193, 203, 223, 266.\n\nCoxe, Arthur Cleveland, 18, 239.\n\nCoyle, Henry, 34, 144.\n\nCraik, Dinah M. M., 13, 48, 142, 165, 273, 273.\n\nCranch, Christopher P., 25, 85, 256, 265.\n\nCrashaw, Richard, 133.\n\nCrewdson, Jane, 140.\n\nCrosby, Ernest, 2.\n\nCustis, Gertrude B., 196.\n\nCutler, William, 45.\n\n\nDandridge, Danske, 277.\n\nDaniel, Samuel, 13.\n\nDavies, John, 139.\n\nDavies, William, 262.\n\nDavis, Thomas, 260.\n\nDeems, Charles F., 188, 194.\n\nDenny, Edward, 241.\n\nDessler, Wolfgang C., 237.\n\nDe Vere, Aubrey T., 159.\n\nDewart, Edward H., 12, 42.\n\nDickenga, I. E., 259.\n\nDickinson, Mary Lowe, 186, 254.\n\nDoddridge, Philip, 205, 249, 261.\n\nDorr, Julia C. R., 54, 98.\n\nDuffield, Samuel W., 128.\n\nDryden, John, 262, 266.\n\nDwight, John S., 92.\n\nDyer, Edward, 104.\n\n\nEgerton, J. A., 77.\n\nEliot, George, 51.\n\nElliott, Charlotte, 124, 207, 213.\n\nElliott, Ebenezer, 75.\n\nElwood, Thomas, 118.\n\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo, 3, 6, 7, 11, 13, 20, 27, 32, 49, 106, 220, 263.\n\nExeter, Bishop of, 286.\n\n\nFaber, F. W., 69, 101, 119, 119, 128, 141, 155, 165, 171, 181, 186, 207,\n209, 223, 224, 225, 231, 234, 237, 242.\n\nFarningham, Marianne, 6.\n\nFarrar, F. W., 167.\n\nFawcett, Edgar, 8.\n\nFelkin, Ellen T. F., 148.\n\nFleming, Paul, 88, 198.\n\nFletcher, Julia A., 69.\n\nFord, C. L., 240.\n\nFoss, Sam Walter, 66, 95, 283, 284.\n\nFreckleton, Thomas W., 61.\n\nFuller, B. A. G., 171.\n\n\nGammons, Susan E., 256.\n\nGannett, William C., 229, 266.\n\nGaskell, Eliza C., 190, 195.\n\nGay, John, 40.\n\nGedicke, L., 201.\n\nGellert, Christian F., 194.\n\nGerhardt, Paul, 172, 193, 215, 220.\n\nGerman, from the, 104, 160, 218, 249.\n\nGibbs, Sarah A., 45.\n\nGilder, R. W., 18, 26, 26, 33, 141, 156, 168, 244, 263, 280.\n\nGilliland, Strickland W., 284.\n\nGilmore, James Roberts, 261.\n\nGladden, Washington, 131.\n\nGoethe, Johann W. von, 45, 76, 115, 208, 250, 255.\n\nGoode, J. B., 161.\n\nGoode, Kate T., 34.\n\nGrannis, G. M., 60.\n\nGray, George Z., 110.\n\nGreek, from the, 92, 94, 129, 263.\n\nGreen, Frances L., 9.\n\nGreg, Samuel, 181.\n\nGrosart, Alexander B., 118.\n\nGuyon, Madame, 82, 82, 87, 104, 131, 186.\n\n\nHafiz, 65.\n\nHagenbach, Charles R., 187.\n\nHale, E. E., 176.\n\nHall, Gertrude, 282.\n\nHamilton, 102.\n\nHamilton, Anna E., 185, 246.\n\nHarding, Edward, 196.\n\nHarte, Francis Bret, 211.\n\nHatch, Edwin, 121.\n\nHavergal, Frances R., 81, 82, 85, 90, 109, 138, 153, 204, 215.\n\nHawes, Annie M. L., 37.\n\nHawks, Annie S., 224.\n\nHay, John, 23, 25, 47, 217.\n\nHay, William, 92.\n\nHeber, Reginald, 5.\n\nHebrew, from the, 277.\n\nHedge, Frederick H., 16.\n\nHenley, William Ernest, 23.\n\nHerbert, George, 21, 64, 94, 97, 111, 203, 219, 223, 227, 228, 241, 242.\n\nHerder, Johann G. von, 203.\n\nHerford, Oliver, 262.\n\nHerrick, Robert, 98, 186.\n\nHigginson, Thomas W., 107.\n\nHill, Aaron, 21.\n\nHodgkins, Louise M., 80, 179.\n\nHolland, J. G., 22, 115, 162.\n\nHolm, Saxe, 97.\n\nHolmes, Oliver W., 20, 116, 168, 221, 268.\n\nHomer, 129.\n\nHood, Thomas, 286.\n\nHooper, Ellen S., 49.\n\nHorace, 262.\n\nHorton, Robert F., 282.\n\nHosmer, Frederick L., 44, 157, 207, 226, 231.\n\nHovey, Richard, 148.\n\nHowe, Martha P., 70.\n\nHowells, W. D., 140, 278.\n\nHowland, M. W., 281.\n\nHuckel, Oliver, 144.\n\nHughes, Thomas, 81.\n\nHugo, Victor, 176, 198.\n\n\nIngalls, John J., 261.\n\nIngelow, Jean, 37, 39, 187.\n\n\nJackson, Helen Hunt, 95, 163.\n\nJapanese, from the, 155.\n\nJohnson, Dr. Samuel, 134, 266.\n\nJohnson, Samuel, 97, 149.\n\nJudson, Adoniram, 18.\n\n\nKeble, John, 26, 67, 113, 180, 231, 232.\n\nKemble, Frances Anne, 198.\n\nKen, Thomas, 102.\n\nKey, Francis Scott, 247.\n\nKhayyam, Omar, 253, 287.\n\nKimball, Harriet McEwen, 163, 231.\n\nKingsley, Charles, 30.\n\nKinney, L., 269.\n\nKipling, Rudyard, 39, 96.\n\nKiser, Samuel E., 140.\n\nKnowles, Frederic Lawrence, 18, 117, 166, 197, 222, 274, 275.\n\n\nLangbridge, F., 86.\n\nLansdowne, Henry P. F., 103.\n\nLarcom, Lucy, 74, 161.\n\nLatin, from the, 262, 266.\n\nLegge, Arthur E. J., 30.\n\nLeighton, Robert, 48, 232.\n\nLittlewood, W. E., 235.\n\nLloyd, William F., 189.\n\nLogau, Friedrich von, 81.\n\nLongfellow, Henry W., 2, 12, 27, 27, 35, 39, 39, 42, 47, 76, 77, 93,\n102, 114, 114, 132, 141, 149, 162, 164, 169, 213, 218, 220, 251, 266,\n274.\n\nLongfellow, Samuel, 167, 178.\n\nLongstaff, W. D., 136.\n\nLovelace, Richard, 24.\n\nLowell, James R., 4, 13, 17, 18, 21, 21, 26, 27, 35, 35, 38, 39, 40, 40,\n48, 49, 62, 65, 65, 93, 107, 119, 161, 161, 161, 165, 167, 171, 186,\n208, 220, 231.\n\nLoyola, Ignatius, 87.\n\nLuff, William, 180.\n\nLuther, Martin, 6, 16.\n\nLynch, Thomas T., 158.\n\nLyon, Ernest N., 31.\n\nLyra Catholica, 95.\n\nLyte, Henry F., 83, 190, 192.\n\nLytton, Edward Bulwer, 27, 28, 234.\n\n\nMacdonald, George, 58, 63, 99, 107, 117, 125, 159, 199, 211, 219, 219,\n220, 220, 230, 230, 253.\n\nMackay, Charles, 7, 24, 51, 74, 78, 109, 212, 267.\n\nMacLaughlin, Bessie Pegg, 218.\n\nMacleod, Norman, 18.\n\nMalan, A. H. C., 272.\n\nMalone, Walter, 259.\n\nMarch, Daniel, 61.\n\nMarkham, Edwin, 39.\n\nMartin, Edward S., 11, 70, 168.\n\nMarvin, Frederic Rowland, 65, 68, 87, 94, 94, 129, 155, 169, 169, 186,\n208, 220, 274, 277, 279.\n\nMason, Caroline Atherton, 50, 53, 80, 108, 159, 219, 226.\n\nMason, Mary J., 86.\n\nMassey, Gerald, 48, 153, 166, 170.\n\nMatheson, George, 234.\n\nMaxfield, J. J., 179.\n\nMayer, R. F., 194.\n\nMcCreery, J. C., 270.\n\nMeredith, George, 65.\n\nMessenger, John A., 6.\n\nMetastasio, Pietro, 114.\n\nMiller, Joaquin, 5, 13.\n\nMilman, Constance, 137.\n\nMilnes, Moncton, 218.\n\nMilton, John, 175, 259, 286.\n\nMonod, Theodore, 85, 118.\n\nMonsell, John S. B., 159, 244.\n\nMontgomery, James, 127, 134, 262.\n\nMoore, Thomas, 86, 100, 118, 155.\n\nMore, Hannah, 137.\n\nMorris, Lewis, 21.\n\nMorse, Sydney H., 12.\n\nMoulton, Louise C., 134, 271.\n\nMudge, James, 144, 206, 208, 209, 224, 228, 232, 249, 258, 270.\n\nMuleykeh, 72.\n\nMulholland, Rosa, 120.\n\nMurray, Charlotte, 183.\n\n\nNeumarck, George, 189.\n\nNewell, William, 143.\n\nNewman, John H., 15, 64, 86, 100, 181.\n\nNewton, John, 91, 151, 184, 185, 235, 249.\n\nNoble, L. Gray, 55.\n\nNorris, Alfred, 98.\n\nNorth, Frank Mason, 76, 248.\n\nNovalis, 238.\n\n\nOberlin, Jean F., 82.\n\nOfford, Robert M., 71, 121.\n\nO'Reilly, John Boyle, 21, 37, 40, 44, 78, 78, 92, 122, 132, 163, 265.\n\nOsgood, Frances S., 65.\n\nOvid, 266.\n\n\nPalfrey, Sara H., 78.\n\nPalmer, Ray, 236, 245.\n\nParker, John, 208.\n\nPeabody, Josephine P., 176.\n\nPearce, 158.\n\nPersian, from the, 27, 34, 38, 40, 40, 65, 72, 73, 94, 94, 99, 109, 114,\n122, 130, 142, 147, 166, 207, 220, 227, 231, 232, 253, 263, 266, 266,\n266, 266, 267, 277.\n\nPigott, Jean Sophia, 210.\n\nPomfret, John, 162.\n\nPope, Alexander, 32, 36, 39, 40, 73, 123, 225, 283.\n\nPratt, Agnes L., 161.\n\nPreston, Margaret J., 248, 271.\n\nProcter, Adelaide Anne, 29, 32, 39, 68, 140, 156, 192.\n\nProctor, Edna Dean, 11.\n\n\nQuarles, Francis, 17, 65, 85, 137, 159.\n\n\nRaleigh, Sir Walter, 282.\n\nRay, Maude L., 51.\n\nReese, Lizette W., 13.\n\nRichardson, Charles F., 125, 163.\n\nRiley, James W., 38, 102, 105, 167, 216, 264, 281, 283, 285.\n\nRoberts, Charles G. D., 232, 285.\n\nRobertson, William, 174.\n\nRobinson, Annie D., 103.\n\nRodigast, S., 188.\n\nRogers, Samuel, 162.\n\nRomanes, George J., 265.\n\nRossetti, Christina G., 39, 272.\n\nRueckert, Friedrich, 148.\n\nRussell, W. D., 122.\n\nRyan, Abram J., 32, 35, 133.\n\nRyland, John, 195.\n\n\nSaadi, 73, 94, 220.\n\nSalmon, Arthur L., 61.\n\nSangster, Margaret E., 111, 143, 145, 229, 251.\n\nSanskrit, from the, 47, 94, 177, 183.\n\nSavage, Minot J., 10.\n\nScandinavian, from the, 68, 208.\n\nSchauffler, Robert H., 198.\n\nScheffler, Johann A., 87, 87, 169, 169, 186, 222, 274.\n\nSchiller, Johann C. F., 27, 29, 175, 263.\n\nSchmolke, Benjamin, 153, 212.\n\nSchoener, S. C., 178.\n\nScudder, Eliza, 92, 164.\n\nSeabury, J. D., 16.\n\nShairp, John C., 134.\n\nShakespeare, William, 27, 38, 39, 49, 94, 186, 206, 265, 286, 286.\n\nShekelnot, Mary, 239.\n\nSheridan, Richard B., 76.\n\nSherman, Frank D., 229.\n\nShipton, Anna, 252.\n\nShorey, L., 237.\n\nSilesius, Angelus, 277.\n\nSill, Edward R., 2, 15, 127, 258, 261, 267, 272.\n\nSimpson, Jane C., 135.\n\nSmiley, Maurice, 264.\n\nSmith, Alexander, 39.\n\nSmith, Belle Eugenia, 67.\n\nSmith, Elizabeth Oakes, 75.\n\nSmith, Henry B., 117.\n\nSmith, Mrs. Henry B., 62.\n\nSmith, Horace, 254.\n\nSmith, Lanta Wilson, 141.\n\nSmith, May Louise Riley, 191.\n\nSouthwell, Robert, 105.\n\nSpanish, from the, 114.\n\nSpitta, Carl J. P., 190.\n\nStanton, Frank L., 171.\n\nStedman, Edmund C., 218.\n\nSterling, John, 65, 94, 151, 158, 259, 264, 265, 265.\n\nStetson, Charlotte Perkins, 9, 25.\n\nStevenson, Robert Louis, 151.\n\nStoddard, Richard H., 150.\n\nStory, Charles L., 285.\n\nStory, William M., 31.\n\nStowe, Harriet B., 88, 223.\n\nSturm, Julius, 157.\n\nSwain, Charles, 175.\n\n\nTaylor, George L., 19.\n\nTaylor, Henry, 7.\n\nTeller, H. W., 280.\n\nTennyson, Alfred, 11, 27, 27, 31, 32, 39, 40, 40, 46, 102, 122, 130,\n135, 141, 152, 162, 162, 168, 169, 172, 180, 186, 186, 231, 232, 232,\n266, 274.\n\nTeresa, St., 114.\n\nThackeray, William M., 39.\n\nThaxter, Celia, 15.\n\nTholuck, Friedrich A. G., 218.\n\nThoreau, Henry D., 120.\n\nTorrey, Bradford, 185.\n\nTownsend, Mary E., 86.\n\nTrench, Richard C., 46, 65, 94, 95, 102, 108, 113, 128, 129, 137, 137,\n162, 164, 166, 167, 169, 169.\n\nTroup, Josephine, 53.\n\nTubbs, Arthur L., 133.\n\nTucker, Mary F., 78.\n\nTupper, Martin F., 181.\n\n\nUrchard, T., 112.\n\n\nVan Dyke, Henry, 53, 76, 263.\n\nVan Vliet, Alice, 30.\n\nVery, Jones, 99, 226.\n\n\nWallace, James C., 129.\n\nWard, Elizabeth S. P., 276.\n\nWaring, Anna L., 89, 90, 103, 116, 150, 151, 169, 177, 217.\n\nWarner, Anna B., 81, 243.\n\nWasson, David A., 72.\n\nWaterman, Nixon, 46, 69, 78, 114, 140, 148, 259, 261, 261, 264, 286,\n287, 287, 287, 287.\n\nWatson, Jean H., 132.\n\nWatson, William, 39, 129.\n\nWeldon, Charles, 33.\n\nWells, Amos R., 79, 120, 121, 221, 252, 253, 258.\n\nWelsh, from the, 137.\n\nWesley, Charles, 37, 80, 81, 118, 121, 147, 161, 189, 232, 279.\n\nWesley, John, 87, 164.\n\nWetherald, Agnes E., 53.\n\nWhite, H. Kirke, 211.\n\nWhite, James W., 129.\n\nWhite, John, 145.\n\nWhitney, A. D. T., 204.\n\nWhittier, John G., 1, 20, 33, 58, 64, 67, 68, 70, 78, 78, 88, 93, 97,\n102, 102, 122, 141, 157, 161, 173, 174, 174, 175, 176, 177, 183, 185,\n189, 191, 192, 196, 197, 197, 208, 208, 216, 232, 233, 264, 268, 271,\n275.\n\nWhittle, D. W., 206.\n\nWilberforce, Ernest R., 255.\n\nWilliams, Alice, 217.\n\nWilliams, Isaac, 193.\n\nWilliams, Sarah J., 230.\n\nWilliams, Theodore C., 71.\n\nWilton, R., 135.\n\nWither, George, 99.\n\nWolcott, Julia A., 57.\n\nWordsworth, William, 3, 41, 65, 65, 102, 268, 277, 285.\n\nWotton, Henry, 22.\n\n\nXavier, Francis, 240.\n\n\nYates, John H., 184.\n\nYoung, Edward, 40, 44, 147, 232, 255, 263.\n\n\nZinzendorf, Nicolaus L., 122.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO TITLES\n\n\nAbiding, 90.\n\nAbove All, The Shield, 178.\n\nAccording to Thy Will, 214.\n\nAcquiescence of Pure Love, The, 87.\n\nAdoration, 131.\n\nAfter All, 145.\n\nAfterward, 276.\n\nAllah's House, 229.\n\nAll for Jesus, 238.\n\nAll for the Best, 189.\n\nAll is Well, 196.\n\nAll is Yours, 194.\n\nAll Things in Jesus, 248.\n\nAll Things Work Good, 196.\n\nAll's for the Best, 181.\n\nAll's Well, 71.\n\nAlong the Way, 52.\n\nAltered Motto, The, 118.\n\nAlthough--Yet, 147.\n\nAmen, 213.\n\nAngels of Grief, 156.\n\nAnswer to Prayer, 137.\n\nAnywhere with Jesus, 246.\n\nApproaches, 219.\n\nAs a Bird in Meadows, 147.\n\nAs God Will, 217.\n\nAs He Wills, 214.\n\nAs it Was to Be, 211.\n\nAs Thou Wilt, 212.\n\nAt End, 271.\n\nAthanasia, 276.\n\nAt Last, 270.\n\nAt Sunset, 251.\n\n\nBattlefield, The, 14.\n\nBattles, 13.\n\nBe All at Rest, 91.\n\nBe Always Giving, 56.\n\nBe Careful for Nothing, 192.\n\nBe Content, 111.\n\nBe Just and Fear Not, 17.\n\nBe Kind to Thyself, 168.\n\nBe Never Discouraged, 19.\n\nBe Not Weary, 180.\n\nBe of Good Cheer, 146.\n\nBe Still, 88.\n\nBe True Thyself, 26.\n\nBeautiful Things, 250.\n\nBeauty of Holiness, The, 220.\n\nBeggar's Revenge, The, 34.\n\nBegone, Unbelief, 185.\n\nBelieve Good Things of God, 180.\n\nBeliever's Heritage, The, 206.\n\nBest that I Can, The, 44.\n\nBetter than Gold, 32.\n\nBetter Things, 253.\n\nBetter Trust, 198.\n\nBlessed Face, The, 245.\n\nBlessed Lesson, A, 110.\n\nBlessed Thought of God, 226.\n\nBlessing, A, 78.\n\nBlessing in Prayer, A, 125.\n\nBlessing in Tears, A, 152.\n\nBlessings Near at Hand, 111.\n\nBlessings of Prayer, 126.\n\nBlessings, The, 47.\n\nBlest is the Faith Divine and Strong, 181.\n\nBravery, 18.\n\nBreathe on Me, 121.\n\nBring Every Burden, 143.\n\nBringing Our Sheaves with Us, 101.\n\nBroader Field, A, 57.\n\nBrotherhood, 70.\n\nBuilder's Lesson, A, 259.\n\nBuilders, The, 251.\n\nBuilding, 259.\n\nBurial of Moses, The, 36.\n\nBy Doing Good We Live, 53.\n\n\nCall of Jesus, The, 249.\n\nCalm, 90.\n\nCare Cast on God, 195.\n\nCare Thou for Me, 200.\n\nCares and Days, 264.\n\nCareless Content, 106.\n\nCarpenter, The, 211.\n\nCast Thy Burden on the Lord, 207.\n\nCelestial Surgeon, The, 151.\n\nChambered Nautilus, The, 116.\n\nCharge, The, 1.\n\nCharioteers, The, 79.\n\nCharity Not Justice, 75.\n\nCheerful Old Age, 268.\n\nCheer Up, 174.\n\nCherubic Pilgrim, The, 222.\n\nChoir Invisible, The, 51.\n\nChoose for Us, God, 196.\n\nChoose Thou, 83.\n\nChosen Few, The, 5.\n\nChrist in the City, 76.\n\nChrist Our Example, 238.\n\nChrist's Sympathy, 234.\n\nClear Vision, The, 141.\n\nColumbus, 5.\n\nCome to Me, 230.\n\nCome to Us, Lord, 231.\n\nCommit Thy Way, 172.\n\nCommon Lot, The, 262.\n\nCommon Offering, The, 163.\n\nComparative Degree, The, 121.\n\nCompensation, 159.\n\nConfidence, 232.\n\nConfido et Conquiesco, 192.\n\nConsecrated Life, A, 82.\n\nConsider the Ravens, 199.\n\nConsolation, 155.\n\nConstant Care, 205.\n\nContent and Rich, 104.\n\nContent I Live, 104.\n\nContent with All, 110.\n\nContents of Piety, The, 130.\n\nContentment, 103.\n\nContrast, A, 105.\n\nCourage, 15.\n\nCourage Defined, 17.\n\nCrossing the Bar, 273.\n\nCry of the Soul, A, 121.\n\n\nDaily Bread, 219.\n\nDaily Course, The, 113.\n\nDaily Strength, 112.\n\nDare to Do Right, 19.\n\nDare You? 14.\n\nDark Angel, The, 159.\n\nDay by Day, 117.\n\nDearest Friend, The, 249.\n\nDeath, 274.\n\nDeath Bed, A, 275.\n\nDedicated, 82.\n\nDefeated Yet Triumphant, 1.\n\nDefiance to Old Age, A, 267.\n\nDemand for Courage, 17.\n\nDemand for Men, 8.\n\nDenial, 125.\n\nDesert's Use, The, 265.\n\nDespondency Rebuked, 172.\n\nDevil is a Fool, The, 203.\n\nDifference, The, 108.\n\nDifferent Prayers, 129.\n\nDisappointment, 204.\n\nDivine Majesty, The, 211.\n\nDivine Peace, 90.\n\nDo and be Blest, 15.\n\n\"Doe the Nexte Thynge,\" 42.\n\nDoing and Being, 262.\n\nDon't Take it to Heart, 147.\n\nDoubting Nothing, 179.\n\nDum Vivimus Vivamus, 261.\n\nDuties, 48.\n\nDwell Deep, 87.\n\n\nEasily Given, 62.\n\nEast London, 234.\n\nEleventh-Hour Laborers, The, 55.\n\nElixir, The, 223.\n\nEmir Hassan, 37.\n\nEmmaus, 268.\n\nEnoch, 135.\n\nEnough, 109.\n\nEquanimity, 25.\n\nEsse Quam Videre, 25.\n\nEternal Goodness, The, 177.\n\nEternal Justice, 6.\n\nEvangelist, The, 43.\n\nEvening Hymn, 206.\n\nEvening Praise, 144.\n\nEventide, 226.\n\nEverlasting Memorial, The, 100.\n\nEver with Thee, 228.\n\nEvery Day, 152.\n\nEverywhere with Jesus, 248.\n\nExpecting and Knowing, 164.\n\nEye of Faith, The, 179.\n\nEyeservice, 221.\n\n\nFailure, 34.\n\nFailure and Success, 33.\n\nFairest Lord Jesus, 249.\n\nFaith, 178.\n\nFaith in God, 179.\n\nFaith is the Victory, 184.\n\nFaithful, 255.\n\nFaithful Monk, The, 60.\n\nFame and Duty, 28.\n\nFarther On, 173.\n\nFear Not, 202.\n\nFinding All in Jesus, 234.\n\nFinding Content, 112.\n\nFlowers without Fruit, 181.\n\nFollowing, 201.\n\nFollowing the Master, 56.\n\nFor A' That, 24.\n\nFor Divine Strength, 97.\n\nForgiveness, 167.\n\nFormal Prayer, 126.\n\nFor Strength We Ask, 53.\n\nFortitude and Trial, 20.\n\nFree from Sin, 118.\n\nFriend and Foe, 263.\n\nFriend of Souls, 236.\n\nFruition, 67.\n\nFully Content, 109.\n\nFurnace and Hammer, 157.\n\n\nGain of Loss, The, 157.\n\nGentleman, A, 26.\n\nGiving and Taking, 58.\n\nGlorious Morn, The, 144.\n\nGlory of Failure, The, 30.\n\nGo Not Far from Me, 150.\n\nGo Right On Working, 46.\n\nGo Tell Jesus, 145.\n\nGod a Fortress, 16.\n\nGod Alone Loved, 87.\n\nGod Enough, 114.\n\nGod is Enough, 112.\n\nGod is Everywhere, 82.\n\nGod is Mine, 224.\n\nGod Keeps His Own, 199.\n\nGod Knoweth Best, 154.\n\nGod Knows, 182, 190.\n\nGod Knows All, 195.\n\nGod Means Us to be Happy, 138.\n\nGod Never Forsakes, 189.\n\nGod Only, 81.\n\nGod Save the People, 75.\n\nGod's All-Embracing Love, 164.\n\nGod's Care, 204.\n\nGod's Heroes, 12.\n\nGod's Mercy, 165.\n\nGod's Peace, 92.\n\nGod's Presence, 223.\n\nGod's Vengeance, 47.\n\nGod's Voice, 181.\n\nGod's Will, 210.\n\nGod's Will be Done, 213.\n\nGolden Mean, The, 114.\n\nGood Great Man, The, 33.\n\nGradatim, 115.\n\nGranted or Denied, 131.\n\nGreat and Small, 212.\n\nGreat Difference, A, 205.\n\nGreat Man, A, 28.\n\n\nHappiest Heart, The, 113.\n\nHappy Any Way, 106.\n\nHappy Warrior, The, 3.\n\nHarsh Judgments, 69.\n\nHave Charity, 68.\n\nHave Faith in God, 179.\n\nHave Hope, 171.\n\n\"He Careth for Thee,\" 207.\n\nHe Careth for You, 206.\n\n\"He Doeth All Things Well,\" 147.\n\nHe Fills All, 225.\n\nHe Knoweth All, 200.\n\nHe Leads Us On, 202.\n\nHe Never Forgets, 201.\n\nHeart of God, The, 235.\n\nHeavenly Presence, The, 60.\n\nHeavier the Cross, 153.\n\nHelp Thou My Unbelief, 133.\n\nHer Creed, 63.\n\nHere Am I, 80.\n\nHeritage, The, 107.\n\nHero Gone, A, 1.\n\nHeroism, 9.\n\nHide Not Thy Heart, 25.\n\nHigher Law, The, 25.\n\nHigher Life, The, 29.\n\nHigher Privilege, The, 166.\n\nHis Banner Over Me, 166.\n\nHis Care, 208.\n\nHis Chosen Ones, 231.\n\nHis Monument, 35.\n\nHis Ways, 159.\n\nHoly Habits, 260.\n\nHonor All Men, 70.\n\nHour of Prayer, The, 123.\n\nHours, The, 256.\n\nHouse by the Side of the Road, The, 66.\n\nHow Did You Die? 5.\n\nHow Doth Death Speak of Our Beloved? 72\n\nHow to Judge, 69.\n\nHow We Learn, 153.\n\nHumble Heart, A, 98.\n\nHumility, 99.\n\nHymn of the City, 76.\n\n\nI Am Content, 107.\n\nI Asked the Lord that I Might Grow, 151.\n\nI Can Trust, 188.\n\nI Do Not Ask, O Lord, 156.\n\nIf I Him but Have, 230.\n\nIf I Should Die To-night, 67.\n\nIf the Lord Should Come, 229.\n\nIf Thou Could'st Know, 154.\n\nIf We Believed, 185.\n\nIf We Could Only See, 59.\n\nIf We Knew, 70.\n\nI in Thee and Thou in Me, 84.\n\nI Know Not if the Dark or Bright, 187.\n\nI Love Thy Will, 218.\n\nImaginary Evils, 175.\n\nImmanence, 232.\n\nImmanuel's Land, 274.\n\nIndwelling, 118.\n\nInevitable, The, 1.\n\nInfluence, 77.\n\nIn Him Confiding, 193.\n\nIn Myself, 25.\n\nInner Calm, The, 93.\n\nInquiry, The, 96.\n\n\"Into Thy Hands,\" 80.\n\nInvitation to Prayer, An, 133.\n\nIo Victis, 30.\n\nI Pack My Trunk, 258.\n\nI Resolve, 25.\n\nI Shall Not Want, 194.\n\nIs Life Worth Living? 253.\n\nIs Your Lamp Burning? 66.\n\n\"It is More Blessed,\" 52.\n\n\"It is Toward Evening,\" 245.\n\nIt Might Have Been, 110.\n\nIt Passeth Knowledge, 239.\n\nI've Found a Joy in Sorrow, 240.\n\n\"I Will Abide in Thine House,\" 204\n\nI Will Not Seek, 97.\n\nI Will Trust, 187.\n\nI Would Live Longer, 269.\n\nI Wouldn't, 111.\n\n\nJesu, 241.\n\nJesus All-Sufficient, 238.\n\nJesus, I Love Thee, 240.\n\nJesus My God and My All, 242.\n\nJesus on the Sea, 243.\n\nJesus Our Joy, 236.\n\nJesus Supreme, 238.\n\nJewel, The, 112.\n\nJohn and Jesus, 167.\n\nJudge Not, 68.\n\nJust as God Leads, 104.\n\nJust for To-day, 255.\n\nJust One Day, 256.\n\nJustice, 261.\n\nJustice Only, 46.\n\n\nKept in Perfect Peace, 89.\n\nKindness, 70.\n\nKing of Love, The, 247.\n\nKingdom of God, The, 164.\n\nKnowledge and Wisdom, 95.\n\n\nLadder of St. Augustine, The, 41.\n\nLancashire Doxology, A, 142.\n\nLa Rochelle, 153.\n\nLarger Hope, The, 172.\n\nLarger View, The, 222.\n\nLast Prayer, A, 95.\n\nLast Wish, The, 79.\n\nLaus Deo, 100.\n\nLaus Mortis, 274.\n\nLead On, O Lord, 122.\n\nLeaving All, 83.\n\nLength of Days, 254.\n\nLength of Life, The, 253.\n\nLet Us See Jesus, 243.\n\nLiberty, 44.\n\nLife, 276.\n\nLife and Death, 2.\n\nLife Hid with Christ, A, 134.\n\nLife I Seek, The, 71.\n\nLife's Mirror, 257.\n\nLight, 137.\n\nListening for God, 229.\n\nLittle Parable, A, 155.\n\nLittle Talk with Jesus, A, 235.\n\nLonely Service, 63.\n\nLonging, 119.\n\nLooking for Pearls, 73.\n\nLooking unto God, 178.\n\nLord of Himself, 22.\n\nLord will Provide, The, 184.\n\nLord's Appointment, The, 190.\n\nLord's Leading, The, 182.\n\nLord's Provision, The, 183.\n\nLosing Side, The, 30.\n\nLove, 163.\n\nLove and Light, 168.\n\nLove Counteth Not the Cost, 168.\n\nLove--Joy, 242.\n\nLove of God, The, 164.\n\nLove of Home, 168.\n\nLove that Passeth Knowledge, The, 165.\n\nLove's Fulfilling, 163.\n\nLowly Heart, A, 95.\n\nLoyalty, 44.\n\nLuther, 6.\n\n\nMadame Lofty, 108.\n\nMade Perfect Through Suffering, 149.\n\nMake Haste, O Man! to Live, 260.\n\nMake Thy Way Mine, 197.\n\nMan, 227.\n\nManna, 111.\n\nMan's a Man for A' That, A, 24.\n\nMan with a Grudge, The, 78.\n\nMartha, 54.\n\nMartha or Mary, 53.\n\nMartyrs, The, 6.\n\nMary of Bethany, 130.\n\nMaster's Touch, The, 151.\n\nMaxims, 32.\n\nMeaning of Prayer, 128.\n\nMeekness of Moses, 100.\n\nMencius, 37.\n\nMoment by Moment, 206.\n\nMoment in the Morning, A, 133.\n\nMoral Cosmetics, 254.\n\nMore and More, 115.\n\nMore Holiness, 119.\n\nMorning, 255.\n\nMorning Hymn, 80.\n\nMorning Star, The, 175.\n\nMorning Thought, A, 267.\n\nMy Cross, 154.\n\nMy Guide, 183.\n\nMy Heart is Fixed, 233.\n\nMy Heart is Resting, 89.\n\nMy Lord and I, 237.\n\nMy Prayer, 128.\n\nMy Psalm, 197.\n\nMy Service, 58.\n\n\"My Soul Doth Magnify the Lord,\" 120.\n\nMy Task, 51.\n\nMy Times are in Thy Hand, 189.\n\nMysterious Way, The, 203.\n\n\nNearest Duty, The, 45.\n\nNever Say Fail, 19.\n\nNew Era, The, 73.\n\nNew Every Morning, 173.\n\n\"New Logion,\" The, 62.\n\nNo Cares, 195.\n\nNo Enemies, 18.\n\nNo Fear, 190.\n\nNo Fears, 193.\n\nNobility of Goodness, The, 30.\n\nNoble Army of Martyrs Praise Thee, 2.\n\nNoble Deeds, 12.\n\nNoble Lives, 29.\n\nNoblesse Oblige, 10.\n\nNobly Born, The, 35.\n\nNot a Sound Invades the Stillness, 126.\n\nNot by Chance, 216.\n\nNot Knowing, 192.\n\nNot Lost, 57.\n\nNot Mine, 98.\n\nNot Now, but Then, 268.\n\nNot Yet Prepared, 96.\n\nNothing to Wish or to Fear, 235.\n\nNow, 256.\n\n\nO for a Perfect Trust, 195.\n\nO God of Truth, 81.\n\nO Jesus Christ, Grow Thou in Me, 117.\n\nObscure Martyrs, 34.\n\nOde to Duty, 41.\n\nOffering, The, 84.\n\nOld Latin Hymn, A, 277.\n\nOld Stoic, The, 23.\n\nOmnipresence, 221.\n\nOn Second Thought, 272.\n\nOn the Eve of Departure, 269.\n\nOn Thee My Heart is Resting, 85.\n\nOne Day's Service, 252.\n\nOne Path to Light, 59.\n\nOne Talent, 45.\n\nOne Talent, The, 45.\n\nOne Thing Needful, The, 177.\n\nOnly, 61.\n\nOnly a Little, 64.\n\nOnly Love, 167.\n\nOnly One Way, 20.\n\nOnly Solace, The, 155.\n\nOnly To-day, 83.\n\nOpen Thou Our Eyes, 227.\n\nOpportunity, 261.\n\nOpportunity Improved, 261.\n\nOpportunity Renewed, 259.\n\nOur Burden-Bearer, 137.\n\nOur Heavenly Father, 225.\n\nOur Heroes, 10.\n\nOur Home Above, 270.\n\nOur Master, 233.\n\nOur Rock, 247.\n\nOur Two Gifts, 276.\n\nOut of Touch, 131.\n\n\nPass it On, 58.\n\nPatience of Jesus, 241.\n\nPaul at Melita, 64.\n\nPeace of God, The, 88.\n\nPeaceable Fruit, 152.\n\nPerfect Faith, A, 180.\n\nPerfect Peace, 90.\n\nPerfect Through Suffering, 155.\n\nPessimist and Optimist, 146.\n\nPetition, 124.\n\nPharisee and Publican, 133.\n\nPicture of a Happy Man, The, 139.\n\nPlace with Him, A, 16.\n\nPluck, 20.\n\nPluck Wins, 19.\n\nPoem of the Universe, The, 33.\n\nPower of Prayer, The, 129.\n\nPraise, 140.\n\nPraise Deprecated, 99.\n\nPraise Waiteth for Thee, 146.\n\nPray Always, 135.\n\nPrayer, 127.\n\nPrayer, A, 118.\n\nPrayer for Strength, A, 136.\n\nPrayer its Own Answer, 130.\n\nPrayer of Deeds, 127.\n\nPrayer to the God of Nature, A, 116.\n\nPrayer's Grace, 218.\n\nPreciousness of Christ, 235.\n\nPresence, The, 226.\n\nPresent Crisis, The, 18.\n\nPresent Saviour, A, 224.\n\nPressing toward the Mark, 87.\n\nProem, 262.\n\nProgress, 174.\n\nPromised Land--To-morrow, 170.\n\nProspice (Look Forward), 270.\n\nProvidence, 203.\n\nPurpose True, A, 121.\n\n\nQuiet Heart, A, 91.\n\nQuiet Mind, The, 89.\n\n\nRabia, 218.\n\nReady, 271.\n\nRecessional, 96.\n\nRedeeming the Time, 254.\n\nRed Planet Mars, 2.\n\nReformer, The, 2.\n\nReligion and Doctrine, 23.\n\nReligious Differences, 184.\n\nReligious Infidels, 197.\n\nResignation, 149.\n\nResponsibility for Talents, 46.\n\nRest, 92.\n\nResting in God, 187.\n\nRest Where You Are, 91.\n\nRetrospection, 252.\n\nReward of Faithfulness, 42.\n\nRiches, 263.\n\nRiches and Power, 109.\n\nRidiculous Optimist, The, 140.\n\nRight Must Win, The, 170.\n\nRing, Happy Bells, 140.\n\nRobert Browning's Message, 3.\n\nRobin's Song, The, 148.\n\nRoundel, 220.\n\nRound of the Wheel, The, 265.\n\nRules for Daily Life, 225.\n\n\nSacrifice of the Will, The, 81.\n\nSaintship, 227.\n\nSaved to Serve, 52.\n\nScatter Sunshine, 141.\n\nSealed, 242.\n\nSecret of a Happy Day, The, 138.\n\nSecret of His Presence, The, 221.\n\nSecret Place, The, 190.\n\nSecret Prayer, 124.\n\nSeedtime, 61.\n\nSeeing Jesus, 239.\n\nSelf, 101.\n\nSelf-examination, 228.\n\nSelfish Prayer, 134.\n\nSelf-surrender, 86.\n\nSensitiveness, 15.\n\nServe God and Be Cheerful, 143.\n\nService, 54.\n\nShadow of the Great Rock, The, 217.\n\nShared, 74.\n\nShare Your Blessings, 63.\n\nShe Brought her Box of Alabaster, 240.\n\n\"Show Me Thy Face,\" 228.\n\nShrinking Prayer, A, 120.\n\n\"Silver Cord is Loosed,\" The, 273.\n\nSilver Lining, The, 173.\n\nSimple Faith, 267.\n\nSimple Trust, 194.\n\nSince First Thy Word Awaked My Heart, 86.\n\nSingle Stitch, A, 47.\n\nSit Still, 88.\n\nSmall Beginnings, 50.\n\nSocial Christianity, 75.\n\nSome Rules of Life, 258.\n\nSomething You Can Do, 61.\n\n\"Sometime,\" 191.\n\nSometime, Somewhere, 124.\n\nSong of a Heathen, The, 244.\n\nSong of Love, A, 244.\n\nSong of Low Degree, A, 96.\n\nSong of Solace, A, 160.\n\nSong of Trust, A, 196.\n\nSong--Sermon, 159.\n\nSource of Power, The, 128.\n\nSower, The, 156.\n\nSowing Joy, 141.\n\nSparrow, The, 200.\n\nSpeak Out, 77.\n\nSpiritual Devotion, 127.\n\n\"Splendor of God's Will, The,\" 215.\n\nSplit Pearls, The, 166.\n\nSteps of Faith, The, 183.\n\nStill Hope! Still Act, 158.\n\nStrange Boon, A, 158.\n\nStrength, 16.\n\nStrength for To-day, 255.\n\nStronger Faith, A, 180.\n\nStruggle, The, 277.\n\nSubmission, 219.\n\nSubmission and Rest, 136.\n\nSubmission to God, 216.\n\nSummer and Winter, 54.\n\nSunday, 127.\n\nSure Refuge, The, 201.\n\nSweet Content, 104.\n\nSweet Promises, 247.\n\nSympathetic Love, 168.\n\n\nTake Away Pain, 160.\n\nTake Time to be Holy, 136.\n\nTalhairn's Prayer, 137.\n\nTalking with God, 128.\n\nTeach Me the Truth, 8.\n\nTeach Me to Live, 260.\n\nTell Him So, 77.\n\n\"Tell Jesus,\" 246.\n\nTell Me About the Master, 241.\n\nTenant, The, 275.\n\nThalassa! Thalassa! 271.\n\nThanks, 144.\n\nThanks for Pain, 139.\n\nThanksgiving, 140.\n\nThat I May Soar, 120.\n\nThere is No Death, 269.\n\nThey Shall Not Overflow, 158.\n\nThings I Miss, The, 106.\n\nThink Gently of the Erring, 68.\n\nThou Knowest, 205.\n\n\"Thou Maintainest My Lot,\" 151.\n\nThou Sweet, Beloved Will of God, 211.\n\nThought, A, 35.\n\nThought of God, The, 224.\n\nThree Days, 261.\n\nThree Friends, The, 277.\n\nThree Lessons, 175.\n\nThree Stages of Piety, 218.\n\nThy Allotment, 113.\n\nThy Best, 34.\n\nThy Brother, 71.\n\n\"Thy Labor is Not in Vain,\" 55.\n\nThy Loving Kindness, 143.\n\nThy Will, 217.\n\nThy Will Be Done, 216.\n\nTime for Prayer, The, 126.\n\nTo a Reformer, 8.\n\nTo-day, 256.\n\nTo Faith, 185.\n\nToil a Blessing, 61.\n\n\"To Know All is to Forgive All,\" 69.\n\nToo Much Self, 157.\n\nTo Our Beloved, 275.\n\nTo Thee, 245.\n\nTo Thine Own Self Be True, 22.\n\nTo Truth, 10.\n\nTouch, The, 236.\n\nTree God Plants, The, 210.\n\nTrifles That Make Saints, 48.\n\nTriumph of the Martyrs, 11.\n\nTriumphing in Others, 97.\n\nTrue Greatness, 37.\n\nTrue Hero, A, 13.\n\nTrue King, The, 31.\n\nTrue Prayer, 129.\n\nTruly Rich, The, 112.\n\nTrust, 191.\n\nTrust in God, 193.\n\nTrust in God and Do the Right, 18.\n\nTrusting God, 193.\n\nTruth, 8.\n\nTruth and Falsehood, 4.\n\nTurn from Self, 99.\n\nTwo Angels, The, 213.\n\nTwo Pictures, 103.\n\nTwo Religions, The, 134.\n\nTwo Worlds, The, 86.\n\n\nUncharitableness Not Christian, 74.\n\nUnconquered, 23.\n\nUnfailing Friend, The, 244.\n\nUnion with God, 82.\n\nUniversal Prayer, The, 123.\n\nUnwasted Days, 48.\n\nUphill, 272.\n\nUseful According to God's Will, 212.\n\n\nValley of Silence, The, 132.\n\nVeiled Future, The, 174.\n\nVia Crucis, Via Lucis, 142.\n\nVictory, The, 12.\n\nVoice Calling, The, 272.\n\nVoice of Piety, The, 68.\n\n\nWait on God, 185.\n\nWaiting, 171.\n\nWaking, 50.\n\nWaking Thoughts, 63.\n\nWalking with God, 131.\n\nWalking with Jesus, 116.\n\nWanted, 22.\n\nWeapons, 78.\n\nWe Defer Things, 264.\n\nWe Give All, 86.\n\nWelcome the Shadows, 113.\n\nWe Long to See Jesus, 246.\n\nWe Shall Know, 183.\n\nWe Will Praise Thee, 145.\n\nWe Would See Jesus, 248.\n\nWhat Christ Said, 58.\n\nWhat Does it Matter? 33.\n\nWhat is Death? 272.\n\nWhat is Prayer? 127.\n\nWhat Makes a Hero? 7.\n\nWhat Man is There of You? 125.\n\nWhat Might be Done, 74.\n\nWhat Pleaseth God, 215.\n\nWhat Redress, 167.\n\nWhat She Could, 48.\n\nWhen I Am Weak then Am I Strong, 97.\n\nWhen I Have Time, 257.\n\nWhen You Do an Act, 59.\n\nWho Bides His Time, 105.\n\nWholly the Lord's, 79.\n\nWhom Have I in Heaven but Thee? 85.\n\nWhy Do I Live? 250.\n\nWhy Not? 242.\n\nWidow's Oil, The, 167.\n\nWill, 11.\n\nWill Divine, The, 209.\n\nWill of God, The, 209.\n\nWind that Blows, that Wind is Best, The, 108.\n\nWisdom of Discipline, 188.\n\nWithout and Within, 114.\n\nWithout Haste and Without Rest, 250.\n\nWith Self Dissatisfied, 157.\n\nWorker's Prayer, A, 135.\n\nWorking with Christ, 62.\n\nWork Loyally, 44.\n\nWorldly Place, 12.\n\nWorth While, 11.\n\n\n\"Your Heavenly Father Knoweth,\" 202.\n\nYour Mission, 59.\n\nYouth's Warning, 219.\n\n\nZeal in Labor, 43.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO FIRST LINES\n\n\nA certain wise man deeply versed, 53.\n\n\"A commonplace life,\" we say, 100.\n\nA faith that shines by night and day, 186.\n\nA gem which falls within the mire, 38.\n\nA governed heart, thinking, 232.\n\nA happy lot must sure be his, 259.\n\nA jewel is a jewel still, 40.\n\nA kindly act is a kernel sown, 78.\n\nA little bird I am, 82.\n\nA little bit of hope, 176.\n\nA little talk with Jesus, 235.\n\nA little word in kindness spoken, 70.\n\n\"A man's a man,\" says Robert Burns, 24.\n\nA man's higher being is knowing, 122.\n\nA mind from every evil thought, 94.\n\nA mighty fortress is our God, 66.\n\nA moment in the morning, ere the cares, 133.\n\nA pilgrim, bound to Mecca, 114.\n\nA pious friend of Rabia one day, 265.\n\nA Sower went forth to sow, 156.\n\nA sprig of mint by the wayward brook, 111.\n\nA stone makes not great rivers turbid grow, 94.\n\nA tone of pride or petulance repressed, 48.\n\nA traveler through a dusty road, 50.\n\nA voice by Jordan's shore, 167.\n\nA woman sat by a hearthside place, 134.\n\nA worthy man of Paris town, 153.\n\nAbide with me, O Christ, 245.\n\nAbide with us, O wondrous Lord, 268.\n\nAbundance is the blessing of the wise, 263.\n\nAgain, O God, the night shuts down, 144.\n\nAh, a man's reach should exceed, 40.\n\nAh! don't be sorrowful, 268.\n\nAh, God! I have not had thee, 177.\n\nAh! grand is the world's work, 54.\n\nAh, how skillful grows the hand, 164.\n\nAh, yes! I would a phoenix be, 169.\n\nAh, yes! the task is hard, 46.\n\n\"Allah, Allah!\" cried the sick man, 130.\n\n\"Allah!\" was all night long, 130.\n\nAll are architects of Fate, 251.\n\nAll are but parts of one stupendous, 225.\n\nAll as God wills, who, 197.\n\nAll goeth but God's will, 217.\n\nAll habits gather by unseen degrees, 266.\n\nAll is of God! If he but wave, 213.\n\nAll service ranks the same with God, 64.\n\nAll's for the best; be sanguine, 181.\n\nAmong so many can He care, 204.\n\nAn age so blest that, by its side, 268.\n\nAn angel came from the courts of gold, 47.\n\nAn easy thing, O Power divine, 106.\n\nAn old farm house with meadows wide, 103.\n\nAnd all is well, though faith and form, 186.\n\n\"And do the hours step fast or slow, 48.\n\nAnd, for success, I ask no more, 35.\n\nAnd good may ever conquer ill, 232.\n\nAnd he drew near and talked with them, 227.\n\nAnd now we only ask to serve, 86.\n\nAnd only the Master shall praise us, 39.\n\nAnd see all sights from pole to pole, 266.\n\nAnd, since we needs must hunger, 262.\n\nAnd some innative weakness, 27.\n\nAnd they who do their souls no wrong, 93.\n\nAnother day God gives me, 63.\n\nAnywhere with Jesus, 246.\n\nAre your sorrows hard to bear, 253.\n\nAround my path life's mysteries, 181.\n\nAround the man who seeks a noble end, 3.\n\nArt thou afraid his power shall fail, 184.\n\nArt thou in misery, brother? 264.\n\nArt thou little? Do thy little well, 45.\n\nArt thou weary, tender heart, 161.\n\nAs a bird in meadows fair, 147.\n\nAs by the light of opening day, 249.\n\nAs flows the river calm and deep, 93.\n\nAs God leads me will I go, 201.\n\nAs I lay sick upon my bed, 275.\n\nAs on a window late I cast mine eyes, 242.\n\nAs running water cleanseth bodies, 94.\n\nAs the bird trims her to the gale, 7.\n\nAs yonder tower outstretches to the earth, 185.\n\nAsked and unasked, thy heavenly gifts, 129.\n\nAspire, break bounds, I say, 34.\n\nAt cool of day with God I walk, 226.\n\nAt end of love, at end of life, 271.\n\nAt sixty-two life has begun, 268.\n\nAt the midnight, in the silence, 269.\n\nAt thirty man suspects himself, 263.\n\nAway, my needless fears, 189.\n\nAway! my unbelieving fear, 147.\n\n\nBanish far from me all I love, 155.\n\n\"Be all at rest, my soul,\" 91.\n\nBe calm in arguing; for, 94.\n\nBe firm. One constant element in luck, 20.\n\nBe it health or be it leisure, 57.\n\nBe like the bird that, halting in her flight, 198.\n\nBe never discouraged, 19.\n\nBe no imitator; freshly act thy part, 27.\n\nBe noble! and the nobleness, 40.\n\nBe not afraid to pray, 124.\n\nBe not too proud of good deeds, 46.\n\nBe not too ready to condemn, 102.\n\nBe patient; keep thy life work, 198.\n\nBe still, sad heart! and cease repining, 114.\n\nBe strong to hope, O heart, 16.\n\nBe thou a poor man and a just, 266.\n\nBe thou content; be still before, 111.\n\nBe thou supreme, Lord Jesus, 238.\n\nBe trustful, be steadfast, 143.\n\nBe useful where thou livest, 64.\n\nBe with me, Lord, where'er, 122.\n\nBear a lily in thy hand, 47.\n\nBear up, bear on, the end shall tell, 189.\n\nBeautiful faces are those that wear, 250.\n\nBecause I hold it sinful to despond, 15.\n\nBecause I seek thee not O seek thou me, 133.\n\nBefore God's footstool, 34.\n\nBefore the eyes of men let duty shine, 95.\n\nBefore the monstrous wrong he sets him down, 2.\n\nBegin the day with God, 225.\n\nBegone, unbelief, my Saviour is near, 185.\n\nBehind him lay the gray Azores, 5.\n\nBeing perplexed, I say, 128.\n\nBelieve not each accusing tongue, 76.\n\nBeneath the tiger's jaw I heard, 147.\n\nBeside thy gracious hearth, 185.\n\nBetter have failed in the high aim, 40.\n\nBetter than grandeur, better than gold, 32.\n\nBetter to have the poet's heart, 117.\n\nBetter to smell the violet cool, 253.\n\nBetter to stem with heart and hand, 8.\n\nBetter trust all and be deceived, 198.\n\nBeware, exulting youth, 219.\n\nBlessed are they who die for God, 8.\n\nBlest is the faith divine and strong, 181.\n\n\"Body, I pray you, let me go,\" 277.\n\nBoth swords and guns are strong, 78.\n\nBravely to do whate'er the time demands, 13.\n\nBreak forth, my lips, in praise, 141.\n\nBreathe on me, Breath of, 121.\n\nBuild a little fence of trust, 198.\n\nBury thy sorrow, 145.\n\nBut all God's angels come to us, 161.\n\nBut God is never so far off, 223.\n\nBut that thou art my wisdom, 219.\n\nBut where will God be absent, 232.\n\nBy all means use some time, 228.\n\nBy Nebo's lonely mountain, 36.\n\nBy thine own soul's law learn to live, 22.\n\n\nCalm me, my God, and keep me calm, 93.\n\nCalm Soul of all things, 93.\n\nCare Thou for me! Let me not care, 200.\n\nCatch, then, O catch the transient hour, 266.\n\nChrist wants the best, 98.\n\nCleon has a million acres, 109.\n\nCome to me, Come to me, 230.\n\nCome to the morning prayer, 133.\n\nCome to us, Lord, as the day light comes, 231.\n\nComes a message from above, 168.\n\nCommit thy way to God, 172.\n\nContent that God's decree, 110.\n\nCould we with ink the ocean fill, 164.\n\nCouldst thou boast, O child, of weakness, 68.\n\nCount each affliction, whether light or grave, 159.\n\nCourage, brother, do not slumber, 18.\n\n\nDance, O my soul! 'tis God doth play, 208.\n\nDare to be true; nothing can need a lie, 21.\n\nDare to do right! Dare to be true, 19.\n\nDare to think, though others frown, 15.\n\nDay by day the manna fell, 112.\n\nDear is my friend, but my foe too, 263.\n\nDeep at the heart of all our pain, 210.\n\nDid you tackle that trouble, 5.\n\nDig channels for the streams of love, 63.\n\nDiving, and finding no pearls, 266.\n\nDo I not love thee, Lord most high, 87.\n\nDo not I love thee, O my Lord, 249.\n\nDo thy duty; that is best, 49.\n\nDo thy little; do it well, 20.\n\nDoes the road wind uphill, 272.\n\nDon't lose Courage! Spirit brave, 105.\n\nDon't think your lot the worst, 114.\n\nDon't you trouble trouble till, 202.\n\nDoubting Thomas and loving John, 14.\n\nDrop thy still dews of quietness, 93.\n\nDwell deep! The little things, 87.\n\n\nEach moment holy is, for, 263.\n\nEarth's crammed with heaven, 231.\n\nEmir Hassan, of the prophet's race, 37.\n\nEncamped along the hills of light, 184.\n\nEnough to know that through the winter's frost, 78.\n\n\"Even in a palace, life may be led well,\" 12.\n\nEver, when tempted, make me see, 237.\n\nEvery day is a fresh beginning, 173.\n\nEvery hour that fleets so, 122.\n\nEverywhere with Jesus, 248.\n\nEyeservice let me give, 221.\n\n\nFair is the soul, rare is the soul, 181.\n\nFairest Lord Jesus! 249.\n\nFaith fails; Then in the, 178.\n\nFaith, Hope and Love were questioned, 164.\n\nFaith is a grasping of Almighty power, 185.\n\nFaithfully faithful to every trust, 49.\n\nFar better in its place the lowliest bird, 39.\n\nFar off thou art, but ever nigh, 231.\n\nFather, before thy footstool kneeling, 136.\n\nFather, hold Thou my hand, 197.\n\nFather, I know that all my, 103.\n\nFather, I scarcely dare to pray, 95.\n\nFather, in thy mysterious presence, 97.\n\nFather of all! in every age, 123.\n\nFather, take not away the burden, 93.\n\nFear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, 270.\n\nFear him, ye saints, 220.\n\nFearest the shadow? Keep thy trust, 274.\n\nFill, brief or long, my granted years, 268.\n\nFind out what God would have you do, 49.\n\nFlower in the crannied wall, 102.\n\nFlung to the heedless winds, 6.\n\nFor age is opportunity no less, 268.\n\nFor all the evils under the sun, 144.\n\nFor all the sins that cling to thee, 86.\n\nFor I am 'ware it is the seed of act, 33.\n\nFor, lo! in hidden deep accord, 169.\n\nFor never land long lease of empire won, 40.\n\nFor others' sake to make life sweet, 169.\n\nFor some the narrow lane of must, 166.\n\nFor strength we ask, 53.\n\nFor what is age but youth's, 268.\n\nForenoon and afternoon and, 258.\n\nForever, from the hand that takes, 208.\n\nForever in their Lord abiding, 190.\n\nForget the past and live the present hour, 256.\n\nForgive us, Lord, our little faith, 177.\n\nFour things a man must learn to do, 263.\n\nFret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear, 192.\n\nFrom an old English parsonage, 42.\n\nFrom cellar unto attic all is clear, 226.\n\nFrom our ill-ordered hearts, 94.\n\n\nGet leave to work in this world, 64.\n\nGive! as the morning that flows out of heaven, 52.\n\nGive me heart touch with all that live, 39.\n\nGive me, O Lord, a heart of grace, 120.\n\nGive me this day a little work, 122.\n\nGive to the winds thy fears, 193.\n\nGive what thou canst, 108.\n\nGlory to God--to God! he saith, 158.\n\nGod answers prayer, 135.\n\nGod asks not, To what, 266.\n\nGod gave me something very sweet, 65.\n\nGod give us men! A time, 22.\n\nGod gives each man one life, 72.\n\nGod gives to man the power, 220.\n\nGod has his best things for the few, 21.\n\nGod holds the key of all unknown, 208.\n\nGod is enough! thou, who in hope and fear, 112.\n\nGod is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice, 232.\n\nGod is near thee, Christian; cheer thee, 146.\n\nGod knows--not I--the devious way, 182.\n\nGod means us to be happy, 138.\n\nGod moves in a mysterious, 203.\n\nGod never would send you the darkness, 155.\n\nGod sees me though I see him not, 208.\n\nGod of our fathers, known, 96.\n\nGod of the roadside weed, 116.\n\nGod works in all things, 176.\n\nGod's in his heaven, 214.\n\nGod's spirit falls on me as dew, 222.\n\nGo, labor on; spend and be spent, 43.\n\nGo not far from me, O my Strength, 150.\n\nGo when the morning shineth, 135.\n\nGolden gleams of noonday fell, 60.\n\nGood name in man and woman, dear my lord, 38.\n\nGood striving Brings thriving, 94.\n\nGrant me, O Lord, thy merciful protection, 137.\n\nGrant us, O God, in love to thee, 186.\n\nGrant us thy peace down from thy presence falling, 92.\n\nGreat God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf, 120.\n\nGreat Jehovah! we will praise, 145.\n\nGreat Master! teach us how to hope, 70.\n\nGreat men grow greater, 37.\n\nGreat truths are dearly bought, 153.\n\nGreatly begin! though thou have time, 35.\n\nGrow old along with me, 3.\n\n\nHabits are soon assumed, 266.\n\nHalf feeling our own weakness, 97.\n\nHappy the man, and happy he alone, 262.\n\nHappy the man, of mortals happiest he, 103.\n\nHark! the voice of Jesus calling, 61.\n\nHave faith in God! for he who reigns, 179.\n\nHave Hope! it is the brightest star, 171.\n\nHave I learned, in whatsoever, 110.\n\nHave you found your life distasteful, 182.\n\nHave you had a kindness shown, 58.\n\nHe built a house, time laid it in the dust, 35.\n\nHe cast his net at morn, 34.\n\nHe did God's will, to him all one, 208.\n\nHe doth good work whose heart can find, 65.\n\nHe fails never, 93.\n\nHe fails who climbs to power and place, 33.\n\nHe fought a thousand glorious wars, 39.\n\nHe growled at morning, noon, and night, 148.\n\nHe has done the work of a true man, 1.\n\nHe has no enemies, you say? 18.\n\nHe is brave whose tongue is silent, 30.\n\nHe is one to whom Long patience, 102.\n\nHe knows, he loves, he cares, 208.\n\nHe leads us on by paths we did not know, 202.\n\nHe liveth long who liveth well, 254.\n\nHe makes no friend who never made a foe, 31.\n\nHe prayeth well who loveth well, 130.\n\nHe sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, 214.\n\nHe stood before the Sanhedrim, 23.\n\nHe stood, the youth they called the Beautiful, 37.\n\nHe that feeds men serveth few, 20.\n\nHe that holds fast the golden mean, 114.\n\nHe that is down need fear no fall, 96.\n\nHe that would free from malice, 40.\n\nHe took them from me, one by one, 154.\n\n\"He touched her hand, and the fever left her,\" 236.\n\nHe walked with God, by faith, in solitude, 135.\n\nHe was better to me than all my fears, 252.\n\nHe who ascends to mountain tops, 38.\n\nHe's true to God, who's true, 62.\n\nHearts that are great beat never loud, 35.\n\nHeaven above is softer blue, 232.\n\nHeaven is not always angry, 162.\n\nHeaven is not reached by a single bound, 115.\n\nHeavier the cross the stronger faith, 153.\n\nHelmet and plume and saber, 30.\n\nHer eyes are homes of silent prayer, 130.\n\nHide not thy talent in the earth, 45.\n\nHigh above fate I dwell, 22.\n\nHigh hopes that burned like stars, 170.\n\nHis courtiers of the caliph crave, 166.\n\nHis name yields the richest perfume, 235.\n\nHome they brought her warrior dead, 152.\n\nHonor and shame from no condition rise, 39.\n\nHope, child, to-morrow and to-morrow still, 176.\n\nHope, Christian soul! in every stage, 176.\n\nHow blest is he, though ever crossed, 139.\n\nHow does the soul grow? 263.\n\nHow doth death speak of our beloved, 72.\n\nHow far from here to heaven, 277.\n\nHow gentle God's commands, 205.\n\nHow happy is he born and taught, 22.\n\nHow many chatterers of a creed, 197.\n\nHow seldom, friends, a good great man, 33.\n\n\"How shall I a habit break,\" 259.\n\nHow we, poor players on life's stage, 134.\n\nHow wretched is the man with honors crowned, 39.\n\nHowe'er it be, it seems to me, 39.\n\nHowever others act towards thee, 27.\n\nHowever the battle is ended, 20.\n\nHumble we must be if to heaven we go, 98.\n\nHumility, that low, sweet root, 100.\n\nHushing every muttered murmur, 110.\n\n\nI am but clay in thy hands, 84.\n\nI am content; I do not care, 106.\n\nI am content. In trumpet, 107.\n\nI am glad to think I am not bound, 187.\n\nI am Liberty--God's daughter, 44.\n\nI am of sinfulness and sorrows full, 183.\n\nI am only a little sparrow, 200.\n\nI am part of that Power, 208.\n\nI am so weak, dear Lord, 109.\n\nI am thine own, O Christ, 242.\n\nI am with thee, my God, 228.\n\nI asked for grace to lift me high, 159.\n\nI asked the Lord that I might grow, 151.\n\nI asked the Lord that I might worthier be, 56.\n\nI asked the Lord to let me do, 58.\n\nI bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent, 149.\n\nI bow my forehead to the dust, 177.\n\nI bring my sins to thee, 245.\n\nI cannot always see the way, 196.\n\nI cannot choose; I should have liked so much, 53.\n\n\"I cannot do much,\" said a little star, 44.\n\nI cannot say, Beneath the pressure of life's cares, 213.\n\nI cannot see, with my small human sight, 188.\n\nI cannot think but God must know, 97.\n\nI could not find the little maid, 112.\n\nI do not ask for any crown, 25.\n\nI do not ask for earthly store, 179.\n\nI do not ask, O Lord, that life, 156.\n\nI do not ask that Thou shalt front the fray, 21.\n\nI do not know thy final will, 220.\n\nI do not know whether my future lies, 199.\n\nI do not know why sin abounds, 194.\n\nI feel within me A peace, 94.\n\nI find no foeman in the road but fear, 18.\n\nI go to prove my soul, 264.\n\nI have a Friend so precious, 237.\n\nI have a life with Christ to live, 134.\n\nI have a treasure which I prize, 89.\n\nI have done at length with dreaming, 50.\n\n\"I have labored in vain,\" a preacher said, 55.\n\nI have no answer, for myself or thee, 208.\n\nI have seen the face of Jesus, 239.\n\nI have thee every hour, 224.\n\nI hear it often in the dark, 229.\n\nI hear it singing, singing sweetly, 173.\n\nI hold him great who, for love's sake, 32.\n\nI hold it as a changeless law, 26.\n\nI hold it true, whate'er befall, 162.\n\nI hold it truth with him who sings, 162.\n\nI hold that, since by death alone, 274.\n\nI honor the man who is willing to sink, 21.\n\nI know no life divided, 190.\n\nI know not, and I would not know, 109.\n\nI know not if the dark or bright, 187.\n\nI know not if 'twas wise or well, 74\n\nI know not the way I am going, 183.\n\nI know not what shall befall me, 197.\n\nI know not what the future holds, 191.\n\nI know the Hand that is guiding me, 201.\n\nI know this earth is not my sphere, 120.\n\nI like the man who faces what he must, 1.\n\nI live for those who love me, 250.\n\nI'll not leave Jesus, 233.\n\nI'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way, 148.\n\nI look to Thee in every need, 178.\n\nI love, and have some cause, 85.\n\nI love my God, but with no love of mine, 131.\n\nI love thy skies, thy sunny mists, 220.\n\nI love thy will, O God, 218.\n\nI made the cross myself whose weight, 155.\n\nI met a child, and kissed it, 141.\n\nI often say my prayers, 126.\n\nI pray not that Men tremble, 102.\n\nI pray thee, Lord, that when it comes to me, 11.\n\nI pray you, do not use this thing, 167.\n\nI pray, with meek hands, 219.\n\nI preached as never sure to preach again, 87.\n\nI reach a duty yet I do it not, 48.\n\nI said it in the meadow path, 74.\n\nI said, \"Let me walk in the fields,\" 58.\n\nI saw a farmer plow his land, 263.\n\nI say it over and over, 190.\n\nI say to thee--do thou repeat, 164.\n\nI see the right and I approve, 266.\n\nI shall not want; in desert wilds, 194.\n\nI sing the hymn of the conquered, 30.\n\nI sit within my room and joy to find, 226.\n\nI slept, and dreamed that life was beauty, 49.\n\nI stand in the great Forever, 228.\n\nI stand upon the Mount, 90.\n\nI stand upon the summit of my life, 271.\n\nI thank thee, Lord, for mine unanswered prayers, 144.\n\nI thank thee, Lord, that all my joy, 161.\n\nI think, if thou couldst know, 154.\n\nI've found a joy in sorrow, 240.\n\nI've learned to prize the, 39.\n\nI walk down the Valley of Silence, 132.\n\nI want so many, many, 125.\n\nI welcome all Thy sovereign will, 198.\n\nI wonder if ever a song was, 96.\n\nI worship thee, sweet will of God, 209.\n\nI would be ready, Lord, 271.\n\nI would not ask thee that my days, 98.\n\nI would see Jesus. As I muse, 239.\n\nIdlers all day about the market place, 55.\n\nIdly as thou, in that old day, 174.\n\nIf any little word of mine, 75.\n\nIf every man's internal care, 114.\n\nIf God is mine then present things, 224.\n\nIf I could feel my hand, dear Lord, in thine 178.\n\nIf I could live to God for just one day, 256.\n\nIf I could only surely know, 206.\n\nIf I could see a brother, 74.\n\nIf I have faltered more or less, 151.\n\nIf I Him but have, 230.\n\nIf I knew you and you knew me, 69.\n\nIf I should die to-night, 67.\n\nIf I truly love the One, 164.\n\nIf I were dead I think that you, 265.\n\nIf I were told that I must die to-morrow, 214.\n\nIf Jesus came to earth again, 234.\n\nIf Jesus Christ is a man, 244.\n\nIf life's pleasures cheer thee, 247.\n\nIf no kindly thought or word, 54.\n\nIf none were sick and none were sad, 114.\n\nIf only he is mine, 238.\n\nIf suddenly upon the street, 163.\n\nIf the Lord should come in the morning, 229.\n\nIf the weather is cold don't scold, 148.\n\nIf the wren can cling to a spray, 198.\n\nIf this little world to-night, 262.\n\nIf thou art blest, Then let the sunshine, 102.\n\nIf thou canst plan a noble deed, 21.\n\nIf thou _hast_ something bring thy goods, 27.\n\nIf thou hast the gift of strength, 65.\n\nIf to Jesus for relief, 200.\n\nIf we believed we should, 185.\n\nIf we knew the cares and sorrows, 70.\n\nIf we sit down at set of sun, 54.\n\nIf washed in Jesus' blood, 249.\n\nIf when I kneel to pray, 125.\n\nIf you cannot on the ocean, 59.\n\nIf you have a friend worth having, 77.\n\nIf you have a word of cheer, 77.\n\nImmortal Love, forever full, 233.\n\nIn a napkin smooth and white, 45.\n\nIn a world where sorrow, 141.\n\nIn all I think or speak or do, 122.\n\nIn buds upon some Aaron's rod, 222.\n\nIn full and glad surrender, 81.\n\nIn heavenly love abiding, 90.\n\nIn humbleness, O Lord, I ask, 96.\n\nIn life's small things be resolute, 39.\n\n\"In pastures green?\" Not always, 160.\n\nIn proud humility a pious man, 99.\n\nIn silence mend what ills deform, 65.\n\nIn some way or other, 183.\n\nIn spite of sorrow, loss, and pain, 18.\n\nIn the deed that no man knoweth, 102.\n\nIn the floods of tribulation, 158.\n\nIn the hush of April weather, 272.\n\nIn the June twilight, 273.\n\nIn the pleasant orchard closes, 161.\n\nIn the secret of his presence, 221.\n\nIn the still air the music, 151.\n\nIn vain they smite me, 186.\n\nIn wise proportion does a fond hand mingle, 183.\n\nInto thy guiding hands, 80.\n\nIs it true, O Christ in, 161.\n\nIs life worth living? 253.\n\nIs the work difficult? 20.\n\nIs there for honest poverty, 24.\n\nIs thy cruse of comfort failing, 52.\n\nIt becomes no man to nurse despair, 27.\n\nIt is bad to have an empty purse, 261.\n\nIt is coming! it is coming, 73.\n\nIt is enough--Enough just to be good, 38.\n\nIt is faith, The feeling, 183.\n\nIt is Lucifer, The son, 220.\n\nIt is no use to grumble and, 216.\n\nIt is not death to die, 272.\n\nIt is not mine to run, 98.\n\nIt is not prayer, This clamor, 129.\n\nIt is not the deed we do, 163.\n\nIt is not the wall of stone without, 35.\n\nIt isn't the thing you do, 251.\n\nIt is the evening hour, 206.\n\nIt is worth while to live, 39.\n\nIt matters little where I was born, 33.\n\nIt passeth knowledge, that dear love of thine, 239.\n\nIt singeth low in every heart, 275.\n\nIt's wiser being good than bad, 176.\n\nIt takes great strength to train, 9.\n\nIt was not anything she said, 38.\n\nIt was only a blossom, 61.\n\nIt was only a sunny smile, 62.\n\nIt were not hard, we think, 59.\n\n\nJesu is in my heart, 241.\n\nJesus calls us; o'er the tumult, 249.\n\nJesus, I love thee, not because, 240.\n\nJesus, I my cross have taken, 83.\n\n\"Jesus saith,\" and His deep, 62.\n\nJesus, still lead on, 122.\n\nJesus, the calm that fills my breast, 248.\n\nJesus, the very thought, 235.\n\nJesus, these eyes have never seen, 245.\n\nJesus, thou Joy of loving, 236.\n\nJudge not; the workings of, 68.\n\n\"Judge the people by their actions,\" 69.\n\nJust as God leads me I would go, 104.\n\nJust to let thy Father do, 138.\n\nJust where you stand in the conflict, 44.\n\n\nKeep pure thy soul, 26.\n\nKeep pushing--'tis wiser than sitting aside, 19.\n\nKeep to the right, within and without, 23.\n\nKnow well, my soul, God's hand controls, 183.\n\nKnowing this, that never yet, 175.\n\nKnowing, what all experience serves to show, 26.\n\nKnowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 98.\n\n\nLabor with what zeal we will, 102.\n\nLaid on thine altar, O my Lord divine, 81.\n\nLeave God to order all thy ways, 189.\n\nLed by kindlier hand than ours, 110.\n\nLet come what will, I mean to bear, 39.\n\nLet him that loves his ease, 148.\n\nLet me not die before I've done for thee, 212.\n\nLet no one till his death Be called unhappy, 269.\n\nLet not your heart be troubled, 198.\n\nLet nothing disturb thee, 114.\n\nLet nothing make thee sad, 88.\n\nLet one more attest, 208.\n\nLet praise devote thy work, 100.\n\nLet the Loved One but smile, 231.\n\nLet thy sweet presence light my way, 224.\n\nLet to-morrow take care of to-morrow, 175.\n\nLet us be content in work, 114.\n\nLet us believe That there, 171.\n\nLet us cry, All good things, 148.\n\nLet us gather up the sunbeams, 148.\n\nLife-embarked, out at sea, 277.\n\nLife! I know not what, 276.\n\nLife is a burden; bear it, 252.\n\nLife is too short to waste, 263.\n\nLife's burdens fall, its discords cease, 88.\n\nLike a river glorious is God's perfect peace, 90.\n\nLike the star That shines afar, 255.\n\nLive while you live, the epicure would say, 261.\n\nLo here hath been dawning, 255.\n\nLook not beyond the stars for heaven, 65.\n\nLooking upward every, 117.\n\nLord, according to thy word, 199.\n\nLord and Father, great and holy, 167.\n\nLord, for the erring thought, 140.\n\nLord, for to-morrow and its, 255.\n\nLord, I delight in Thee, 195.\n\nLord, I have shut my door, 124.\n\nLord, in the strength of grace, 81.\n\nLord, let me not be too content, 120.\n\nLord, it belongs not to my care, 106.\n\nLord, make me quick to see, 121.\n\nLord of all being, throned afar, 221.\n\nLord, send thy light, 137.\n\nLord, shall we grumble when thy flame, 159.\n\nLord, speak to me, that I may speak, 135.\n\nLord, what a change within us, 129.\n\nLord, what is man, That thou, 159.\n\nLove that asketh love again, 165.\n\nLove took up the glass of time, 169.\n\n\nMake haste, O man! to live, 260.\n\nMake my mortal dreams, 122.\n\nMan in his life hath three good friends, 277.\n\nMan judges from a partial view, 78.\n\nMan's plea to man is that he nevermore, 137.\n\nMan was not made for forms, 25.\n\nManlike is it to fall into sin, 81.\n\nMaster of human destinies am I, 261.\n\nMay every soul that touches mine, 74.\n\nMechanic soul, thou must not only do, 65.\n\nMen lose their ships, the, eager things, 205.\n\nMethought that in a solemn church, 63.\n\nMore holiness give me, 119.\n\nMore things are wrought by prayer, 135.\n\nMoses, the patriot fierce, became, 100.\n\nMrs. Lofty keeps a carriage, 108.\n\nMy business is not to remake myself, 40.\n\nMy conscience is my crown, 104.\n\nMy fairest child, I have no song to give you, 30.\n\nMy God, how wonderful thou art, 225.\n\nMy God, I heard this day, 227.\n\nMy God, I thank thee who hast, 139.\n\nMy God, I would not live, 186.\n\nMy God, is any hour so sweet, 123.\n\nMy God, my Father, while I stray, 213.\n\nMy heart is resting, O my, 89.\n\nMy Jesus, as thou wilt, 212.\n\nMy mind to me a kingdom, 104.\n\nMy prayer to the promise shall cling, 177.\n\nMy proud foe at my hands, 137.\n\nMy Saviour, on the word of truth, 116.\n\nMy sins and follies, Lord, 99.\n\nMy sorrows have not been so light, 162.\n\nMy soul shall be a telescope, 120.\n\nMy soul was stirred; I prayed, 45.\n\nMy spirit on thy care, 192.\n\nMy time is short enough at best, 27.\n\n\"My times are in thy hand,\" 189.\n\nMy whole though broken heart, 79.\n\nMy will would like a life of ease, 80.\n\n\nNanac the faithful, pausing once to pray, 229.\n\nNay, all by Thee is ordered, 195.\n\nNay, nay, do not tell me, 201.\n\nNay, not for place, but for the right, 13.\n\nNay, now if these things that you long to teach, 8.\n\nNay, why should I fear Death, 274.\n\nNever a trial that He is not there, 206.\n\nNever give up! it is wiser and better, 176.\n\nNever go gloomily, man with a mind, 174.\n\nNew every morning is the love, 113.\n\nNew words to speak, new thoughts to hear, 65.\n\nNo care can come where God doth guard, 206.\n\nNo chance has brought this ill, 216.\n\nNo child of man may perish, 220.\n\nNo coward soul is mine, 21.\n\nNo endeavor is in vain, 39.\n\nNo help! nay, it is not so, 208.\n\nNo man is born into the world, 65.\n\nNo more my own, Lord Jesus, 84.\n\nNo more with downcast eyes go faltering on, 186.\n\nNo one is so accursed by fate, 76.\n\nNo service in itself is small, 61.\n\nNone but one can harm you, 27.\n\nNor love thy life, nor hate, 259.\n\nNot a brooklet floweth, 204.\n\nNot a dread cavern hoar, 127.\n\nNot a sound invades the, 126.\n\nNot always the path is, 143.\n\nNot at the battle front, 13.\n\nNot disabled in the combat, 156.\n\nNot I but Christ be honored, 240.\n\nNot in dumb resignation, 217.\n\nNot in each shell the diver brings, 159.\n\nNot in some cloistered cell, 71.\n\nNot in the clamor of the crowded street, 27.\n\nNot in the solitude Alone may man, 76.\n\nNot in our waking hours alone, 207.\n\nNot on the gory field of fame, 12.\n\nNot once or twice in our fair island story, 46.\n\nNot only in the cataract and the thunder, 232.\n\nNot ours nobility of this world's giving, 10.\n\nNot so in haste, my heart, 185.\n\nNot to the man of dollars, 78.\n\nNot they alone who from the bitter strife, 2.\n\nNot to thy saints of old alone dost Thou, 179.\n\nNot what I am, O Lord, 165.\n\nNot when with self dissatisfied, 157.\n\nNothing pays but God, 208.\n\n\nO be in God's clear world, 148.\n\nO, blessed is that man of whom, 36.\n\nO, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor, 161.\n\nO brothers! are ye asking, 78.\n\nO dwell in me, my Lord, 118.\n\nO foolish heart, be still! 194.\n\nO for a closer walk with man, 75.\n\nO for a faith that will not shrink, 180.\n\nO for a man to rise in me, 122.\n\nO for the peace of a perfect trust, 195.\n\nO Friend of souls! how blest the time, 236.\n\nO give me the joy of living, 148.\n\nO God! I thank thee for each sight, 80.\n\nO God of truth, for whom alone, 121.\n\nO God of truth, whose living word, 81.\n\nO God, take the reins of my life, 79.\n\nO God! whose thoughts are brightest light, 69.\n\nO humble me! I cannot hide the joy, 99.\n\nO how the thought of God attracts, 119.\n\nO it is hard to work for God, 170.\n\nO, I could go through all life's troubles, 101.\n\nO I would live longer, I gladly would stay, 269.\n\nO Jesus Christ, grow thou in me, 117.\n\nO Jesus! Friend unfailing, 244.\n\nO Jesus, I have promised, 247.\n\nO Jesus! Jesus! dearest Lord, 242.\n\nO Lord! at Joseph's humble, 211.\n\nO Lord, how happy should we be, 195.\n\n\"O Lord, my God,\" I oft have said, 154.\n\nO Lord, thy heavenly grace impart, 82.\n\nO Love divine, that stooped to share, 168.\n\nO Love is weak, 163.\n\nO Love that wilt not let me go, 234.\n\nO make me patient, Lord, 122.\n\nO Master, let me walk, 131.\n\nO matchless honor, all unsought, 62.\n\nO may I join the choir invisible, 51.\n\nO Name all other names above, 231.\n\nO, never from thy tempted heart, 20.\n\nO sad estate Of human wretchedness, 137.\n\nO square thyself for use, 122.\n\nO star of truth down shining, 10.\n\nO that mine eyes might closed be, 118.\n\nO the bitter shame and sorrow, 118.\n\nO Thou by long experience tried, 104.\n\nO thou so weary of thy self-denials, 157.\n\nO thou unpolished shaft, 96.\n\nO Thou who driest the mourner's tear, 155.\n\nO thou who sighest for a broader field, 57.\n\nO Thou, whose bounty fills, 140.\n\nO tired worker, faltering on, 16.\n\nO to serve God for a day, 252.\n\nO trifling task so often done, 152.\n\nO wad some power the giftie gie us, 102.\n\nO, well for him whose will is strong, 11.\n\nO who like thee, so calm, so bright, 238.\n\nO why and whither? 191.\n\nO words of golden music, 215.\n\nO work thy works in God, 232.\n\nO, yet we trust that somehow good, 172.\n\nOh, be in God's clear world, 148.\n\nOf all the myriad moods, 119.\n\nOft when of God we ask, 158.\n\nOft, when the Word is on me, 65.\n\nOften ornateness goes with greatness, 39.\n\nOn God for all events depend, 198.\n\nOn parent knees, a naked new-born child, 267.\n\nOn the red ramparts, 21.\n\nOn thee my heart is resting, 85.\n\nOn two days it steads not, 220.\n\nOnce, in the flight of ages past, 262.\n\nOnce this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 14.\n\nOnce to every man and nation, 4.\n\nOne by one thy duties wait thee, 39.\n\nOne deed may mar a life, 18.\n\nOne part, one little part, 99.\n\nOne prayer I have--all prayers in one, 220.\n\nOne stitch dropped as we weave, 47.\n\nOne thing alone, dear Lord, 128.\n\nOne thought I have--my ample creed, 226.\n\nOne wept all night beside a sick man's bed, 266.\n\nOnly a seed--but it chanced, 64.\n\nOnly a smile. Yes, only a smile, 131.\n\nOnly for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever, 85.\n\nOnly those are crowned and sainted, 62.\n\nOnly to-day is mine, 83.\n\nOpen the door of your hearts, my lads, 176.\n\nOpen the shutters free and wide, 144.\n\nOthers shall sing the song, 97.\n\nOur doubts are traitors, 186.\n\nOur Father, through the coming year, 190.\n\nOur toil is sweet with thankfulness, 161.\n\nOur yet unfinished story, 204.\n\nOut from thyself, thyself depart, 87.\n\nOut of the hardness of heart and will, 230.\n\nOut of the night that covers me, 23.\n\nOutwearied with the littleness and spite, 75.\n\n\nPain's furnace heat within me quivers, 157.\n\nPatient, resigned and humble wills, 102.\n\nPaul and Silas in their prison, 141.\n\nPeace, perfect peace in this dark world of sin, 89.\n\nPeace upon peace, like wave upon wave, 90.\n\nPerplext in faith, but pure in deeds, 180.\n\nPersuasion, friend, comes not by toil, 76.\n\nPitch thy behaviour low, 97.\n\nPleased in the sunshine, 147.\n\nPleasures are like poppies spread, 263.\n\nPluck wins! It always wins, 19.\n\nPour forth the oil, pour boldly forth, 167.\n\n\"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,\" 142.\n\nPraise not thy work, but let thy work praise thee, 102.\n\nPrayer is Innocence's friend, 132.\n\nPrayer is the soul's sincere desire, 127.\n\nPrune thou thy words, 181.\n\nPurer yet and purer, 115.\n\nPut pain from out the world, 162.\n\n\nQuiet from God! How beautiful, 230.\n\nQuiet, Lord, my froward heart, 91.\n\n\nRabbi Jehosha had the skill, 220.\n\nRabia, sick upon her bed, 218.\n\nRiches I hold in light esteem, 23.\n\nRing out the grief that saps the mind, 140.\n\nRound holy Rabia's suffering, 218.\n\n\nSaint Augustine! well hast thou said, 41.\n\nSaint Dominic, the glory of the schools, 203.\n\nSaith the Lord, Vengeance is mine, 47.\n\nSaviour, who died for me, 86.\n\nSay, is your lamp burning, my brother, 66.\n\nSay not, the struggle naught availeth, 172.\n\nSays God: Who comes towards me, 207.\n\nSearch thine own heart, 102.\n\nSecure in his prophetic strength, 64.\n\nSerene I fold my hands and wait, 171.\n\nServe God and be cheerful, 143.\n\nShe brought her box of, 240.\n\nShe stood before a chosen few, 63.\n\nShips that pass in the night, 266.\n\nShow me thy face, 228.\n\nShut your mouth, and open your eyes, 261.\n\nSince all the riches of this world, 263.\n\nSince first thy word awaked my heart, 86.\n\nSince thy Father's arm sustains thee, 187.\n\nSit still, my child, 88.\n\nSlightest actions often meet, 56.\n\nSlowly fashioned, link by link, 260.\n\nSmall service is true service while it lasts, 65.\n\nSo he died for his faith, 2.\n\nSo live that when the mighty caravan, 266.\n\nSo live that, when thy summons comes, 265.\n\nSo long as life's hope-sparkle glows, 108.\n\nSo much to do; so little done, 261.\n\nSo nigh is grandeur to our dust, 49.\n\nSo, when a great man dies, 77.\n\nSome evil upon Rabia fell, 157.\n\nSome murmur, when their sky is clear, 108.\n\nSome of your hurts you have cured, 106.\n\nSome souls there are beloved of God, 231.\n\nSomebody did a golden deed, 26.\n\nSometimes a light surprises, 193.\n\nSometime, when all life's lessons have been learned, 191.\n\nSomewhere I have read of an aged monk, 60.\n\nSound an anthem in your sorrows, 145.\n\nSource of my life's refreshing springs, 151.\n\nSow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it, 141.\n\nSow thou thy seed, 61.\n\nSpeak thou the truth. Let others fence, 17.\n\nSpeak to him, thou, for he hears, 232.\n\nStainless soldier on the walls, 6.\n\nStand upright, speak thy thought, 21.\n\nStern daughter of the voice of God, 41.\n\nStill hope! still act! 158.\n\nStill raise for good the supplicating voice, 134.\n\nStill shines the light of holy lives, 67.\n\nStill, still with thee, 223.\n\nStill will we trust, 196.\n\nStone walls do not a prison make, 24.\n\nStrength for to-day is all that we need, 114, 255.\n\nStrong are the walls around me, 82.\n\nSuch power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint, 165.\n\nSunset and evening star, 273.\n\nSurrounded by unnumbered foes, 166.\n\nSweet is the pleasure, 92.\n\nSweet is the solace of thy love, 217.\n\nSweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse, 71.\n\n\nTake the joys and bear the, 268.\n\nTake thine own way with me, 210.\n\nTake time to be holy, 136.\n\nTake my life and let it be, 82.\n\nTalk Faith. The world is better off, 186.\n\nTalk happiness each chance you get, 148.\n\nTalk happiness. The world is sad enough, 142.\n\nTalk not of wasted affection, 169.\n\nTeach me, dear Lord, what thou wouldst have me know, 125.\n\nTeach me, my God and King, 223.\n\nTeach me the truth, Lord, 8.\n\nTeach me to answer still, 208.\n\nTeach me to live! 'Tis easier far, 260.\n\nTell me about the Master, 241.\n\nTender-handed stroke a nettle, 21.\n\nThat best portion of a good man's life, 65.\n\nThat life is long which answers life's great end, 255.\n\nThat love for one from which there doth not spring, 167.\n\nThat man is great, and he alone, 28.\n\nThat man may last, but never lives, 38.\n\nThat plenty but reproaches me, 70.\n\nThat thou mayst injure no man, 266.\n\nThat which he knew he uttered, 6.\n\nThe aim, if reached or not, 40.\n\nThe best men doing their best, 65.\n\nThe best will is our Father's will, 220.\n\nThe bird let loose in Eastern skies, 118.\n\nThe body sins not, 'tis the will, 186.\n\nThe brave man is not he who feels no fear, 17.\n\nThe camel at the close of day, 136.\n\nThe chamber where the good man meets his fate, 277.\n\nThe child leans on its parent's breast, 193.\n\nThe childish smile is fair, 151.\n\nThe chivalry that dares the right, 21.\n\nThe clouds which rise with thunder, 196.\n\nThe common problem, yours, mine, everyone's, 31.\n\nThe cross on Golgotha can never save, 186.\n\nThe crowd of cares, the weightiest cross, 186.\n\nThe cry of man's anguish went up, 160.\n\nThe day is long and the day is hard, 229.\n\nThe dearest thing on earth to me, 247.\n\nThe deed ye do is the prayer ye pray, 127.\n\nThe deeds which selfish hearts approve, 42.\n\nThe end's so near, 272.\n\nThe eye with seeing is not filled, 38.\n\nThe fountain of joy is fed by tears, 162.\n\nThe glory is not in the task, 37.\n\nThe good are better made by ill, 162.\n\nThe grave itself is but a covered bridge, 274.\n\nThe hero is not fed on sweets, 11.\n\nThe Holy Supper is kept indeed, 65.\n\nThe homely words--how often read, 125.\n\nThe hours are viewless angels, 256.\n\nThe hours of rest are over, 256.\n\nThe inner side of every cloud, 148.\n\nThe kindly word unspoken, 78.\n\nThe King of love my Shepherd is, 247.\n\nThe king's proud favorite, 34.\n\nThe knightly legend on thy shield, 25.\n\nThe light of love is round his feet, 207.\n\nThe lily's lips are pure and white, 264.\n\nThe little sharp vexations, 137.\n\nThe longer on this earth we live, 48.\n\nThe look of sympathy, the gentle word, 57.\n\nThe Lord our God is clothed, 211.\n\nThe man is happy, Lord, 169.\n\nThe man is thought a knave or fool, 6.\n\nThe man who idly sits and thinks, 265.\n\nThe Man who Loved the Names of Things, 95.\n\nThe man whom God delights to bless, 161.\n\nThe Master came one evening to the gate, 73.\n\nThe mean of soul are sure, 40.\n\nThe miller feeds the mill, 265.\n\nThe mist denies the mountains, 176.\n\nThe Moving Finger writes, 253.\n\nThe night is mother of the day, 174.\n\nThe path of sorrow, and that path alone, 159.\n\nThe poem hangs on the berry bush, 266.\n\nThe poem of the universe, 33.\n\nThe rich man's son inherits lands, 107.\n\nThe sands of time are sinking, 274.\n\nThe ship may sink, 276.\n\nThe simple, silent, selfless man, 40.\n\nThe sky is clouded, the rocks are bare, 211.\n\nThe smallest bark on life's, 77.\n\nThe Son of God goes forth to war, 5.\n\nThe soul contains a window, 140.\n\nThe star of the unconquered will, 2.\n\nThe stars shall fade away, 251.\n\nThe stars shine over the earth, 258.\n\nThe stormy blast is strong, 94.\n\nThe sun gives ever; so the earth, 56.\n\nThe thought of God, the thought of thee, 224.\n\nThe time for toil is past, 101.\n\nThe time is short, 265.\n\nThe toil of brain, or heart, or hand, 61.\n\nThe twilight falls, the night is near, 200.\n\nThe unpolished pearl can never shine, 155.\n\nThe way to make thy son rich, 111.\n\nThe wind that flows can, 210.\n\nThe winds that once the Argo bore, 10.\n\nThe wisest man could ask no more, 38.\n\nThe woman singeth at her spinning wheel, 127.\n\nThe word is great, and no deed is greater, 21.\n\nThe world is full of beauty, 48.\n\nThe world is growing better, 175.\n\nThe world is wide in time and tide, 188.\n\nThe world wants men, 8.\n\nThee will I love, my strength, 87.\n\nThen draw we nearer day by day, 26.\n\nThen, fainting soul, arise and sing, 180.\n\nThen gently scan your brother man, 68.\n\nThen let us smile when skies are gray, 141.\n\nThen O my soul, be ne'er afraid, 198.\n\nThere are deep things of God, 121.\n\nThere are hearts which never falter, 29.\n\nThere are hermit souls that live, withdrawn, 66.\n\nThere are in this loud, stunning tide, 231.\n\nThere are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave, 257.\n\nThere are so many helpful things to do, 52.\n\nThere are three lessons, 175.\n\nThere are two words of light divine, 202.\n\nThere is a jewel which no Indian mine, 112.\n\nThere is a morning star, my soul, 175.\n\nThere is a safe and secret place, 190.\n\nThere is a tide in the affairs of men, 265.\n\nThere is an ancient story told, 168.\n\nThere is an eye that never sleeps, 128.\n\nThere is never a day so dreary, 198.\n\nThere is no death! the stars go down, 269.\n\nThere is no duty patent, 21.\n\nThere is no faith in seeing, 186.\n\nThere is no flock, however watched and tended, 149.\n\nThere is no great nor small, 212.\n\nThere is no human being, 148.\n\nThere is no love like the love of Jesus, 235.\n\nThere is no sense, as I can see, 216.\n\nThere _is_ no vacant chair, 276.\n\nThere is peace in power; the men who speak, 92.\n\nThere lives and works a soul in all, 223.\n\nThere once was a man who bore a grudge, 78.\n\nThere was of old a Moslem saint, 218.\n\nThere was once a man who smiled, 140.\n\nThere was a man who prayed, 131.\n\nThere's a divinity that shapes our ends, 206.\n\nThere's a wideness in God's mercy, 165.\n\nThere's many a trouble, 147.\n\nThere's never a day so sunny, 173.\n\nThere's never a rose in all the world, 57.\n\nThere's not a craving in the mind, 234.\n\nThey are slaves who fear to speak, 17.\n\nThey do me wrong who say I come no more, 259.\n\nThey have no place in storied page, 34.\n\nThey never fail who die in a great cause, 1.\n\nThey outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee, 1.\n\nThey're richer who diminish their desires, 112.\n\nThey seemed to die on battle-field, 11.\n\nThey stand, the regal mountains, 146.\n\nThink, and be careful, what thou art within, 122.\n\nThink gently of the erring, 68.\n\nThink not alone to do right, 262.\n\nThis above all: to thine own self be true, 27.\n\nThis be my prayer, from, 122.\n\nThis body is my house--it is not I, 275.\n\nThis for the day of life, 54.\n\nThis I beheld, or dreamed it, 261.\n\nThis is my creed, 25.\n\nThis is the gospel of labor, 53.\n\nThis is the highest learning, 99.\n\nThis is the ship of pearl, 116.\n\nThis one sits shivering in Fortune's smile, 146.\n\nThis world's no blot for us, 266.\n\nThou broadenest out with every year, 119.\n\nThou cam'st not to thy place, 113.\n\nThou grace divine, encircling all, 164.\n\nThou knowest, Lord, the, 205.\n\nThou must be true thyself, 26.\n\nThou shalt not rob me, thievish time, 267.\n\nThou sweet, beloved will of God, 211.\n\nThou sweet hand of God, 160.\n\nThou that in life's crowded city, 46.\n\nThou who art touched with, 207.\n\nThough life is made up of, 259.\n\nThough love repine, and reason chafe, 27.\n\nThough the mills of God grind slowly, 218.\n\nThough thy name be spread abroad, 40.\n\nThough time may dig the grave of creeds, 179.\n\nThough troubles assail and dangers affright, 184.\n\nThough trouble-tossed and torture-torn, 153.\n\nThough world on world in myriad myriads roll, 32.\n\nThought is deeper than all, 265.\n\nThree centuries before the Christian age, 37.\n\nThree doors there are in, 129.\n\nThree men went out one summer night, 261.\n\nThrough love to light, 168.\n\nThrough night to light, 142.\n\nThrough thee, meseems, the very rose, 231.\n\nThrough wish, resolve, and act, 102.\n\nThunder, lightning, fire, and rain, 198.\n\nThus far the Lord hath led us, 182.\n\nThy home is with the humble, Lord, 95.\n\nThy life's a warfare, thou a soldier, 17.\n\nThy name to me, thy nature grant, 118.\n\nThy nature be my law, 121.\n\nThy presence, Lord, the place doth fill, 232.\n\nThy thoughts and feelings shall not die, 268.\n\nThy voice is heard through rolling drum, 168.\n\nThy way, not mine, O Lord, 83.\n\nThy will, O God, is joy to me, 209.\n\nTime is indeed a precious boon, 253.\n\nTime to me this truth hath taught, 70.\n\nTime was I shrank from what was right, 15.\n\n'Tis a lifelong toil till our lump be leaven, 39.\n\n'Tis Being, and Doing, and Having, 148.\n\n'Tis finally, the man who, lifted high, 3.\n\n'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 232.\n\n'Tis he whose every thought, 26.\n\n'Tis impious in a good man to be sad, 147.\n\n'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant, 266.\n\n'Tis not alone in the sunshine, 160.\n\n'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay, 186.\n\n'Tis not the wealth that makes a king, 31.\n\n'Tis not what man does, 40.\n\n'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great, 32.\n\n'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up, 161.\n\n'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan, 68.\n\nTo a darning-needle once, 73.\n\nTo be sincere. To look, 264.\n\nTo be the thing we seem, 27.\n\nTo change and change is life, 171.\n\nTo do or not to do; to have, 79.\n\nTo do the tasks of life, 12.\n\nTo halls of heavenly truth, 169.\n\nTo heaven approached a Sufi saint, 227.\n\nTo keep my health, 25.\n\nTo live by law, acting the law, 27.\n\nTo live, to live, is life's great joy, 232.\n\nTo long with all our longing powers, 131.\n\nTo love some one more dearly, 51.\n\nTo make rough places plain, 134.\n\nTo me 'tis equal whether love ordain, 87.\n\nTo play through life a perfect part, 29.\n\nTo stretch my hand and touch him, 128.\n\nTo thee, O dear, dear Saviour, 244.\n\nTo those who prattle of despair, 264.\n\nTo try each day his will to know, 143.\n\nTost on a sea of troubles, 92.\n\nTrue happiness (if understood), 148.\n\nTrue love shall trust, but selfish love must die, 163.\n\nTrue wisdom is in leaning, 241.\n\nTrue worth is in being, not seeming, 38.\n\n\"Trust is truer than our fears,\" 192.\n\nTrust to the Lord to hide thee, 263.\n\nTruth will prevail, 8.\n\nTruths that wake to perish never, 277.\n\nTruths would you teach, 36.\n\n'Twas August, and the fierce sun, 234.\n\n'Twas in the night the manna fell, 111.\n\n'Twere sweet indeed to close our eyes, 12.\n\nTwo gifts God giveth, and he saith, 276.\n\nTwo men toiled side by side, 105.\n\nTwo went to pray? O, rather, 133.\n\nTwo worlds are ours; 'tis only, 232.\n\n\nUnanswered yet the prayer your lips have pleaded, 124.\n\nUnblemished let me live, 40.\n\nUnheard, because our ears are dull, 232.\n\nUnless above himself he can, 13.\n\nUnveil, O Lord, and on us shine, 86.\n\nUp and away, like the dew of the morning, 100.\n\n\nVeiled the future comes, 174.\n\nVice is a monster of so hateful mien, 73.\n\nVulgar souls surpass a rare one, 40.\n\n\nWalking along the shore one morn, 150.\n\nWalking with Peter, Christ, 43.\n\nWe all acknowledge both thy power and love, 203.\n\nWe are building every day, 259.\n\nWe are living, we are dwelling, 18.\n\nWe are not angels, but we may, 231.\n\nWe bless thee for thy peace, 94.\n\nWe cannot kindle when we will, 7.\n\nWe cannot make bargains for blisses, 146.\n\nWe live in deeds, not years, 264.\n\nWe look along the shining ways, 161.\n\nWe look too far for blessings, 111.\n\nWe may question with wand of science, 132.\n\nWe must live through the weary winter, 161.\n\nWe say, and we say, and we say, 264.\n\nWe scatter seeds with careless hand, 67.\n\nWe see not, know not; all our way, 216.\n\nWe shape ourselves the joy or fear, 264.\n\nWe take our share of fretting, 145.\n\nWe thank thee, gracious Father, 270.\n\nWe who have lost the battle, 30.\n\nWe will speak on, 18.\n\nWe would fill the hours with the sweetest things, 254.\n\nWe would see Jesus--for the shadows lengthen, 243.\n\nWe would see Jesus! we have longed to see him, 246.\n\nWe would see Jesus when our hopes are brightest, 248.\n\nWearing the white flower of a blameless life, 40.\n\nWelcome the shadows; where they blackest are, 113.\n\nWell to suffer is divine, 20.\n\nWhat can it mean? Is it aught to him, 207.\n\nWhat grace, O Lord, and beauty shone, 241.\n\nWhat I am, what I am not, 25.\n\nWhat if some morning, when the stars are paling, 267.\n\nWhat imports Fasting or feasting, 264.\n\nWhat is life? 'Tis not to, 266.\n\nWhat is the use of worrying, 94.\n\nWhat is the world? A wandering maze, 59.\n\nWhat makes a hero? not success, not fame, 7.\n\nWhat matter will it be, O mortal man, 109.\n\nWhat might be done if men were wise, 74.\n\nWhat most you wish and long for, 197.\n\nWhat pleaseth God with joy receive, 215.\n\nWhat secret trouble stirs, 93.\n\nWhat shall I do lest life in silence pass, 28.\n\nWhat shall I pack up to carry, 258.\n\nWhat shall I sing for thee, 238.\n\nWhat shall thine \"afterward\" be, 152.\n\nWhat stronger breastplate than a heart untainted, 49.\n\nWhat though the dark close round, 258.\n\nWhat various hindrances we meet, 126.\n\nWhat weight of woe we owe to thee, 121.\n\nWhat will it matter in a little while, 64.\n\nWhate'er God wills, let, 216.\n\nWhate'er my God ordains is right, 188.\n\nWhatever dies, or is forgot, 55.\n\nWhatever road I take, it joins the street, 232.\n\nWhatever you are--be that, 27.\n\nWhen courage fails and, 44.\n\nWhen courting slumber, 231.\n\nWhen falls the hour of evil chance, 17.\n\nWhen God afflicts thee, think he hews a rugged stone, 162.\n\nWhen He who, sad and weary, 64.\n\nWhen I have time so many things I'll do, 257.\n\nWhen in the storm it seems to thee, 180.\n\nWhen is the time for prayer, 126.\n\nWhen it drizzles and drizzles, 114.\n\nWhen on my day of life the night is falling, 270.\n\nWhen on the fragrant sandal tree, 167.\n\nWhen prayer delights thee least 127.\n\nWhen, spurred by tasks unceasing or undone, 91.\n\nWhen success exalts thy lot, 32.\n\nWhen the storm of the mountains, 243.\n\nWhen the sun of joy is hidden, 176.\n\nWhen thou art fain to trace, 102.\n\nWhen thou hast thanked thy God, 160.\n\nWhen thou turnest away from all, 219.\n\nWhen thou wakest in the morning, 246.\n\nWhen thy heart with joy o'erflowing, 71.\n\nWhen wilt thou save the people, 75.\n\nWhen winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, 88.\n\nWhene'er a noble deed is wrought, 12.\n\nWhere cross the crowded ways of life, 76.\n\nWhere'er I look one Face alone I see, 232.\n\nWhether we climb, whether we plod, 13.\n\nWhichever way the wind doth blow, 108.\n\nWhile I sought happiness she fled, 49.\n\nWhile thus to love he gave his days, 13.\n\nWho bides his time, and day by day, 105.\n\nWho counts himself as nobly born, 35.\n\nWho does the best his circumstance allows, 44.\n\nWho drives the horses of the sun, 113.\n\nWho gives, and hides the giving hand, 58.\n\nWho heeds not experience, 265.\n\nWho is as the Christian great, 37.\n\nWho learns and learns, and acts not, 255.\n\nWho liveth best? Not he whose sail, 180.\n\nWho loves, no law can ever bind, 169.\n\nWho ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half, 161.\n\nWho never doubted never half believed, 186.\n\nWho seeks for heaven alone, 76.\n\nWhoever plants a leaf beneath the sod, 193.\n\nWhy comes temptation but for men to meet, 16.\n\nWhy fret thee, soul, 94.\n\nWhy not leave them all with Jesus, 242.\n\nWhy wakes not life the desert bare and lone, 265.\n\nWhy win we not at once what we in prayer require, 137.\n\nWith comrade Duty, in the dark, 31.\n\nWith fame in just proportion envy grows, 40.\n\nWith patient course thy path of duty run, 198.\n\nWith silence only as their benediction, 156.\n\nWith strength of righteous purpose, 196.\n\nWithout haste and without rest, 250.\n\nWork for some good, be it ever so slowly, 65.\n\nWorry and Fret were two little men, 197.\n\nWouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief, 161.\n\nWouldst thou go forth to bless, 65.\n\n\nYes, Lord, one great eternal yes, 194.\n\nYes, Lord. Yet some must, 54.\n\nYes, we do differ when we most agree, 184.\n\nYet I argue not Against thy hand, 175.\n\nYet, in the maddening maze of things, 197.\n\nYet Love will dream and Faith will trust, 275.\n\nYet sometimes glimmers on my sight, 173.\n\nYe who would have your features florid, 254.\n\nYou can never tell when you do an act, 59.\n\nYou say, \"Where goest thou?\" 267.\n\nYou will find that luck, 21.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO FIRST LINES IN APPENDIX\n\n\nA fire-mist and a planet, 283.\n\nA good man never dies, 283.\n\nA rose to the living is more, 287.\n\nAnew we pledge ourselves to Thee, 287.\n\n\nBe strong! We are not here to play, 278.\n\nBut let my due feet never fail, 286.\n\n\nCanst thou see no beauty nigh? 287.\n\nCount that day really worse than lost, 287.\n\n\nDo you go to my school? 283.\n\n\nFather of mercies, thy children, 282.\n\nFeel glum? Keep mum, 287.\n\nFor radiant health I praise not, 285.\n\nFor the right against the wrong, 287.\n\n\nGive me my scallop-shell of quiet, 282.\n\nGive us men! strong and stalwart, 286.\n\n\nHow shall we tell an angel, 282.\n\n\nI lay me down to sleep, 281.\n\nI lift my head and walk my ways, 281.\n\nI sent my soul through the Invisible, 287.\n\nI will not doubt though, 286.\n\nIf by one word I help another, 287.\n\n\"If I have eaten my morsel alone,\" 284.\n\nIf I lay waste and wither up, 278.\n\nIn those clear, piercing, piteous eyes, 280.\n\nIt fortifies my soul to know, 280.\n\nIt was only a glad \"Good morning,\" 287.\n\n\nLord, let me make this rule, 279.\n\nLove thyself last: cherish those hearts, 286.\n\n\nMilton! thou shouldst be living, 285.\n\nMy darling went unto the seaside, 281.\n\n\nNever elated while one man's oppressed, 283.\n\nNo distant Lord have I, 278.\n\n\nO Lord, I pray that for this day, 278.\n\nO Sentinel at the loose-swung door, 282.\n\nO, the little birds sang east, 287.\n\nO Thou who lovest not alone, 285.\n\nO, though oft depressed and lonely, 287.\n\n\nSweet are the uses of adversity, 286.\n\n\nThe gifts that to our breasts we fold, 287.\n\nThe wounds I might have healed, 286.\n\nThere's a craze among us mortals, 284.\n\n\nWeary of all this wordy strife, 279.\n\nWhat makes a man great? 284.\n\nWhat matter, friend, though you and I, 280\n\nWhen over the fair fame of friend, 285.\n\nWhen the other firms show dizziness, 284.\n\nWherever now a sorrow stands, 287.\n\nWhy be afraid of Death, 279.\n\nWhy do we cling to the skirts of sorrow? 286.\n\n\nYou think them \"out of reach,\" 281.\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\nBOOKS BY JAMES MUDGE\n\nPOEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL\n\nHEART RELIGION, AS DESCRIBED BY JOHN WESLEY\n\nRELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE: EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LIVES\nOF ILLUSTRIOUS CHRISTIANS\n\nFENELON: THE MYSTIC","title":"Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":161755}