WITH ■ P O WER.- T O "r^R. -THE- SOUL COMPIIyED BY JAM.es iVLUDGB ^^ v>^.-<>.^^ '"^V '/ .%, <^'"\ '^yiw^ ^^y ,,4 ■/', 'i-t-c Cu -- '■^^ J -i ' ^^.^V '^ '/^ i f^ "O., . %, .00 >/^ .v^ '^ s^' ^' . p- .V .^^' * ■ \ 0^ c " '' « sO' \' ■>■- J \v o 0' V * O, POEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL COMPILED AND EDITED BY TAMES MUDGE Author of THE BEST OK BROWNING. ETC. REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION New York: EATON & MAINS Cincinnati: JENNINGS & GRAHAM LISRARY of CONGRESS Two Oouii's Received MAh 25 iya WHO ARE AT THE SAME TIME LOVEJRS OF GOOD POETRY AND LOVERS OF GOOD CHARACTER, DEJvOTED to god and THEIR FELLOW-MEN, AS WELL AS TO LITERATURE, THE COMPILER, WHO CLAIMS A LITTLE PLACE IN THIS LARGE COMPANY, DEDICATES THE RESULT OF HIS PLEASANT LABORS 1 CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE vii SUBJECTS: HEROISM — Chivalry, Nobility, Honor, Truth i COURAGE — Constancy, Confidence, Strength, Valor 14 INDEPENDENCE — Manhood, Firmness, Earnestness, Resolution. 22 GREATNESS — Fame, Success, Progress, Victory 28 DUTY — Loyalty, Faithfulness, Conscience, Zeal 41 SERVICE — Usefulness, Benevolence, Labor 50 BROTHERHOOD — Charity, Sympathy, Example, Influence 66 CONSECRATION— Submission, Devotion, Purity 79 PEACE — Rest, Calm, Stillness 88 HUMILITY — Meekness, Weakness, Selflessness 95 CONTENTMENT — Resignation, Patience, Compensation 103 ASPIRATION — Desire, Supplication, Growth 115 PRAYER — Worship, Communion, Devotion 123 JOY — Praise, Cheerfulness, Happiness 138 '■■' AFFLICTION — Consolation, Trial, Endurance 149 LOVE — Divine Goodness, Unselfishness 163 HOPE — Progress, Optimism, Enthusiasm 170 FAITH — Assurance, Doubt, Unbelief 177 TRUST — Guidance, Safety, Gladness 187 -' GOD'S CARE — Providence, God's Knowledge and Beneficence... 199 GOD'S WILL — Obedience, Divine Union 209 GOD'S PRESENCE — Possession, Satisfaction, Reflection 221 JESUS — His Preciousness, and Beauty, and Love 233 LIFE — ^Time, Opportunity, Experience, Character 250 AGE AND DEATH — Maturity, Victory, Heaven 267 APPENDIX— MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 278 INDEX TO AUTHORS 288 INDEX TO TITLES 292 INDEX TO FIRST LINES 208 PREFACE This is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it a hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly practical end, the production of high personal character; and only those poems which have an im- mediate bearing in this direction have been admitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this special line. There are fine hymnals, deservedly dear to the Church, but they are necessarily devoted in large measure to institutional and theological subjects, are adapted to the wants of the general congregation and to purposes of song; while many poetical productions that touch the heart the closest are for that very reason unsuited to the hymnal. There are many anthologies and plentiful volumes of religious poetry, but not one coming within our ken has been made up as this has been. We have sought far and wide, through many libraries, carefully conning hundreds of books and glancing through hundreds more, to find just those lines which would have the most tonic and stimu- lating effect in the direction of holier, nobler living. We have coveted verses whose influence would be directly on daily life and would help to form the very best habits of thought and conduct, which would have intrinsic spiritual value and elevating power ; those whose immediate tendency would be to make people better, toughening their moral fibre and helping them heavenward; those which they could hardly read attentively without feeling an impulse toward the things which are pure and true and honorable and lovely and of good report, things virtuous and praiseworthy. It is surprising to one who has not made the search how very many poets there are whose voluminous and popular works yield nothing, or scarcely any- thing, of this sort. We have looked carefully through many scores of volumes of poetry without finding a line that could be of the slightest use in this collection. They were taken up altogether with other topics. They contained many pretty conceits, pleasant descriptions, lovely or lively narrations — these in abundance, but words that would send the spirit heavenward, or even earthward with any added love for humanity, not one. On the other hand, in papers and periodicals, even in books, are great multitudes of verses, unexceptionable in sentiment and helpful in influence, which bear so little of the true poetic afflatus, are so careless in construction or so faulty in diction, so imperfect in rhyme or rhythm, so much mingled with colloquialisms or so hopelessly commonplace in thought, as to be unworthy of a permanent place in a book like this. They would not bear reading many times. They would offend a properly educated taste. They would not so capture the ear as to linger on the memory with compelling persistence, nor strike the intellect as an exceptional presentation of important truth. The combination of fine form and deep or inspiring thought is by no means common, but, when found, very precious. We will not claim that this has been secured in all the poems here presented. Not all will approve our choice in all respects. There is vii viii PREFACE nothing in which tastes more differ than in matters of this kind. And we will admit that in some cases we have let in — because of the important truth which they so well voiced — stanzas not fully up to the mark in point of poetic merit. Where it has not been possible to get the two desirable things together, as it has not always, we have been more solicitous for the sentiment that would benefit than for mere prettiness or perfection of form. Helpfulness has been the test oftener than a high literary standard. The labored workmanship of the vessel has not weighed so much with us as its perfect fitness to convey the water of life wherewith the thirsty soul of man has been or may be refreshed. If poets are properly judged, as has been alleged, by the frame of mind they induce, then some who have not gained great literary fame may still hold up their heads and claim a worthy crown. Some poems fully within the scope of the book — like Longfellow's "Psalm of Life" — have been omitted because of their exceeding commonness and their accessibility. Many hymns of very high value — like "Jesus, Lover of my soul," "My faith looks up to thee," "Nearer, my God, to thee," "When all thy mercies, O my God," "How firm a foundation" — have also been omitted because they are found in all the hymnals, and to include them would unduly swell the size of the book. A few others, although similarly familiar, like "Jesus, I my cross have taken," and "God moves in a mysterious way," have been inserted from a feeling that even yet their depth and richness are not properly appreciated and that they can never be sufficiently pondered. A few poems we have been unable to procure permission to use; but in nearly all cases we have met with most generous treatment from both authors and publishers owning copyrights, and we take this occasion to express our hearty thanks for the kindness afforded in the following instances: Houghton, Mifflin & Company, for the use of the poems and stanzas here found from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Edward Rowland Sill, Celia Thaxter, Caroline Atherton Mason, Edna Dean Proctor, Edmund Clarence Stedman, John Burroughs, John Hay, William Dean Howell s, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Lucy Larcom, Margaret E. Sangster, Francis Bret Harte, James Freeman Clarke, Samuel Longfellow, Samuel Johnson, Christopher Pearse Cranch, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and John Vance Cheney. Little, Brown & Company, for poems by Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise Chandler Moulton, William Rounseville Alger, "Susan Coolidge" [Sarah Chauncey Woolsey], and John White Chad wick, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, for poems by Sam Walter Foss. D. Appleton & Company, for poems by William Cullen Bryant, T, Y. Crowell & Company, for poems by Sarah Knowles Bolton. Charles Scribner's Sons, for poems by Josiah Gilbert Holland. The Century Company, for poems by Richard Watson Gilder. The Bobbs-Merrill Company, for poems by James Whitcomb Riley, Harper & Brothers, for poems by Edward Sandford Martin. Small, Ma3Tiard & Co., for poems by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, PREFACE IX The Rev. D. C. Knowles, for poems by Frederic Lawrence Knowles, especially from "Love Triumphant," published by Dana, Estes & Company. The Rev. Frederic Rowland Marvin, for poems from his "Flowers of Song from Many Lands." Professor Amos R. Wells, for poems from his "Just to Help." Mr. Nixon Waterman, for poems from "In Merry Mood," published by Forbes & Co., of Chicago. The selections from the above American authors are used by special arrange- ments with the firms mentioned, who are the only authorized publishers of their works. Many other poems used have been found in papers or other places which gave no indication of the original source. In spite of much effort to trace these things it is quite likely we have failed in some cases to give due credit or obtain the usual permission; and we hope that if such omissions, due to ignorance or inadvertence, are noticed they will be pardoned. Many unknown writers have left behind them some things of value, but their names have become detached from them or perhaps never were appended. Many volumes consulted have been long out of print. We are glad to record our large indebtedness to the custodians of the Boston, Cambridge, Maiden, Natick, Brookline, Jamaica Plain, Somerville, and Newton Public Libraries, the Boston Athenaeum, the Congregational Library, the General Theological Library, and the Library of Harvard College, for free access to their treasures. By far the greater part of the contents are from British and other foreign authors, such as William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson, Robert Browning, Eliza- beth Barrett Browning, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, Mrs. S. F. Adams,Anna Letitia Barbauld, Mrs. Charles, Frances Ridley Havergal, Anna Letitia Waring, Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Anne Procter, Mme. Guyon, Theodore Monod, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, William Shakespeare, John Milton, George Gordon Byron, Robert Bums, William Cowper, George Herbert, Robert Herrick, Francis Quarles, Fred- erick W. Faber, John Keble, Charles Kingsley, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison, John Gay, Edward Young, Thomas Moore, John Newton, John Bunyan, H. Kirke White, Horatius Bonar, James Montgomery, Charles Wesley, Richard Baxter, Norman Macleod, George Heber, Richard Chenevix Trench, Henry Alford, Charles Mackay, Gerald Massey, Alfred Austin, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Hugh Clough, Henry Burton, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hartley Coleridge, Joseph Anstice, George Macdonald, Robert Leighton, John Henry Newman, John Sterling, Edward H. Bickersteth, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and many others. Of German authors there are not a few, including Johann W. von Goethe, Johann C. F. Schiller, George A. Neumarck, Paul Gerhardt, Benjamin Schmolke, S. C. Schoener, Scheffler, Karl Rudolf Hagenbach, S. Rodigast, Novalis, Wolfgang C. Dessler, L. Gedicke, Martin Luther, and Johann G. von Herder. The number of American poets drawn upon is small compared with this list. It is the case in all such collections. According to an analysis of the hymns contained in the most widely used American hymnals down to 1880 the average number of hymns of purely American origin was not quite one in seven ; the pro- portion would be a little larger now. And the number of Methodist poets is al- X PREFACE most nil, in spite of the fact that the compiler is a Methodist and the volume is issued from the official Methodist Publishing House. But if we thought that this would be any barrier to its wide circulation in Methodist homes we should be deeply ashamed for our church. We are confident it will not be. For mere de- nominational tenets do not at all enter into these great matters of the soul's life. A book like this speaks loudly for the real oneness, not only of all branches of the Christian Church, but of all religions, in some respects. Not only do we find the various Protestant denominations amply represented here; not only have we most inspiring words from Roman Catholic writers like Francis Xavier, Madame Guyon, Alexander Pope, John Henry Newman, Frederick W. Faber, and Adelaide Anne Procter; but from Mohammedan sotu-ces, from Sufi saints of Persia, and the Moslem devotees of Arabia, and even from Hinduism, there are utterances of noblest truth which we cannot read without a kindling heart. These are all brought together from the ends of the earth into a delightful "upper chamber," where the warring discords of opinion cease and an exceedingly precious peace prevails. It should be said, though it is perhaps hardly necessary, that this is by no means a book to be read at a sitting. It furnishes very concentrated nourish- ment. It can be taken with largest profit only a little at a time, according as the mood demands and circumstances appoint. There should be very much meditation mingled with the perusal, an attempt to penetrate the deep meaning of the lines and have them enter into the soul for practical benefit. Some of these hymns have great histories: they are the war cries of combatants on hard-fought battle fields; they are living words of deep experience pressed out of the heart by strong feeling; they are the embodiment of visions caught on some Pisgah's glowing top. Here will be found and furnished hope for the faint-hearted, rest for the weary, courage for the trembling, cheer for the despondent, power for the weak, comfort for the afflicted, guidance in times of difficulty, wise counsel for moments of perplexity, a stimulant to faithfulness, a ctu"e for the blues, exhila- ration, jubilation. Everything of a depressing nature has been scrupulously rilled out. The keynote, persistently followed through all the pages, is optimistic, bright, buoyant. Trumpet calls and bugle notes are furnished in abundance, but no dirges or elegies. Large space, it will be seen, is given to such topics as Heroism, True Greatness, the Care and Presence of God, the blessings of Brother- liness, the privilege of Service, the path of Peace, the secret of Contentment, the mission of Prayer, the joy of Jesus, the meaning of Life, the glory of Love, the promise of Faith, the happy aspect of old Age and Death; for these subjects come very close home to the heart, and are illustrated in daily experience. Any- one who feels a special need in any of these directions is confidently recommended to turn to the proper sections and read the selections. Very much that is here may easily and suitably be committed to memory, that thus it may the more permanently penetrate into the inmost depth of being. It may be used with most telling effect in sermons to give point and pungency to the thought of the preacher. Alike in popular discourse and public testimony or in private meditation these gems of sentiment and thought will come into play with great advantage. The benefit which may be derived from them can scarcely be overestimated. President Eliot, of Harvard University, has said: "There PREFACE XI are bits of poetry in my mind learned in infancy that have stood by me in keeping me true to my ideas of duty and life. Rather than lose these I would have missed all the sermons I have ever heard." Many another can say substantially the same, can trace his best deeds very largely to the influence of some little stanza or couplet early stored away in his memory and coming ever freshly to mind in after years as the embodiment of truest wisdom. We cannot guarantee in all cases the absolute correctness of the forms of the poems given, though much pains have been taken to ensure accuracy; but authors themselves make changes in their productions at different times in different editions. Nor have we always been able to trace the poem to its source. Slips and errors of various kinds can hardly be avoided in such matters. Even so com- petent an editor as John G. Whittier, in his "Songs of Three Centuries," ascribes "Love divine, all love excelling" to that bitter Calvinist, Augustus M. Toplady, giving it as the sole specimen of his verse ; when it was really written by the ardent Arminian, Charles Wesley, with whom Toplady was on anything but friendly terms. If Whittier could make a blunder of this magnitude we may be pardoned if possibly a keen-eyed critic spies something in our book almost as grossly in- correct. In some cases we have been obliged to change the titles of poems so as to avoid reduplication in our index, or to adapt them the better to the small extract taken from the much longer form in the original. In a few cases we have made (indicated) alterations in poems to fit them more fully to the purpose of the book. The volume will be found not only a readable one, we think, but also an uncommonly useful one for presentation by those who would do good and give gratification to their serious-minded friends with a taste for religious poetry and a love for wandering in the "holy land of song." He who would put before another the essential elements of religion would do better to give him such a book as this than a treatise on theology. He who would himself get a clear idea of what the religious life really is will do better to pore over these pages than to dip into some philosophical discussion. Here the best life is expressed rather than analyzed, exhibited rather than explained. Mrs. Browning has well said, " Plant a poet's word deep enough in any man's breast, looking presently for off- shoots, and you have done more for the man than if you dressed him in a broad- cloth coat and warmed his Stmday pottage at your fire." We who, by preparing or circulating such volumes, aid the poets in finding a larger circle to whom to give their message, may claim a part of the blessing which comes to those who in any way aid humanity. George Herbert has said, **A verse may find him who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice." He himself most excellently illustrated the sentiment by bequeathing to the world many beautiful verses that are sermons of the most picturesque sort. One definition of poetry is " a record of the best thoughts and best moments of the best and happiest minds." This in itself would almost be sufficient to establish the connection between poetry and religion. It is certain that the two have very close and vital relations. Dr. Washington Gladden has admirably xu PREFACE remarked, "Poetry is indebted to religion for its largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is indebted to poetry for its subtlest and most luminous interpreta- tions." No doubt a man may be truly, deeply religious who has little or no de- velopment on the aesthetic side, to whom poetry makes no special appeal. But it is certain that he whose soul is deaf to the "concord of sweet sounds" misses a mighty aid in the spiritual life. For a hymn is a wing by which the spirit soars above earthly cares and trials into a purer air and a clearer sunshine. Nothing can better scatter the devils of melancholy and gloom or doubt and fear. When praise and prayer, trust and love, faith and hope, and similar sentiments, have passed into and through some poet's passionate soul, until he has become so charged with them that he has been able to fix them in a form of expression where beauty is united to strength, where concentration and ornamentation are alike secured, then the deepest needs of great numbers are fully met. What was vague and dim is brought into light. What was only half conceived, and so but half felt, is made to grip the soul with power. Poetry is of the very highest value for the inspiration and guidance of life, for calling out the emotions and opening up spiritual visions. It carries truths not only into the understanding, but into the heart, where they are likely to have the most direct effect on conduct. In the language of Robert Southey, I commit these pages to the Christian public, with a sincere belief that much benefit will result to all who shall read them: "Go forth, little book, from this my solitude; I cast thee on the waters, — go thy ways; And if, as I believe, thy vein be good. The world will find thee after many days. Be it with thee according to thy worth; Go, little book! in faith I send thee forth." James Mudge. Maiden, Mass. HEROISM CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH THE INEVITABLE I like the man who faces what he must, With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; Who fights the daily battle without fear; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps tinfalter- ing trust That God is God; that somehow, true and just, His plans work out for mortals ; not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear. Falls from his grasp: better, with love, a crust Than living in dishonor: envies not, Nor loses faith in man; but does his best. Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot. But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest To every toiler: he alone is great Who by a life heroic conquers fate. — Sarah Knowles Bolton. DEFEATED YET TRIUMPHANT They never fail who die In a great cause. The block may soak their gore; Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs Be strung to city gates and castle walls ; But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years Elapse and others share as dark a doom, They but augment the deep and sweep- ing thoughts Which overpower all others and con- duct The world, at last, to freedom. — George Gordon Byron. A HERO GONE He has done the work of a true man — ■ Crown him, honor him, love him; Weep over him, tears of woman, Stoop, manliest brows, above him! For the warmest of hearts is frozen; The freest of hands is still; And the gap in our picked and chosen The long years may not fill. No duty could overtask him, No need his will outrun: Or ever our lips could ask him. His hands the work had done. He forgot his own life for others. Himself to his neighbor lending. Found the Lord in his suffering brothers. And not in the clouds descending. And he saw, ere his eye was darkened. The sheaves of the harvest-bringing ; And knew, while his ear yet hearkened. The voice of the reapers singing. Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin. He has heard the Master's blessing, "Good and faithful, enter in!" — John Greenleaf Whittier. THE CHARGE They outtalked thee, hissed thee, tore thee? Better men fared thus before thee; Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, Hotly charged — and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall. Find thy body by the wall! — Matthew Arnold. HEROISM THE REFORMER Before the monstrous wrong he sets him down — One man against a stone-walled city of sin. For centuries those walls have been a- building; Smooth porphyry, they slope and coldly glass The flying storm and wheeling sun. No chink, No crevice, lets the thinnest arrow in. He fights alone, and from the cloudy ramparts A thousand evil faces gibe and jeer him. Let him lie down and die: what is the right. And where is justice, in a world like this? But by and by earth shakes herself, impatient ; And down, in one great roar of ruin, crash Watch-tower and citadel and battle- ments. When the red dust has cleared, the lonely soldier Stands with strange thoughts beneath the, friendly stars. — Edward Rowland Sill. LIFE AND DEATH So he died for his faith. That is fine — More than most of us do. But, say, can you add to that line That he lived for it, too? In his death he bore witness at last As a martyr to truth. Did his life do the same in the past From the days of his youth? It is easy to die. Men have died For a wish or a whim — From bravado or passion or pride. Was it harder for him? But to live — every day to live out All the truth that he dreamt. While his friends met his conduct with doubt And the world with contempt. Was it thus that he plodded ahead, Never turning aside? Then we'll talk of the life that he lived. Never mind how he died. — Ernest Crosby. THE RED PLANET MARS The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still. And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art. That readest this brief psalm. As one by one thy hopes depart. Be resolute and calm. Oh, fear not in a world like tk:s, And thou shalt know erelong, — Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE NOBLE ARMY OP MARTYRS PRAISE THEE Not they alone who from the bitter strife Came forth victorious, yielding wil- lingly That which they deem most precious, even life, Content to suffer all things, Christ, for Thee; Not they alone whose feet so firmly trod The pathway ending in rack, sword and flame. Foreseeing death, yet faithful to their Lord, Enduring for His sake the pain and shame ; Not they alone have won the martyr's palm, Not only from their life proceeds the eternal psalm. For earth hath martyrs now, a saintly throng; Each day unnoticed do we pass them by; 'Mid busy crowds they calmly move along. Bearing a hidden cross, how patiently! Not theirs the sudden anguish, swift and keen, Their hearts are worn and wasted with small cares, With daily griefs and thrusts from foes unseen ; Troubles and trials that take them unawares ; Theirs is a lingering, silent martyrdom; They weep through weary years, and long for rest to come. HEROISM They weep, but murmur not; it is God's will, And they have learned to bend their own to his; Simply enduring, knowing that each ill Is but the herald of some future bliss ; Striving and sioffering, yet so silently They know it least who seem to know them best. Faithful and true through long ad- versity They work and wait vmtil God gives them rest; These surely share with those of by- gone days The palm-branch and the crown, and swell their song of praise. THE HAPPY WARRIOR 'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high. Conspicuous object in a nation's eye, Or left tmthought of in obscurity. Who, with a toward or untoward lot. Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not, — Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won; Whom neither shape of danger can dismay. Nor thought of tender happiness betray ; Who, not content that former work stand fast. Looks forward, persevering to the last. From well to better, daily self-surpast ; Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth Forever, and to noble deeds give birth. Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame. And leave a dead, unprofitable name — Finds comfort in himself and in his cause, And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : This is the happy warrior ; this is he That every man in arms should wish to be. — William Wordsworth. Around the man who seeks a noble end Not angels but divinities attend. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. ROBERT BROWNING'S MESSAGE Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be. The last of Kfe, for which the first was made; Otir times are in His hand Who saith, "A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!" Poor vaunt of life indeed. Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast ; Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men: Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be otu- joys three parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! For thence — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be. And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. Not on the vulgar mass Called "work" must sentence pass. Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand. The low world laid its hand. Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb, So passed in making up the main account ; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure. That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: HEROISM Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me. This I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. Fool! All that is, at all. Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee That was, is, and shall be : Time's wheel runs back or stops ; Potter and clay endure. — From "Rabbi Ben Ezra." TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide. In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight. Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right, And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light. Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word; Truth forever on the scaffold. Wrong forever on the throne — Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own. Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust. Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied. Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes — they were souls that stood alone While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone; Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine. By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design. By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track, Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned. For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands. On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots bum. While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn. 'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves; Worshipers of light ancestral make the present light a crime ; — Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time ? Turn those tracks toward Past or Future that make Plymouth Rock sublime ? They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires. Smothering in their holy ashes Free- dom's new-lit altar-fires; Shall we make their creed our jailer? shall we in our haste to slay. From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away To light up the martyr- fagots round the prophets of to-day? New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea. Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. James Russell Lowell. HEROISM COLUMBUS Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now, we must pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" "Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!' " "My men grow mutinous day by day; ftly men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" " Why, you shall say at break of day, 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!' " They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow. Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say — " He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on! " They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate: "This mad sea shows its teeth to- night. He curls his lip, he lies in wait. With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word. What shall we do when hope is gone ? " The words leapt as a leaping sword, "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck. And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck — A light! A light! A light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn: He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: " On, and on! " — ^Joaquin Miller. THE CHOSEN FEW The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain; His blood-red banner streams afar; Who follows in his train? Who best can drink His cup of woe, And triumph over pain, Who patient bears His cross below — He follows in His train. A glorious band, the chosen few, On whom the Spirit came; Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew. And mocked the cross and flame. They climbed the dizzy steep to heaven Through peril, toil and pain ; O God! to us may grace be given To follow in their train! — Reginald Heber. HOW DID YOU DIE? Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful. Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? O, a trouble is a ton, or a trouble is an ounce. Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts. But only — how did you take it? You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat. But to Tie there — that's disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you botmce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts ; It's how did you fight — and why? And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could. If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry. It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only — how did you die? — Edmund Vance Cooke. HEROISM LUTHER That which he knew he uttered, Conviction made him strong; And with undaunted courage He faced and fought the wrong. No power on earth could silence hiin Whom love and faith made brave; And though four hundred years have gone Men strew with flowers his grave. A frail child bom to poverty, A German miner's son; A poor monk searching in his cell, What honors he has won! The nations crown him faithful, A man whom truth made free; God give us for these easier times More men as real as he! — Marianne Famingham. THE MARTYRS Flung to the heedless winds. Or on the waters cast. The martyrs' ashes, watched. Shall gathered be at last ; And from that scattered dust. Around us and abroad. Shall spring a plenteous seed Of witnesses for God. The Father hath received Their latest living breath; And vain is Satan's boast Of victory in their death; Still, still, though dead, they speak, And, trumpet-ton gued, proclaim To many a wakening land. The one availing name. — Martin Luther, tr. by John A. Mes- senger. Stainless soldier on the walls, Knowing this — and knows no more — Whoever fights, whoever falls. Justice conquers evermore. Justice after as before; And he who battles on her side, God, though he were ten times slain, Crowns him victor glorified, Victor over death and pain. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. ETERNAL JUSTICE The man is thought a knave, or fool, Or bigot, plotting crime. Who, for the advancement of his kind. Is wiser than his time. For him the hemlock shall distil; For him the axe be bared; For him the gibbet shall be built; For him the stake prepared. Him shall the scorn and wrath of men Pursue with deadly aim; And malice, envy, spite, and lies, Shall desecrate his name. But Truth shall conquer at the last, For rotind and round we run; And ever the Right comes uppermost. And ever is Justice done. Pace through thy cell, old Socrates, Cheerily to and fro; Trust to the impulse of thy soul. And let the poison flow. They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay That holds a light divine, Bvit they cannot quench the fire of thought By any such deadly wine. They cannot blot thy spoken words From the memory of man By all the poison ever was brewed Since time its course began. To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored. For round and round we run, And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done. Plod in thy cave, gray anchorite; Be wiser than thy peers; Augment the range of human power, And trust to coming years. They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed, And load thee with dispraise; Thou wert bom five hundred years too soon For the comfort of thy days; But not too soon for human kind. Time hath reward in store; And the demons of our sires become The saints that we adore. The blind can see, the slave is lord, So roimd and round we run; And ever the Wrong is proved to be wrong And ever is Justice done. HEROISM Keep, Galileo, to thy thought, And nerve thy sotil to bear; They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring From the pangs of thy despair; They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide The sun's meridian glow; The heel of a priest may tread thee down And a tyrant work thee woe; But never a truth has been destroyed; They may curse it and call it crime; Pervert and betray, or slander and slay Its teachers for a time. But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, As round and round we run; And the Truth shall ever come upper- most, And Justice shall be done. And live there now such men as these — With thoughts like the great of old? Many have died in their misery, And left their thought untold; And many live, and are ranked as mad, And are placed in the cold world's ban. For sending their bright, far-seeing souls Three centuries in the van. They toil in penury and grief. Unknown, if not maligned; Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn Of the meanest of mankind! But yet the world goes round and round, And the genial seasons run; And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done. — Charles Mackay. We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides. The spirit bloweth and is still; In mystery our soul abides: But tasks in hours of insight willed Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled. With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern. — Matthew Arnold. WHAT MAKES A HERO? What makes a hero? — not success, not fame. Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted avarice — caps tossed up in air. Or pen of journalist with flourish fair; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim. Or true reward; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. What makes a hero? — An heroic mind, Expressed in action, in endurance proved. And if there be preeminence of right. Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind. Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse — ingratitude and poison- ous darts. Launched by the country he had served and loved. This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure. This, in the strength of silence to en- dure, A dignity to noble deeds imparts Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown ; This is the hero's complement and crown; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still — One glorious triumph of the heroic will. One self-approval in his heart of hearts. ^Henry Taylor. As the bird trims her to the gale I trim myself to the storm of time; I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime ; "Lowly faithful banish fear. Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed." — Ralph Waldo Emerson. HEROISM DEMAND FOR MEN The world wants men — large-hearted, manly men; Men who shall join its chorus and pro- long The psalm of labor, and the psalm of love. The times want scholars — scholars who shall shape The doubtful destinies of dubious years. And land the ark that bears our coun- try's good Safe on some peaceful Ararat at last. The age wants heroes — heroes who shall dare To struggle in the solid ranks of truth; To clutch the monster error by the throat ; To bear opinion to a loftier seat; To blot the era of oppression out, And lead a universal freedom on. And heaven wants souls — fresh and capacious souls; To taste its raptures, and expand, like flowers, Beneath the glory of its central sun. It wants fresh souls — not lean and shrivelled ones; It wants fresh souls, my brother, give it thine. If thou indeed wilt be what scholars should ; If thou wilt be a hero, and wilt strive To help thy fellow and exalt thy- self. Thy feet at last shall stand on jasper floors ; Thy heart, at last, shall seem a thousand hearts — Each single heart with myriad raptures filled— While thou shalt sit with princes and with kings. Rich in the jewel of a ransomed soul. Blessed are they who die for God, And earn the martyr's crown of light; Yet he who lives for God may be I A greater conqueror in his sight. Better to stem with heart and hand The roaring tide of life than lie, Unmindful, on its flowery strand, Of God's occasions drifting by! TRUTH Truth will prevail, though men abhor The glory of its light; And wage exterminating war And put all foes to flight. Though trodden under foot of men, Truth from the dust will spring, And from the press — the lip — the pen — In tones of thunder ring. Beware — ^beware, ye who resist The light that beams around, Lest, ere you look through error's mist, Truth strike you to the ground. — D. C. Colesworthy. TO A REFORMER Nay, now, if these things that you yearn to teach Bear wisdom, in your judgment, rich and strong. Give voice to them though no man heed your speech. Since right is right though all the world go wrong. The proof that you believe what you declare Is that you still stand firm though throngs pass by; Rather cry truth a lifetime to void air Than flatter listening millions with one lie! — Edgar Fawcett. TEACH ME THE TRUTH Teach me the truth, Lord, though it put to flight My cherished dreams and fondest fancy's play; Give me to know the darkness from the light, The night from day. Teach me the truth. Lord, though my heart may break In casting out the falsehood for the true; Help me to take my shattered life and make Its actions new. HEROISM Teach me the truth, Lord, though my feet may fear The rocky path that opens out to me ; Rough it may be, but let the way be clear That leads to thee. Teach me the truth. Lord. When false creeds decay. When man-made dogmas vanish with the night, Then, Lord, on thee my darkened soul shall stay, Thou living Light. — Frances Lockwood Green. HEROISM It takes great strength to train To modem service your ancestral brain ; To lift the weight of the unnumbered years Of dead men's habits, methods, and ideas ; To hold that back with one hand, and support With the other the weak steps of the new thought. It takes great strength to bring your life up square With your accepted thought and hold it there; Resisting the inertia that drags back From new attempts to the old habit's track. It is so easy to drift back, to sink; So hard to live abreast of what you think. It takes great strength to live where you belong When other people think that you are wrong; People you love, and who love you, and whose Approval is a pleasure you would choose. To bear this pressure and succeed at length In living your belief — well, it takes strength. And courage, too. But what does courage mean Save strength to help you face a pain foreseen ? Courage to undertake this lifelong strain Of setting yours against your grand- sire's brain; Dangerous risk of walking lone and free Out of the easy paths that used to be. And the fierce pain of hurting those we love When love meets truth, and truth must ride above. But the best courage man has ever shown Is daring to cut loose and think alone. Dark are the unlit chambers of clear space Where light shines back from no re- flecting face. Our Sim's wide glare, our heaven's shining blue, We owe to fog and dust they fumble through ; And our rich wisdom that we treasure so Shines from the thousand things that we don't know. But to think new — it takes a cotirage grim As led Columbus over the world's rim. To think it cost some courage. And to go — Try it. It takes every power you know. It takes great love to stir the human heart To live beyond the others and apart. A love that is not shallow, is not small. Is not for one or two, but for them all. Love that can wound love for its higher need; Love that can leave love, though the heart may bleed; Love that can lose love, family and friend. Yet steadfastly live, loving, to the end. A love that asks no answer, that can live Moved by one burning, deathless force — to give. Love, strength, and courage; cotirage, strength, and love. The heroes of all time are built thereof. — Charlotte Perkins Stetson, lO HEROISM TO TRUTH () Rliir of Irtilli down shininj^ Tlirou^li clotnls of ili)>il)( mikI ft';ir, I asU l)iit 'iK'iilli yo;li tnilried dtseils. Or over IraeUless St'ii, Tlion);h 1 Ih' lone aiul \\'eaiv, Lead on, I'll follow (Iuh'. Tho hlocdinjf feel, of martyrs Thy Idilsome road have (lod. Htit tires of hnniaii passioti May lij^lit tiie way to (lod. Then, thonj;h my feel, shotild fidter, \Vliil<' 1 thy beams ean s<'e, riionj;li I he lone and weary, Lead on, I'll follow thee. Thini);h loxiii); friends forsal<<> me. Or plt>ad with me in teais — Thonj;h anyjry foes may threaten To shaki' my soni with fears — Still to my \\\y\h alle>.;ianee I nmsl not faitliless he. Thronv.h life or death, lon'ver, Lead oil, I'll follow thee. — Minot J. Savu);[i\ NOIU.ICSSIC OMI.KH': Not. otns nobility of this world's >.;'^''".U (Ir.'inted by monarehs of some i>arthly throne; Not (his life only which is worth the livinjj. Nor honor here worth slrivini' for alone. I'rinees are we, and of a line rij;ht royal; ll(Mrs ar<" we t>f a j;loiions n-alm above ; Yet lH>nnd ((< .serviet" hmnble, triie, and loyal. For (hns eonslraineth ns onr Mon- areh's love. And lookinjj (o the joy (hat lies before us, The crown held onl to our oiue f.dlen race ; i,«'d by (he li};ht (hat ever shineth o'er us, Man is restored (o n.iture's noblest I)laee. Noblcsso o/>/ii,'<'— (om- very watchword ,. Iw it I) To raise the fallen fiom (his low estate, i'o boldly combat wroii),; whene'er wo see i(. To render j;ood for evil, love for hate. ,V(i/>/c.v.vr oblifie — to tieeds of valiant diirinj^j In alien lands which other lords obey, And into farthest climes our standanl bearinj,'. To lead (hem cap(ive 'i\eath om' Masti'r's sway. iVo/i/cv.vc t>hlii^c — that, jj[rudj;inK ""' <>'"• treasure, Nor ,scekinj.j jiny portioti {a withhold, \\\' fi-eely j^ive it, w^ithout stint or nu"asnre, Whate'cr it lu" — our talents, time, or K*'ld. Nohlcssc oNifir — that, lookinj^ tipward ever, We serve onr KiiiK with cour,Mj;c, faitli, and love. Till, throtij^'h that vjraee which c.in from death deliver, Wc claim our noble heritaj^e above! OUR lll'ROICS The winds that once the ;\reo bore llavt< f (he det'p sj>a door. Thouj;l» shaped of relion's tallest pines. Von may .seek her crew in every isle, h'air in the foam of .-Ki^wm .seas. Hut (Mit of their sleep no charm can wile jason and Ori>h(-\is and Hercules. HEROISM zi And Priuin's voim is liciinl no iiiuiti Hy wiiuly llliimr« siii-hiiill. vvnil;; ; p'roin llw wiiKliiiij; vviivc imd (lie lonch slunc Ni) wail jjDCH tip IIS Hector I'lillii. On Ida's nionnt. is llu^ sliinin^ snow, Milt. Jov<; li;i:; j'luii' lioni il.'i lnow away, And ri'd on llic |.l.iiil llir |io|i|ii(:; L;idvv Wlicrc (Iri'cU and Trojan rouj;li( lli.il ',Ii'a,ininj; snow;; and llic |io|i jiics red All thai, is l<'fl ol' I III' hravc of voii-i" Are (.here noixi to lij;lit, a;; 'riic;,cii!i fon^^dil, l''ar in (lit; yonnj; woild's mi:;ly , in his Isle of e.'iiiii r|i<< s hushed in einlN'SS sleep; Well ini>;lit. till" noldesl, cause <-xpire Menealh that. nian}.;le(|, sinoiild<'riii^; heap; \i{ Ihal. wan hand, tinarm;I He snll'ers, lait, he will not Hiiller loii^;; I h- snllers, lint he cannot Hiider wroii); l'"or him nor moves the loud world's random mock. Nor all ('ala,mil,y's hiij'est waves eon- foiin.l. Who seems a piomoiippi y of loil., That, compasse<| ioiiikI willi liiilm- li'iit sound. In middle ocean mi-i'ls the siii7;iii^ slioelc, Teinpest-lailfeted, ciliidel crowned. - Alfred Telinysr)!!. HEROISM NOBLE DEEDS Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares. Honor to those whose words or deeds Thus help us in our daily needs, And by their overflow Raise us from what is low! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. GOD'S HEROES Not on the gory field of fame Their noble deeds were done; Not in the sound of earth's acclaim Their fadeless crowns were won. Not from the palaces of kings, Nor fortune's sunny clime, Came the great souls, whose life-work flings Luster o'er earth and time. For truth with tireless zeal they sought ; In joyless paths they trod — Heedless of praise or blame they wrought, And left the rest to God. The lowliest sphere was not disdained; Where love could soothe or save, They went, by fearless faith sustained, Nor knew their deeds were brave. The foes with which they waged their strife Were passion, self, and sin; The victories that laureled life Were fought and won within. Not names in gold emblazoned here, And great and good confessed, In Heaven's immortal scroll appear As noblest and as best. No sculptured stone in stately temple Proclaims their rugged lot; Like Him who was their great example. This vain world knew them not. But though their names no poet wove In deathless song or story. Their record is inscribed above; Their wreaths are crowns of glory. — Edward Hartley Dewart. WORLDLY PLACE "Even in a palace, life may be led well!" So spoke the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell. Our freedom for a little bread we sell. And drudge tmder some foolish master's ken. Who rates us if we peer outside our pen->- Matched with a palace, is not this a hell? "Even in a palace!" On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words no shadow ever came; And when my ill-schooled spirit is aflame Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop and say: "There were no succor here! The aids to noble life are all within." — Matthew Arnold. THE VICTORY To do the tasks of life, and be not lost; To mingle, yet dwell apart; To be by roughest seas how rudely tossed. Yet bate no jot of heart; To hold thy course among the heavenly stars. Yet dwell upon the earth; To stand behind Fate's firm-laid prison bars, Yet win all Freedom's worth. — Sydney Henry Morse. 'Twere sweet indeed to close our eyes with those we cherish near, And wafted upward by their sighs soar to some calmer sphere; But whether on the scaffold high or in the battle's van The fittest place where man can die is where he dies for man. — Michael Joseph Barry. HEROISM 13 A TRUE HERO (James Braidwood of the London Fire Brigade; died June, 1861.) Not at the battle front, writ of in story. Not in the blazing wreck, steering to glory; Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever. Died he — this Hero now; hero forever. No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him; No friends applauding watched, no foes arraigned him; Death found him there, without gran- deur or beauty. Only an honest man doing his duty; Just a God-fearing man, simple and lowly. Constant at kirk and hearth, kindly as holy; Death found — and touched him with finger in flying — Lo! he rose up complete — ^hero undying. Now all men mourn for him, lovingly raise him. Up from his life obscure, chronicle, praise him; Tell his last act; done 'midst peril ap- palling, And the last word of cheer from his lips falling; Follow in multitudes to his grave's portal ; Leave him there, buried in honor im- mortal. So many a Hero walks unseen beside us. Till comes the supreme stroke sent to divide us. Then the Lord calls his own — ^like this man, even, Carried, Elijah-like, fire-winged, to heaven. — Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man. — Samuel Daniel. BATTLES Nay, not for place, but for the right. To make this fair world fairer still — Or lowly lily of the night. Or sun topped tower of a hill. Or high or low, or near or far, Or dull or keen, or bright or dim. Or blade of grass, or brightest star — All, all are but the same to him. O pity of the strife for place! O pity of the strife for power! How scarred, how marred a mountain's face! How fair the face of a flower! The blade of grass beneath your feet The bravest sword — aye, braver far To do and die in mute defeat Than bravest conqueror of war! When I am dead, say this, but this: "He grasped at no man's blade or shield. Or banner bore, but helmetless, Alone, unknown, he held the field; He held the field, with sabre drawn, Where God had set him in the fight; He held the field, fought on and on. And so fell, fighting for the right!" — -Joaquin Miller. While thus to love he gave his days In loyal worship, scorning praise. How spread their lures for him in vain. Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain ! He thought it happier to be dead. To die for Beauty than live for bread. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. Whether we climb, whether we plod. Space for one task the scant years lend. To choose some path that leads to God, And keep it to the end. — Lizette Wood worth Reese. Bravely to do whate'er the time de- mands. Whether with pen or sword, and not to flinch. This is the task that fits heroic hands; So are Truth's boundaries widened, inch by inch. — ^James Russell Lowell. COURAGE CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR THE BATTLEFIELD Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave — Gushed, warm with life and courage yet. Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm and fresh and still. Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talks of children on the hill. And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-movithed gun and gering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry; Oh, be it never heard again I stag- Soon rested those who fought; but thou Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare! lingering long Through weary day and weary year; A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front, and flank, and Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. And blench not at thy chosen lot; The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell at last The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers. Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear. Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed, The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. — William Cullen Byrant, DARE YOU? Doubting Thomas and loving John, Behind the others walking on: "Tell me now, John, dare you be One of the minority? To be lonely in your thought, Never visited nor sought. Shunned with secret snrug, to go Through the world esteemed its foe; To be singled out and hissed, Pointed at as one unblessed, Warned against in whispers faint. Lest the children catch a taint; To bear off your titles well, — Heretic and infidel? If you dare, come now with me, Fearless, confident and free." "Thomas, do you dare to be Of the great majority? To be only, as the rest. With Heaven's common comforts blessed ; 14 COURAGE IS To accept, in humble part, Truth tnat shines on every heart; Never to be set on high. Where the envious curses fly; Never name or fame to find, Still outstripped in soul and mind ; To be hid, unless to God, As one grass-hl.'idc in the sod; Underfoot with millions trod? If you dure, come with us, be Lost in love's ereat unity." — Edward Rowland Sill. SENSITIVENESS Time was I shrank from what was right. From fear of what was wroniLj; I would not brave the sacred fight Because the foe was strong. Hut now I cast that finer sense And sorer shame aside; Such dread of sin was indolence, Such aim at heaven was pride. So when my Saviour calls I rise, And calmly do my best; Leaving to Jlim, with silent eyes Of hope and fear, the rest. I step, I rtiount, where lie has led; Men count my baitings o'er; I know them; yet, though .self I dread, I love His precept more. — ^John Henry Newman. COURAGE Because I hold it sinful to despond, And will not let the bitterness of life Mliiid me with burning tears, but Itjok beyond Its ttnnult and its strife; Because 1 lift my head above the mist, Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blf)w. By every ray and c;vi'ry rain-drop kissed That God's love doth bestow; Think you I find no bitterness at all? No burden tf) be borne, like Chris- tian's pack? Think you there are no ready tears to fall Becatise I keep them back? Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve, To curse myself and all who love me? Nay I A thotisand times more good than I deserve (iod gives me every day. And in each one of these rebellious tears Kt])t bravely back lie makes a rain- bow sliiiK! ; Gratefully 1 take His slightest gift, no fears Nor any doubts are mine. l^ark skies must clear, and when the clouds .'ire ])ast One golden day redeems a weary year ; Patient I listen, sun^ that sweet at last Will vSound his voice of cheer. Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be. I must be glad and grateful to the end. I grudge you not your cold and dark- n<'ss, — me 'i'he powers of light befriend. — Celia Thaxter. DO AND BE BLEST Dare to think, though others frown; Dare in words your thoughts ex- j)ress; Dare to rise, thf)Ugh oft cast down; Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. Dare from custom to depart; Dare the priceless pearl possess; Dare tr) wear it next your heart; Dare, when others curse, to l>less. Dare forsake what you deem wrong; Dare to walk in wisdom's way; Dare to give where gifts belong, Dare God's [)recepts to obey. Do what conscience says is right, Do what reason says is best. Do with all your mind and might; Do your duty and be blest. i6 COURAGE A PLACE WITH HIM O tired worker, faltering on life's ruj^ecd way, With faithful hands so full they may not rest. Forget not that the weak of earth have one sure stay. And hinnblest ones by God himself are blest. Who work for Ilim! TheTi courage take, faint heart! and though the path be long God's simple rule thy steps will safely guide: — "Love Ilim, thy neighbor as thyself, iuid do no wrong"; In calm content they all shall surely bide Who walk with Him I So banish every fear, each daily task take up, God's grace thy failing strength shall build anew; His mercy, in thy sorrows, stay the flowing cup: And His great love keei> for thy spirit true A i)lacc with him! — J. D. Seabury. GOD A FORTRESS A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing: Our Helper, he, amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe; His craft and power are great, And, anned with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal. Did wc in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing; Were not the right man on our side, The man of God's own choosing. Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is he; Lord Sabaoth is his name, From age to age the same. And he must win the battle. And though this world, with devils fdled. Should threaten to imdo us; We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us. The Prince of darkness grim — We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure. For lo! his doom is sure. One little word shall fell him. That word above all earthly powers — No thanks to them — abidetli; The Spirit and the gifts are ours Through him who with us sidcth. Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also; The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still. His kingdom is forever. — Martin Luther, tr. by Frederick H. Hedge. STRENGTH Be strong to hope, O heart! Though day is bright. The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, O heart of mine, Look toward the light. Be strong to bear, O heart 1 Nothing is vain: Strive not, for life is care, And God sends pain. Heaven is above, and there Rest will remain. Be strong to love, O heart! Love knows not wrong; Didst thou love creatures even, Life were not long; Didst thou love God in heaven Thou wouldst be strong. Why comes temptation but for man to meet Atid master and make crouch beneath his foot. And so be pedestaled in triumph? Pray, "Lead iis into no such temptation. Lord!" Yea, but, O thou whose servants are the bold, Lead such temptations by the head and hair. Reluctant dragons, up to who dares fight. That so he may do battle and have praise. — Robert Browning. COURAGE 17 BE JUST AND FEAR NOT Speak thou tlic truth. Lot oLlicrs fence, And trim their words for pay: In pleasant sunshine of pretense Let others bask their day. Guard thou the fact; though clouds of night Down on thv watch tower stooj): Though thou snovildst see thine heart's delight Borne from thee by their swoop. Face thou the wind. Though safer seem In shelter to abide: We were not made to sit and dream: The safe must first be tried. Where God hath set His thorns about, Cry not, "The way is plain": His path within for those without Is paved with toil and pain. One fragment of His blessed Word, Into thy spirit burned, Is better than the whole half-heard And by thine interest turned. Show thou thy light. If conscience gleam, Set not thy bushel down; The smallest spark may send his beam O'er hamlet, tower, and town. Woe, woe to him, on safety bent. Who creeps to age from youth, Failing to grasp his life's intent Because he fears the truth. Be true to every inmost thought. And as thy thought, thy speech: What thou hast not by suffering bought. Presume thou not to teach. Hold on, hold on — thovi hast the rock, The foes are on the sand: The first world tempest's ruthless shock Scatters their drifting strand: While each wild gust the mist shall clear We now see darkly through, And justified at last appear The true, in Him that's True. — Henry Alford. COURAC^.Ii) DEFINICI) Tlie brave man is not he who feels no fear. For that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear sub- dues. And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. As for your youth whom blood and blows delight, Away with them! there is not in their crew One valiant spirit. — Joanna Baillie. DEMAND FOR COURAGE Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art; Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart Thy two-edged weapon; patience is thy shield. Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field. To be afraid to die, or wish for death. Are words and passions of despairing breath. Who doth the first the day doth faintly yield ; And who the second basely flies the field. — Francis Quarles. When falls the hour of evil chance — And hours of evil chance will fall — Strike, though with but a broken lance! Strike, though you have no lance at all! Shrink not, however great the odds; Shrink not, however dark the hour — The barest possibility of good Demands your utmost power. They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; 'J'hey are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoflfing and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three. — James Russell Lowell. i8 COURAGE TRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT Courage, brother, do not stumble. Though thy path be dark as night; There's a star to guide the humble — Trust in God and do the right. Though the road be long and dreary. And the end be out of sight; Foot it bravely, strong or weary — Trust in God and do the right. Perish "policy" and cunning, Perish all that fears the light; Whether losing, whether winning, Trust in God and do the right. Shun all forms of guilty passion, Fiends can look like angels bright; Heed no custom, school, or fashion — Trust in God and do the right. Some will hate thee, some will love thee. Some will flatter, some will slight; Cease from man and look above thee. Trust in God and do the right. Simple rule and safest guiding — Inward peace and shining light — Star upon ovu* path abiding — Tkust in God and do the Right. — Norman Macleod. THE PRESENT CRISIS We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful time. In an age on ages telling to be living is sublime. Hark! the waking up of nations; Gog and Magog to the fray. Hark! what sovmdeth? Tis creation groaning for its latter day. Will ye play, then, will ye dally, with your music and your wine? Up! it is Jehovah's rally; God's own arm hath need of thine; Hark! the onset! will ye fold your faith- clad arms in lazy lock? Up! O up, thou drowsy soldier! Worlds are charging to the shock. Worlds are charging — heaven behold- ing; thou hast but an hour to fight; Now the blazoned cross imfolding, on, right onward for the right! On! let all the soul within you for the truth's sake go abroad! Strike ! let every nerve and sinew tell on ages; tell for God! — Arthur Cleveland Coxe. BRAVERY We will speak on; we will be heard; Though all earth's systems crack, We will not bate a single word. Nor take a letter back. We speak the truth; and what care we For hissing and for scorn While some faint gleaming we can see Of Freedom's coming morn! Let liars fear; let cowards shrink; Let traitors turn away; Whatever we have dared to think, That dare we also say. — ^James Russell Lowell. NO ENEMIES He has no enemies, you say? My friend, your boast is poor; He who hath mingled in the fray Of duty, that the brave endure. Must have made foes. If he has none Small is the work that he has done. He has hit no traitor on the hip; He has cast no cup from tempted lip; He has never turned the wrong to right; He has been a coward in the fight. One deed may mar a life. And one can make it. Hold firm thy will for strife. Lest a quick blow break it! Even now from far, on viewless wing. Hither speeds the nameless thing Shall put thy spirit to the test. Haply or e'er yon sinking sun Shall drop behind the purple West All shall be lost — or won! — Richard Watson Gilder. In spite of sorrow, loss, and pain. Our course be onward still; We sow on Burmah's barren plain, We reap on Zion's hill. — Adoniram Judson. I find no foeman in the road but Fear. To doubt is failure and to dare success. — Frederic Lawrence Knowles. COURAGE 19 DARE TO DO RIGHT Dare to do right! dare to be true! You have a work that no other can do, Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well, Angels will hasten the story to tell. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Other men's failures can never save you; Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith; Stand like a hero, and battle till death. Dare to do right! dare to be true! God, who created you, cares for you too; Treasvires the tears that his striving ones shed, Counts and protects every hair of your head. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Keep the great judgment-seat always in view; Look at your work as you'll look at it then — ■ Scanned by Jehovah, and angels, and men. Dare to do right! dare to be true! Cannot Omnipotence carry you through ? City, and mansion, and throne all in sight — Can you not dare to be true and do right? Dare to do right! dare to be true! Prayerfully, lovingly, firmly pursue The path by apostles and martyrs once trod. The path of the just to the city of God. — George Lansing Taylor. PLUCK WINS Pluck wins! It always wins! though days be slow. And nights be dark 'twixt days that come and go. Still pluck will win; its average is sure. He gains the prize who will the most endure ; Who faces issues; he who never shirks; Who waits and watches, and who always works. BE NEVER DISCOURAGED Be never discouraged! Look up and look on; When the prospect is darkest The cloud is withdrawn. The shadows that blacken The earth and the sky. Speak to the strong-hearted. Salvation is nigh. Be never discouraged! If you would secure The earth's richest blessings. And make heaven sure, Yield not in the battle. Nor quail in the blast ; The brave and unyielding Win nobly at last. Be never discouraged! By day and by night Have glory in prospect And wisdom in sight; Undaunted and faithful. You never will fail. Though kingdoms oppose you And devils assail. — D. C. Colesworthy. NEVER SAY FAIL Keep pushing — 'tis wiser than sitting aside And dreaming and sighing and waiting the tide. In life's earnest battle they only pre- vail Who daily march onward, and never say fail. With an eye ever open, a tongue that's not dumb. And a heart that will never to sorrow succumb. You'll battle — and conquer, though thousands assail; How strong and how mighty, who never say fail. In life's rosy morning, in manhood's firm pride. Let this be the motto your footsteps to gfuide: In storm and in sunshine, whatever assail, We'll onward and conquer, and never say fail. COURAGE ONLY ONE WAY However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes, With fluttering flags and prancing nags And echoing roll of drums. Still truth proclaims this motto, In letters of living light: No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Though the heel of the strong oppressor May grind the weak in the dust, And the voices of fame with one acclaim May call him great and just. Let those who applaud take warning, And keep this motto in sight: No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Let those who have failed take courage ; Though the enemy seemed to have won, Though his ranks are strong, if in the wrong The battle is not yet done. For, sure as the morning follov^s The darkest hour of the night, No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. . FORTITUDE AMID TRIALS O, never from thy tempted heart Let thine integrity depart I When Disappointment fills thy cup, Undaunted, nobly drink it up; Truth will prevail and Justice show Her tardy honors, sure, though slow. Bear on — bear bravely on! Bear on! Our life is not a dream. Though often such its mazes seem; We were not bom for lives of ease, Ourselves alone to aid and please. To each a daily task is given, A labor which shall fit for Heaven; When Duty calls, let Love grow warm; Amid the sunshine and the storm. With Faith life's trials boldly breast, And come a conqueror to thy rest. Bear on — bear bravely on! He that feeds men serveth few; He serves all who dares be true. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. PLUCK Be firm. One constant element in luck Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck. See yon tall shaft? It felt the earth- quake's thrill. Clung to its base, and greets the sun- light still. Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip. But only crow-bars loose the bulldog's grip; Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields. Yet, in opinions look not always back; Your wake is nothing, — mind the com- ing track; Leave what you've done for what you have to do, Don't be "consistent," but be simply true. — Oliver Wendell Holmes. Do thy little; do it well; Do what right and reason tell; Do what wrong and sorrow claim: Conquer sin and cover shame. Do thy little, though it be Dreariness and drudgery; They whom Christ apostles made Gathered fragments when he bade. Is the work difficult? Jesus directs thee. Is the path dangerous? Jesus protects thee. Fear not and falter not; Let the word cheer thee: All through the coming year He will be near thee. Well to suffer is divine. Pass the watchword down the line. Pass the countersign. Endure! Not to him who rashly dares, But to him who nobly bears. Is the victor's garland svu"e. — ^John Greenleaf Whittier. COURAGE If thou canst plan a noble deed And never flag till thou succeed, Though in the strife thy heart shall bleed, Whatever obstacles control, Thine hour will come ; go on, true soul ! Thou'lt win the prize ; thou'lt reach the goal. I honor the man who is willing to sink Half his present repute for freedom to think; And when he has that, be his cause strong or weak, Will risk t'other half for freedom to speak. — ^James Russell Lowell. The word is great, and no deed is greater When both are of God, to follow or lead; But alas! for the truth when the word comes later. With questioned steps, to sustain the deed. — ^John Boyle O'Reilly. Stand upright, speak thy thought, de- clare The truth thou hast that all may share ; Be bold, proclaim it everywhere; They only live who dare. — Lewis Morris. There is no duty patent in the world Like daring try be good and true myself. Leaving the shows of things to the Lord of show And Prince o' the power of the air. — Robert Browning. Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. — ^Aaron Hill (1685-1750). On the red rampart's slippery swell, With heart that beat a charge, he fell Foeward, as fits a man; But the high soul bums on to light men's feet Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet. ■ — ^James Russell Lowell. I do not ask that Thou shalt front the fray. And drive the warring foeman from my sight: I only ask, O Lord, by night, by day, Strength for the fight 1 No coward soul is mine. No trembler in the world's storm- troubled sphere; I see Heaven's glories shine. And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. — Emily Bronte. You will find that luck Is only pluck To try things over and over; Patience and skill. Courage and will, Are the four leaves of luck's clover. the The chivalry right and disregards That dares alike The yea and nay o' the world. — Robert Browning. God has his best things for the few Who dare to stand the test; He has his second choice for those Who will not have his best. Dare to be true ; nothing can need a lie ; A fault which needs it most grows two thereby. — George Herbert. INDEPENDENCE MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION WANTED God give tts men! A time like this demands Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; Men whom the lust of office does not kill; Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; Men who possess opinions and a will; Men who have honor — men who will not lie. Men who can stand before a dcmagogiie And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking; Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog In public duty and in private think- ing; For while the rabble, with their thiimb- wom creeds. Their large professions and their little deeds, Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps. Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps. — Josiah Gilbert Holland. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE By thine own soul's law leam to live. And if men thwart thee take no heed; And if men hate thee have no care; Sing thou thy song, and do thy deed ; Hope thou thy hope, and pray th)^ prayer. And claim no crown they will not give. Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair. Keep thou thy soul-won, steadfast oath. And to thy heart be true thy heart; What thy soul teaches leam to know. And play out thine appointed part, And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow. Nor helped nor hardened in thy growth, To thy full stature thou shalt grow. Fix on the future's goal thy face, And let thy feet be lured to stray Nowhither, but be swift to run. And nowhere tarry by the way, Until at last the end is won, And thou mayst look back from thy place And see thy long day's journey done. — Pakenham Beatty. LORD OP HIMSELF How happy is he bom and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill. Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath. Who envies none that chance doth raise. Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise. Nor rules of state but rules of good. Who hath his life from rumors freed. Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great. Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands. Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands. And having nothing, yet hath all. — Henry Wotton. High above hate I dwell; O storms, farewell I INDEPENDENCE 23 UNCONQUERED Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. It matters not how strait the gate. How charged with punishments the scroll ; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. — William Ernest Henley. RELIGION AND DOCTRINE He stood before the Sanhedrim: The scowling rabbis gazed at him. He recked not of their praise or blame; There was no fear, there was no shame, For one upon whose dazzled eyes The whole world poured its vast sur- prise. The open heaven was far too near His first day's light too sweet and clear, To let him waste his new-gained ken On the hate-clouded face of men. But still they questioned. Who art thou? What hast thou been? What art thou now? Thou art not he who yesterday Sat here and begged beside the way. For he was blind. "And I am he; For I was blind, but now I see." He told the story o'er and o'er; It was his full heart's only lore; A prophet on the Sabbath day Had touched his sightless eyes with clay. And made him see who had been blind. Their words passed by him like the wind Which raves and howls, but cannot shock The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. Their threats and fury all went wide; They could not touch his Hebrew pride. Their sneers at Jesus and his band. Nameless and homeless in the land. Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, All could not change him by one word. "/ know not what this man may be. Sinner or saint; but as for me One thing I know: that I am he Who once was blind, and now I see." They were all doctors of renown, The great men of a famous town With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise Beneath their wide phylacteries; The wisdom of the East was theirs. And honor crowned their silvery hairs. The man they jeered, and laughed to scorn Was unlearned, poor, and humbly bom ; But he knew better far than they What came to him that Sabbath day; And what the Christ had done for him He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. — ^John Hay, THE OLD STOIC Riches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream, That vanished with the mom. And, if I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, "Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!" Yes, as my swift days near their goal, 'Tis all that I implore. In life and death a chainless soul And courage to endure. — Emily Bronte. Keep to the right, within and without. With stranger and pilgrim and friend ; Keep to the right and you need have no doubt That all will be well in the end. Keep to the right in whatever you do, Nor claim but your own on the way; Keep to the right, and hold on to the true. From the mom to the close of life's day! 24 INDEPENDENCE \<\)\i A' 'I'll AT Is lluTf for hciiusl, poverty Thai Ikui^s his lic.ul, and a' (hat? The coward slave, wc pass him by, We dure be jjoor for a' that; For a' that and a' that; Oiu" toils obscnro and a' that; The rank is bnt the ^juinca-stanip. The man's the gowd fur a' that. What thou},'h on hamcly fare we dine, W»ar hodden j,''''y. '"•<' ''^' lhu,t: die fools their silks and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' (hat; For a' that and a' that, . Their tinsel show, and a' Ihal, The honest man, thoujjh e'er sae poor, Is king o' men, for a that. You see yon l)irkie ca'd a lord, Wha stmts and stares, and a' that: Thouj^'h hundreds worship at his word IIi''s but a coof for a' that. I'\)r a' that and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of inrcc be spent And justice brings a better. But, O, when. Father of Light, when shall the reckon- ing come To lift the weak, and strike the oppressor dumb. — Christopher Pearse Cranch. What I am, what I am not, in the eve Of the world, is what I never cared (ov much. — Robert Browning. I RESOLVE To keep my health; To do my work; To live; To see to it that I grow and gain and give; Never to look behind me for an hour; To wait in meekness, and to walk in power; But always fronting onward, to the light. Always and always facing toward the right. Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide- astray — On, with what strength I have — Back to the way. — Charlotte Perkins Stetson. IN MYSELF I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win; Nor try to conquer any world Except the one within. Be thou my guide until I find Led by a tender hand. The happy kingdom in myself And dare to take command. — Louisa May Alcott. HIDE NOT THY HEART This is my creed, This is my deed: "Hide not thy hearti" Soon we depart; Mortals are all; A breath, then the pall; A flash on the dark — All's done — stiff and stark. No time for a lie; The truth, and then die. Hide not thy hearti Forth with thy thought! Soon 'twill be naught. And thou in thy tomb. Now is air, now is room. Down with false shame; Reck not of fame; Dread not man's spite; Quench not thy light. This Vje thy creed, This be thy deed: "Hide not thy heart f" 26 INDEPENDENCE If God is, he made Sunshine and shade, Heaven and hell; This we know well. Dost thou believe? Do not deceive; Scorn not thy faith — If 'tis a wraith Soon it will fly. Thou who must die. Hide not thy heart! This is my creed, This be my deed: Faith, or a doubt, I shall speak out — And hide not my heart. — Richard Watson Gilder. A GENTLEMAN ( Psa. XV.) 'Tis he whose every thought and deed By rule of virtue moves; Whose generous tongue disdains to speak The thing his heart disproves. Who never did a slander forge His neighbor's fame to wotmd; Nor hearken to a false report By malice whispered round. Who vice in all its pomp and power Can treat with just neglect; And piety, though clothed in rags. Religiously respect. Who to his plighted word of truth Has ever firmly stood; And, though he promised to his loss, Still makes his promise good. Whose soul in usury disdains His treasure to employ; Whom no reward can ever bribe The guiltless to destroy. I hold it as a changeless law. From which no soid can sway or swerve, We have that in us which will draw Whate'er we need or most deserve. BE TRUE THYSELF Thou must be true thyself If thou the truth wouldst teach; Thy soul must overflow if thou Another's soiol wouldst reach. It needs the overflow of heart To give the lips full speech. Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. — Horatius Bonar. Keep pure thy soul! Then shalt thou take the whole Of delight; Then, without a pang. Thine shall be all of beauty whereof the poet sang — The perfume and the pageant, the melody, the mirth, Of the golden day and the starry night; Of heaven and of earth. Oh, keep pure thy soul! — Richard Watson Gilder. Somebody did a golden deed; Somebody proved a friend in need ; Somebody sang a beautiful song; Somebody smiled the whole day long ; Somebody thought, " 'Tis sweet to live. Somebody said, "I'm glad to give"; Somebody fought a valiant fight; Somebody lived to shield the right; Was it you? Then draw we nearer, day by day. Each to his brethren, all to God; Let the world take us as she may, We must not change our road; Not wondering, though in grief, to find The martyr's foe still keep her mind; But fixed to hold Love's banner fast, And by submission win at last. — ^John Keble. Knowing, what all experience serves to show, No mud can soil us but the mud we throw. — ^James Russell Lowell. INDEPENDENCE 27 Be no imitator; freshly act thy part; Through this world be thou an inde- pendent ranger; Better is the faith that springeth from thy heart Than a better faith belonging to a stranger. — From the Persian. None but one can harm you, None but yourself who are your greatest foe, He that respects himself is safe from others, He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And some innative weakness there must be In him that condescends to victory Such as the present gives, and cannot wait — Safe in himself as in a fate. — James Russell Lowell. To be the thing we seem, To do the thing we deem Enjoined by duty; To walk in faith, nor dream Of questioning God's scheme Of truth and beauty. To live by law, acting the law we live by without fear, And, because right is right, to follow right, Were wisdom, in the scorn of conse- quence. — Alfred Tennyson. Though love repine, and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply: *"Tis man's perdition to be safe. When for the truth he ought to die." — Ralph Waldo Emerson. Whatever you are — be that; Whatever you say — be true; Straightforwardly act — Be honest — in fact Be nobody else but you. If thou hast something, bring thy goods ; A fair exchange be thine! If thou art something, bring thy soul, And interchange with mine. — Schiller, tr. by Edward Bulwer Lyt- ton. However others act toward thee. Act thou toward them as seemeth right ; And whatsoever others be. Be thou the child of love and light. This above all: to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, *^ Thou canst not then be false to any man. — William Shakespeare. My time is short enough at best-, I push right onward while I may; I open to the winds my breast. And walk the way. — ^John Vance Cheney. Not in the clamor of the crowded street. Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves are triumph and defeat. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It becomes no man to nurse despair, But in the teeth of clenched antago- nisms To follow up the worthiest till he die. — Alfred Tennyson. GREATNESS FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY A GREAT MAN That man is great, and he alone, Who serves a greatness not his own, For neither praise nor pelf; Content to know and be unknown: Whole in himself. Strong is that man, he only strong, To whose well-ordered will belong. For service and delight. All powers that, in the face of Wrong, Establish Right. And free is he, and only he. Who, from his tyrant passions free, By Fortune undismayed. Hath power upon himself, to be By himself obeyed. If such a man there be, where'er Beneath the sun and moon he fare, He cannot fare amiss; Great Nature hath him in her care. Her cause is his; Who holds by everlasting law Which neither chance nor change can flaw. Whose steadfast course is one With whatsoever forces draw The ages on; Who hath not bowed his honest head To base Occasion; nor, in dread Of Duty, shunned her eye; Nor truckled to loud times; nor wed His heart to a lie; Nor feared to follow, in the offense Of false opinion, his own sense Of justice unsubdued; Nor shrunk from any consequence Of doing good; He looks his Angel in the face Without a blush; nor heeds disgrace Whom naught disgraceful done Disgraces. Who knows nothing base Fears nothing known. Not morseled out from day to day In feverish wishes, nor the prey Of hours that have no plan, His life is whole, to give away To God and man. For though he live aloof from ken. The world's unwitnessed denizen. The love within him stirs Abroad, and with the hearts of men His own confers. The judge upon the justice-seat; The brown-backed beggar in the street ; The spinner in the sun; The reapers reaping in the wheat; The wan-cheeked nun In cloisters cold; the prisoner lean In lightless den, the robed queen; Even the youth who waits. Hiding the knife, to glide unseen Between the gates — He nothing human alien deems Unto himself, nor disesteems Man's meanest claim upon him. And where he walks the mere sunbeams Drop blessings on him. Because they know him Nature's friend. One whom she doth delight to tend With loving kindness ever: Helping and heartening to the end His high endeavor. — Edward Bulwer Lytton. FAME AND DUTY What shall I do lest life in silence pass? "And if it do. And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, What need'st thou rue? Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute — The shallows roar; Worth is the ocean — fame is but the bruit Along the shore." GREATNESS 29 What shall I do to be forever known? "Thy duty ever!" This did full many who yet slept un- known. "O never, never! Think'st thou perchance that they re- main unknown Whom thou know'st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown — Divine their lot." What shall I do, an heir of endless life? "Discharge aright The simple dues with which each day is rife, Yea, with thy might. Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise Will Ufa be fled, While he who ever acts as conscience cries, Shall live, though dead." — Johann C. F. Schiller. NOBLE LIVES There are hearts which never falter In the battle for the right; There are ranks which never alter Watching through the darkest night; And the agony of sharing In the fiercest of the strife Only gives a nobler daring. Only makes a grander life. There are those who never weary Bearing suffering and wrong; Though the way is long and dreary It is vocal with their song, While their spirits in God's fvimace, Bending to His gracious will, Are fashioned in a purer mold By His loving, matchless skill. There are those whose loving mission 'Tis to bind the bleeding heart; And to teach a calm submission When the pain and sorrow smart. They are angels, bearing to us Love's rich ministry of peace. While the night is nearing to us When life's bitter trials cease. There are those who battle slander, Envy, jealousy and hate; Who would rather die than pander To the passions of earth's great; No earthly power can ever crush them, They dread not the tyrant's frown; Fear or favor cannot hush them, Nothing bind their spirits down. These, these alone are truly great; These are the conquerors of fate; These truly live, they never die; But, clothed with immortality. When they lay their armor down Shall enter and receive the crown. THE HIGHER LIFE To play through life a perfect part, Unnoticed and unknown; To seek no rest in any heart Save only God alone; In little things to own no will. To have no share in great; To find the labor ready still And for the crown to wait. Upon the brow to bear no trace Of more than common care; To write no secret in the face For men to read it there; The daily cross to clasp and bless With such familiar zeal As hides from all that not the less The daily weight you feel; In toils that praise will never pay, To see your life go past; To meet in every coming day Twin sister of the last; To hear of high heroic things. And yield them reverence due. But feel life's daily sufferings Are far more fit for you; To own no secret, soft disguise To which self-love is prone, Unnoticed by all other eyes. Unworthy in your own; To yield with such a happy art. That no one thinks you care. And say to your poor bleeding heart, "How little you can bear!" O 'tis a pathway hard to choose, A struggle hard to share; For human pride would still refuse The nameless trials there. But since we know the gate is low That leads to heavenly bliss. What higher grace could God bestow Than such a life as this? — ^Adelaide Anne Procter, 30 GREATNESS NOBILITY OF GOODNESS My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you, For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast forever. One grand, sweet song! — Charles Kingsley. THE GLORY OF FAILURE We who have lost the battle To you who have fought and won; Give ye good cheer and greeting! Stoutly and bravely done! Reach us a hand in passing, Comrades — and own the name! Yotirs is the thrill and the laurel: Ours is the smart and shame. Though we were nothing skillful, Pity us not nor scorn I Send us a hail as hearty — "Stoutly and bravely borne!" Others may scorn or pity; You who are soldiers know. Where was the joy of yotu* battle Save in the grip with the foe? Did we not stand to the conflict? Did we not fairly fall? Is it your crowns ye care for? Nay, to have fought is all. Humbled and sore we watch you, Cheerful and bruised and lamed. Take the applause of the conquered- Conquered and unashamed! — ^Alice Van Vliet. He is brave whose tongue is silent Of the trophies of his word. He is great whose qviiet bearing Marks his greatness well assured. — Edwin Arnold. THE LOSING SIDE Helmet and plume and saber, banner and lance and shield, Scattered in sad confusion over the trampled field; And the band of broken soldiers, with a weary, hopeless air, With heads in silence drooping, and eyes of grim despair. Like foam-fiakes left on the drifting sand In the track of a falling tide. On the ground where their cause has failed they stand. The last of the losing side. Wisdom of age is vanquished, and gen- erous hopes of youth. Passion of faith and honor, fire of love and truth; And the plans that seemed the fairest in the fight have not prevailed, The keenest blades are broken, and the strongest arms have failed. But souls that know not the breath of shame. And tongues that have never lied, And the truest hearts, and the fairest fame. Are here — on the losing side. The conqueror's crown of glory is set with many a gem. But I join not in their triumph — there are plenty to shout for them; The cause is the most applauded whose warriors gain the day. And the world's best smiles are given to the victors in the fray. But dearer to me is the darkened plain. Where the noblest dreams have died. Where hopes have been shattered and heroes slain In the ranks of the losing side. — Arthur E. J. Legge. lO VICTIS I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the battle of life, The hymn of the wounded and beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife ; Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resotmding acclaim Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chaplet of fame. GREATNESS 31 But the hymn of the low and the hum- ble, the weary and broken in heart, Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part ; Whose youth bore no flower on its branches, whose hopes burned in ashes away, From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at the dying of day With the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied, unheeded, alone. With death swooping down o'er their failure, and all but their faith over- thrown. While the voice of the world shouts its chorus — its pean for those who have won; While the trumpet is soiinding tri- umphant, and high to the breeze and the sun Glad banners are waving, hands clap- ping, and hurrying feet Thronging after the laurel-crowned victors, I stand on the field of de- feat. In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wovmded, and dying, and there Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their pain-knotted brows, breathe a prayer. Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, "They only the victory win, Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within; Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high; Who have dared for a high cause to suf- fer, resist, fight — if need be, to die." Speak, History! who are Life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say, Are they those whom the world called the victors? who won the success of a day? The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans who fell at Thermopylae's tryst, Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges, or Socrates? Pilate, or Christ? — William M. Story. He makes no friend who never made a foe. — Alfred Tennyson. THE TRUE KING 'Tis not wealth that makes a king, Nor the purple coloring; Nor the brow that's bound with gold. Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled. The king is he who, void of fear, Looks abroad with bosom clear; Who can tread ambition down, Nor be swayed by smile or frown, Nor for all the treasure cares, That mine conceals or harvest wears. Or that golden sands deliver Bosomed in the glassy river. What shall move his placid might? Not the headlong thunder's light. Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, With onward lance or fiery blade. Safe, with wisdom for his crown, He looks on all things calraly down, He welcomes Fate when Fate is near, Nor taints his dying breath with fear. No; to fear not earthly thing. That it is that makes the king; And all of us, whoe'er we be, May carve us out that royalty. With comrade Duty, in the dark or day, To follow Truth — wherever it may lead; To hate all meanness, cowardice or greed; To look for Beauty under common clay ; Our brothers' burden sharing, when they weep. But, if we fall, to bear defeat alone; To live in hearts that loved us, when we're gone Beyond the twilight (till the morning break!) — to sleep — That is Success! — Ernest Neal Lyon. The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is, not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be, but, finding first What may be, then find out how to make it fair Up to our means ; a very different thing. — Robert Browning. 32 GREATNESS BETTER THAN GOLD Better than grandeur, better than gold, Than rank and titles a thousandfold. Is a healthy body, a mind at ease. And simple pleasures that always please ; A heart that can feel for another's woe, That has learned with love's deep fires to glow. With sympathy large enough to enfold All men as brothers, is better than gold. Better than gold is a conscience clear, Though toiling for bread in a humble sphere ; Doubly blest is content and health Untried by the lusts and the cares of wealth. Lowly living and lofty thought Adorn and ennoble the poor man's cot; For mind and morals in nature's plan Are the genuine tests of the gentleman. Better than gold is the sweet repose Of the sons of toil when labors close; Better than gold is the poor man's sleep And the balm that drops on his slum- bers deep. Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed, Where Itixury pillows its aching head ; "The toiler a simple opiate deems A shorter route to the land of dreams. Better than gold is a thinking mind That in the realm of books can find A treasure surpassing Australian ore, And live with the great and good of yore ; The sage's lore and the poet's lay; The glories of empires passed away; The world's great dream will thus tmfold And yield a pleasure better than gold. Better than gold is a peaceful home, Where all the fireside characters come. The shrine of love, the heaven of life. Hallowed by mother or by wife. However humble the home may be, Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree. The blessings that never were bought or sold And center there, are better than gold. — Abram J. Ryan. MAXIMUS I hold him great who, for Love's sake, Can give with generous, earnest will; Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake I think I hold more generous still. I bow before the noble mind That freely some great wrong forgives ; Yet nobler is the one forgiven. Who bears that burden well and lives. It may be hard to gain, and still To keep a lowly, steadfast heart; Yet he Avho loses has to fill A harder and a truer part. Glorious it is to wear the crown Of a deserved and pure success; He who knows how to fail has won A crown whose luster is not less. Great may he be who can command And rule with just and tender sway; Yet is Diviner wisdom taught Better by him who can obey. Blessed are those who die for God, And earn the martyr's crown of light ; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater conqueror in his sight. — Adelaide Anne Procter. When success exalts thy lot God for thy virtue lays a plot. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. 'Tis phrase absiurd to call a villain great : Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave. Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains. Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains; Like good Aurelius, let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates — that man is great indeed. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, Than Caesar with a senate at his heels. — Alexander Pope. Though world on world in myriad myriads roll Round us, each with different powers. And other forms of life than ours, What know we greater than the soul? On God and Godlike men we build our trust. — Alfred Tennyson. GREATNESS 33 THE GOOD, GREAT MAN How seldom, friend, a good, great man inherits Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains! It seems a story from the world of spirits When any man obtains that which he merits, Or any merits that which he obtains. For shame, my friend ; renotmce this idle strain ! What wovild'st thou have a good, great man obtain? Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain, Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. Hath he not always treasurer, always friends. The great, good man ? Three treasures — love, and light. And calm thoughts, equable as in- fants' breath; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night — Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. —Samuel Taylor Coleridge. THE POEM OF THE UNIVERSE The poem of the universe Nor rhythm has nor rhyme; For God recites the wondrous song A stanza at a time. Great deeds is he foredoomed to do — With Freedom's flag unfurled — Who hears the echo of that song As it goes down the world. Great words he is compelled to speak Who understands the song; He rises up like fifty men. Fifty good men and strong. A stanza for each century: Now heed it all who can! Who hears it, he, and only he. Is the elected man. — Charles Weldon. When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead! — John Greenleaf Whittier. FAILURE AND SUCCESS He fails who climbs to power and place Up the pathway of disgrace. He fails not who makes truth his cause. Nor bends to win the crowd's applause. He fails not, he who stakes his all Upon the right, and dares to fall; What though the living bless or blame. For him the long success of fame. — Richard Watson Gilder. WHAT DOES IT MATTER? It matters little where I was bom. Or if my parents were rich or poor; Whether they shrunk at the cold world's scorn. Or walked in the pride of wealth seciu"e. But whether I live an honest man And hold my integrity firm in my clutch I tell you, brother, as plain as I can. It matters much. It matters little how long I stay In a world of sorrow, sin, and care; Whether in youth I am called away Or live till my bones and pate are bare. But whether I do the best I can To soften the weight of Adversity's touch On the faded cheek of my fellow man. It matters much. It matters little where be my grave — Or on the land or in the sea. By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave, It matters little or naught to me; But whether the Angel Death comes down. And marks my brow with his loving touch, As one that shall wear the victor's crown, It matters much. — Noah Barker. For I am 'ware it is the seed of act God holds appraising in his hollow palm. Not act grown great thence in the world below ; Leafage and branchage vulgar eyes ad- mire. — Robert Browning. .^4 GREATNESS OBSCURE MARTYRS "The world knows nothing of its great- est men." They have no place in storied page; No rest in marble shrine; They are past and gone with a perished age, They died and "made no sign." But work that shall find its wages yet, And deeds that their God did not forget, Done for their love divine — .. These were their mourners, and these shall be The crowns of their immortality. O, seek them not where sleep the dead, Ye shall not find their trace; No graven stone is at their head. No green grass hides their face; But sad and unseen is their silent grave; It may be the sand or the deep sea wave. Or a lonely desert place; F'or they needed no prayers and no moiiming-bell — They were tombed in true hearts that knew them well. They healed sick hearts till theirs were broken, And dried sad eyes till theirs lost light ; We shall know at last by a certain token How they fought and fell in the fight. Salt tears of sorrow unbeheld. Passionate cries imchronicled. And silent strifes for the right — Angels shall count them, and earth shall sigh That she left her best children to battle and die. — Edwin Arnold. THY BEST Before God's footstool to confess A poor soul knelt and bowed his head. "I failed," he wailed. The Master said, "Thou did'st thy best — that is success." — Henry Coyle. Aspire, break bounds, I say; Endeavor to be good and better still, And best! Success is navight, en- deavor's all. — Robert Browning. FAILURE He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled. At eve he drew it empty to the shore ; He took the diver's plunge into the sea. But thence within his hand no pearl he bore. He ran a race, but never reached his goal; He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim; And slept at last beneath a simple stone. With no achievements carved about his name. Men called it failure; but for my own part I dare not use that word, for what if Heaven Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read. Not, "Hast thou won?" but only, "Hast thou striven?" — Kate Tucker Goode. THE BEGGAR'S REVENGE The king's proud favorite at a beggar threw a stone. He picked it up as if it had for alms been thrown. He bore it in his bosom long with bitter ache. And sought his time revenge with that same stone to take. One day he heard a street mob's hoarse, commingled cry: The favorite comes! — but draws no more the admiring eye. He rides an ass, from all his haughty state disgraced ; And by the rabble's mocking gibes his way is traced. The stone from out his bosom swift the beggar draws. And flinging it away, exclaims: "A fool I was! 'Tis madness to attack, when in his power, your foe, And meanness then to strike when he has fallen low." — From the Persian. GREATNESS 55 A THOUGHT Hearts that are great beat never loud; They muffle their music, when they come; They hurry away from the thronging crowd With bended brows and lips half dumb. And the world looks on and mutters — "Proud." But when great hearts have passed away, Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud, And in love they kneel around their clay. Hearts that are great are always lone; They never will manifest their best; Their greatest greatness is unknown, Earth knows a little — God the rest. — ^Abram J. Ryan. HIS MONUMENT He built a house, time laid it in the dust ; He wrote a book, its title now forgot ; He ruled a city, but his name is not On any tablet graven, or where rust Can gather from disuse, or marble bust. He took a child from out a wretched cot ; Who on the State dishonor might have brought ; And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust. The boy, to manhood grown, became a light To many souls and preached to hu- man need The wondrous love of the Omnipotent. The work has multiplied like stars at night When darkness deepens; every noble deed Lasts longer than a granite monument. — Sarah Knowles Bolton. It is not the wall of stone without That makes a building small or great. But the soul's light shining round about. And the faith that overcometh doubt. And the love that stronger is than hate. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE NOBLY BORN Who counts himself as nobly born Is noble in despite of place ; And honors are but brands to one Who wears them not with nattire's grace. The prince may sit with clown or churl Nor feel himself disgraced thereby; But he who has but small esteem Husbands that little carefully. Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer. Count it still more thou art thine own. Stand on a larger heraldry Than that of nation or of zone. Art thou not bid to knightly halls? Those halls have missed a courtly guest: That mansion is not privileged Which is not open to the best. Give honor due when custom asks, Nor wrangle for this lesser claim; It is not to be destitute To have the thing without the name. Then, dost thou come of gentle blood, Disgrace not thy good company; If lowly born, so bear thyself That gentle blood may come of thee. Strive not with pain to scale the height Of some fair garden's petty wall; But climb the open mountain side Whose summit rises over all. And, for success, I ask no more than this: To bear unflinching witness to the truth. All true whole men succeed ; for what is worth Success's name unless it be the thought. The inward surety, to have carried out A noble purpose to a noble end. Although it be the gallows or the block ? 'Tis only Falsehood that doth ever need These outward shows of gain to bolster her. — James Russell Lowell. Greatly begin! though thou have time But for a line, be that sublime — Not failure, bvit low aim is crime. — ^James Russell Lowell. 36 GREATNESS THE BURIAL OF MOSES By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave. But no man dug that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er; For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth. Noiselessly as the daylight Comes when the night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun — Noiselessly as the springtime Her crest of verdure weaves. And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves — So, without sound of music. Or voice of them that wept. Silently down from the mountain crown The great procession swept. Perchance some bald old eagle On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight. Perchance some lion, stalking. Still shuns the hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth His comrades in the war. With arms reversed and muffled drums Follow the funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won. And after him lead his matchless steed While peals the minute gun. Amid the noblest of the land They lay the sage to rest; And give the bard an honored place. With costly marble drest. In the great minster's transept height, Where lights like glory fall. While the sweet choir sings and the organ rings Along the emblazoned wall. This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor? The hillside for his pall; To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes. Over his bier to wave; And God's own hand, in that lonely land. To lay him in his grave; In that deep grave without a name. Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again — most wondrous thought! — Before the judgment day. And stand, with glory wrapt around, On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life Through Christ, the incarnate God. O lonely tomb in Moab's land, O dark Beth-peor's hill. Speak to these curious hearts of ours. And teach them to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace — Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well. — Cecil Frances Alexander. O, blessed is that man of whom some soul can say, " He was an inspiration along life's toil- some way, A well of sparkling water, a fountain flowing free. Forever like his Master, in tenderest sympathy. " Truths would you teach, or save a sink- ing land? All fear, none aid you, and few under- stand. Painful pre-eminence ! — yourself to view Above life's weakness, and its comforts , too. i — Alexander Pope. GREATNESS 37 EMIR HASSAN Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race, Asked with folded hands the Almighty's grace, Then within the banquet-hall he sat. At his meal, upon the embroidered mat. There a slave before him placed the food, Spilling from the charger, as he stood, Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast Drops that foully stained the silken vest. To the floor, in great remorse and dread. Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said: "Master, they who hasten to restrain Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign." Gentle was the answer Hassan gave: "I am not angry." "Yet," pursvied the slave, "Yet doth higher recompense belong To the injured who forgives a wrong." "I forgive," said Hassan. "Yet we read," So the prostrate slave went on to plead, "That a higher seat in glory still Waits the man who renders good for ill." "Slave, receive thy freedom; and, be- hold. In thy hand I lay a purse of gold. Let me never fail to heed, in aught, What the prophet of oxir God hath taught." TRUE GREATNESS Who is as the Christian great? Bought and washed with sacred blood, Crowns he sees beneath his feet. Soars aloft and walks with God. Lo, his clothing is the svm. The bright sun of righteousness; He hath put salvation on, Jesus is his beauteous dress. Angels are his servants here; Spread for him their golden wings; To his throne of glory bear, Seat him by the King of kings. — Charles Wesley. The glory is not in the task, but in The doing it for Him. — ^Jean Ingelow. MENCIUS Three centuries before the Christian age China's great teacher, Mencius, was born; Her teeming millions did not know that mom Had broken on her darkness ; that a sage, Reared by a noble mother, would her page Of history forevermore adorn. For twenty years, from court to court, forlorn He journeyed, poverty his heritage. And preached of virtue, but none cared to hear. Life seemed a failure, like a barren rill ; He wrote his books, and lay beneath the sod: When, lo! his work began; and far and n^r Adown the ages Mencius preaches still: Do thy whole duty, trusting all to God. — Sarah Knowles Bolton. He stood, the youth they called the Beautiful, At morning, on his untried battle-field. And laughed with joy to see his stain- less shield. When, with a tender smile, but doubt- ing sigh. His lord rode by. When evening fell, they brought him, wounded sore, His battered shield with sword-thrusts gashed and rent. And laid him where the king stood by his tent. "Now art thou Beautiful," the master said, And bared his head. — Annie M. L. Hawes. Great men grow greater by the lapse of time; We know those least whom we have seen the latest; And they, 'mongst those whose names have grown sublime. Who worked for human liberty are greatest. —John Boyle O'Reilly. 38 GREATNESS ^ It is enough — Enough — ^just to be good; To lift our hearts where they are under- stood ; To let the thirst for worldly power and place Go unappeased; to smile back in God's face With the glad lips our mothers used to kiss. Ah! though we miss All else but this, To be good is enough! — ^James Whitcomb Riley. He who ascends to mountain tops shall find Their loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread. Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending ternpests on his naked head. — George Gordon Byron. Good name in man and woman, dear my lord. Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him. And makes me poor indeed. — William Shakespeare. That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives but nothing gives; Whom none can love, whom none can thank; Creation's blot; creation's blank! But he who marks, from day to day. In generous acts his radiant way Treads the same path his Saviour trod: The path to glory and to God. The eye with seeing is not filled, The ear with hearing not at rest; Desire with having is not stilled, With human praise no heart is blest. Vanity, then, of vanities. All things for which men grasp and grope ! The precious things in heavenly eyes Are love, and truth, and trust, and hope. A gem which falls within the mire will still a gem remain; Men's eyes turn downward to the earth and search for it with pain. But dust, though whirled aloft to heaven, continues dust alway, More base and noxious in the air than when on earth it lay. — Saadi, tr, by James Freeman Clarke. It was not anything she said; It was not anything she did; It was the movement of her head, The lifting of her lid. And as she trod her path aright Power from her very garments stole; For such is the mysterious might God grants a noble soul. True worth is in being, not seeming; In doing, each day that goes by, Some little good, not in dreaming, Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness. And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth. — Alice Cary. / The wisest man could ask no more of Fate Than to be simple, modest, manly, true. Safe from the Many, honored by the Few; To coiuit as naught in world of church or state But inwardly in secret to be great. — ^James Russell Lowell. GREATNESS 39 y And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame ; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame ; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star. Shall draw the Thing as he sees it, for the God of Things as they are. — Rudyard Kipling. In life's small things be resolute and great To keep thy muscle trained; knowest thou when Fate Thy measure takes? or when she'll say to thee, "I find thee worthy; do this deed for me"? — ^James Russell Lowell. 'Tis a life-long toil till our lump be leaven. The better! What's come to perfec- tion perishes. Things learned on earth we shall prac- tice in heaven. Work done least rapidly Art most cherishes. — Robert Browning. Let come what will, I mean to bear it out. And either live with glorious victory Or die with fame, renowned in chivalry. He is not worthy of the honey-comb That shuns the hive because the bees have stings. — William Shakespeare. One by one thy duties wait thee. Let thy whole strength go to each. Let no future dreams elate thee. Learn thou first what these can teach. — ^Adelaide Anne Procter. Give me heart-touch with all that live And strength to speak my word; But if that is denied me, give The strength to live unheard. — Edwin Markham. Honor and shame from no condition rise ; Act well your part, there all the honor lies. — Alexander Pope. How wretched is the man with honors crowned. Who, having not the one thing needful found. Dies, known to all, but to himself un- known. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He fought a thousand glorious wars, And more than half the world was his. And somewhere, now, in yonder stars. Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is. — William Makepeace Thackeray. Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets. And simple faith than Norman blood. — Alfred Tennyson. I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, Not the applauding thunder at its heels Which men call fame. — Alexander Smith. It is worth while to live! Be of good cheer; Love casts out fear; Rise up, achieve. — Christina G. Rossetti. No endeavor is in vain; Its reward is in the doing. And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Far better in its place the lowliest bird Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song. Than that a seraph strayed should take the word And sing His glory wrong. — ^Jean Ingelow. Often omateness Goes with greatness. Oftener felicity Comes of simplicity. — William Watson. 40 GREATNESS A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust, And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust. — From the Persian. Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush; As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush. — From the Persian. Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own. — ^James Russell Lowell. The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss, And find a secret gain in others' loss. —John Boyle O'Reilly. Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Or what's heaven for? — Robert Browning. Though thy name be spread abroad. Like winged seed, from shore to shore, What thou art before thy God, That thou art and nothing more. My business is not to remake myself, But make the absolute best of what God made. — Robert Browning. For never land long lease of empire won Whose sons sat silent when base deeds were done. — ^James Russell Lowell. He that would free from malice pass his days Must live obscure and never merit praise. — ^John Gay. Wearing the white flower of a blameless life. Before a thousand peering littlenesses. — Alfred Tennyson . The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life, Try to be Shakespeare — leave the rest to fate. — Robert Browning. Unblemished let me live, or die un- known ; O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none. — Alexander Pope. With fame in just proportion envy grows ; The man that makes a character makes foes. — Edward Young. 'Tis not what man does which exalts him. But what man would do. — Robert Browning. Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed. — Robert Browning. The simple, silent, selfless man Is worth a world of tongiiesters. — Alfred Tennyson. DUTY LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL ODE TO DUTY Stem daughter of the voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring and reprove; Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptation dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts, without reproach or blot. Who do thy work and know it not: Oh! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, aroimd them cast. Serene will be our days, and bright And happy will otir nature be. When love is an unerring light. And joy its own security; And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold. Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried. No sport of every random gust. Yet being to myself a guide. Too blindly have reposed my trust; And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control. But in the quietness of thought. Me this imchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more raust change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers lattgh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee; I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise. The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. — ^William Wordsworth. THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE Saint Augustine! well hast thou said. That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! All common things, each day's events. That with the hour begin and end. Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds That have their root in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will ; — 41 42 DUTY All these must first be trampled down Beneath otir feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more. The cloudy summits of our time. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern — unseen before — A path to higher destinies, Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain. If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS The deeds which selfish hearts approve And fame's loud trumpet sings Secure no praise where truth and love Are coimted noblest things; And work which godless folly deems Worthless, obscure, and lowly. To Heaven's ennobling vision seems Most god-like, grand, and holy. Then murmur not if toils obscure And thorny paths be thine; To God be true — they shall secure The joy of life divine Who in the darkest, sternest sphere For Him their powers employ; The toils contemned and slighted here Shall yield the purest joy. When endless day dispels the strife Which blinds and darkens now, Perchance the brightest crown of life Shall deck some lowly brow. Then learn, despite thy boding fears, From seed with sorrow sown. In love, obscurity and tears The richest sheaves are grown. — Edward Hartley Dewart. DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE" From an old English parsonage Down by the sea, There came in the twilight A message to me; Its quaint Saxon legend Deeply engraven. Hath as it seems to me Teaching for heaven; And on through the hours The quiet words ring. Like a low inspiration, "Doe the nexte thynge." Many a questioning. Many a fear. Many a doubt. Hath guiding here. Moment by moment Let down from heaven. Time, opportunity. Guidance are given. Fear not to-morrow. Child of the King; Trust it with Jesus, "Doe the nexte thynge." O He would have thee Daily more free, Knov/ing the might Of thy royal degree; Ever in waiting. Glad for his call, Tranquil in chastening, Trusting through all. Comings and goings No turmoil need bring: His all thy future — "Doe the nexte thynge." Do it immediately. Do it with prayer, Do it reliantly. Casting all care: Do it with reverence, Tracing His hand Who hath placed it before thee With earnest command. Stayed on Omnipotence, Safe, 'neath his wing. Leave all resultings, "Doe the nexte th5mge." Looking to Jesus, Ever serener, Working or suffering. Be thy demeanor! In the shade of his presence, The rest of his calm. DUTY 43 The light of his coiontenance, Live out thy psalm: Strong in his faithfulness. Praise him and sing. Then as he beckons thee, "Doe the nexte thynge." ZEAL IN LABOR Go, labor on; spend and be spent, Thy joy to do the Father's will; It is the way the Master went; Should not the servant tread it still? Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught; Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not; The Master praises — what are men? Go, labor on; your hands are weak; Your knees are faint, your soul cast down; Yet falter not; the prize you seek Is near — a kingdom and a crown! Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray! Be wise the erring soul to win; Go forth into the world's highway; Compel the wanderer to come in. Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice: For toil comes rest, for exile home ; Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice. The midnight peal, " Behold, I come!" — Horatius Bonar. THE EVANGELIST Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret, At the hotur when noontide's burning rays down pour. When they beheld at a mean cabin's door, A fisher's widow in her motuTiing clad, Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad. The tear that wet them kept her lids within. Her child to cradle and her flax to spin ; Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen, The Master and His friend could see, unseen. An old man ready for his earthly bed, A beggar with a jar upon his head. Came by, and to the mourning spiimer there Said, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bear Unto a dweller in the hamlet near; But I am weak and bent with many a year; More than a thousand paces yet to go Remain, and, without help, I surely know I cannot end my task and earn its fee." The woman rose, and not a word said she. Without a pause her distaflf laid aside, And left the cradle where the orphan cried, Took up the jar, and with the beggar went. "Master, 'tis well to be benevolent," Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed. In leaving thus her child and her abode For the chance-comer that first sought her out; The beggar some one would have found, no doubt. To ease him of his load upon the way." The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay, Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer. Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her. She went at once, and wisely did in that." And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat Down on a bench was in the humble place, And with His blest hands for a moment's space. He touched the distaff, rocked the little one. Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone. When she to whom the Lord had given this proof Of good-will came back to her humble roof. She foxmd, nor knew what Friend the deed had done, The baby sleeping and the flax all spun! — Francois Coppee. 44 DUTY THE BEST THAT I CAN "I cannot do much," said a little star, "To make the dark world bright; My silver beams cannot struggle far Through the folding gloom of night: But I am a part of God s great plan, And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can." "What is the use," said a fleecy cloud, "Of these dew-drops that I hold? They will hardly bend the lily proud. Though caught in her cup of gold ; Yet I am a part of God's great plan. My treasures I'll give as well as 1 can. " A child went merrily forth to play, But a thought, like a silver thread. Kept winding in and out all day Through the happy, busy head, "Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can, For you are a part of God's great plan.' " So she helped a younger child along. When the road was rough to the feet ; And she sang from her heart a little song, A song that was passing sweet; And her father, a weary, toil-worn man, Said, "I too will do the best that I can." WORK LOYALLY Just where you stand in the conflict. There is your place! Just where you tnink you are useless Hide not your face! God placed you there for a purpose, Whate'er it be; Think He has chosen you for it — Work loyally. Gird on your armor! Be faithful At toil or rest, Whiche'er it be, never doubting God's way is best. Out in the fight, or on picket, Stand firm and true; This is the work which your Master Gives you to do. LOYALTY When courage fails and faith burns low, And men are timid grown. Hold fast thy loyalty and know That Truth still moveth on. For unseen messengers she hath. To work her will and ways. And even human scorn and. wrath God turneth to her praise. She can both meek and lordly be, In heavenly might secure; With her is pledge of victory, And patience to endure. The race is not unto the swift. The battle to the strong. When dawn her judgment-days that sift The claims of right and wrong. And more than thou canst do for Truth Can she on thee confer, If thou, O heart, but give thy youth And manhood unto her. For she can make thee inly bright, Thy self-love purge away. And lead thee in the path whose light Shines to the perfect day. Who follow her, though men deride. In her strength shall be strong; Shall see their shame become their pride, And share her triumph song! — Frederick Lucian Hosmer. LIBERTY Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. — Edward Young. I am Liberty — God's daughter! My symbols — a law and a torch; Not a sword to threaten slaughter, Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch; But a light that the world may see, And a truth that shall make men free. I am the sister of Duty, And I am the sister of Faith; To-day adored for my beauty, To-morrow led forth for death. I am she whom ages prayed for; Heroes suffered undismayed for; Whom the martyrs were betrayed for. —John Boyle O'Reilly. DUTY 45 THE NEAREST DUTY My soul was stirred; I prayed, "Let mc Do some great work, so purely, To right life's wrongs, that I shall know That I have loved Thee surely." My lips sent forth their eager cry, The while my heart beat faster, "For some great deed to prove my love Send me; send me, my Master!" From out the silence came a voice, Saying: "If God thou fearest, Rise up and do, thy whole life through. The duty that lies nearest. The friendly word, the kindly deed, Though small the act in seeming. Shall in the end unto thy soul Prove mightier than thy dreaming. The cup of water to the faint. Or rest unto the weary. The light thou giv'st another's life. Shall make thine own less dreary. And boundless realms of faith and love Will wait for thy possessing; Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst win Unto thy soul a blessing." And so I wait with peaceful heart. Content to do His pleasure; Not caring if the world shall mock At smallncss of the measure Of thoughts or deeds or daily life. He knows the true endeavor — To do His will, to seek His face — And He will fail me never. — Sarah A. Gibbs. THE ONE TALENT Hide not thy talent in the earth; However small it be. Its faithful use, its utmost worth, God will require of thee. The humblest service rendered here He will as truly own As Paul's in his exalted sphere. Or Gabriel's near the throne. The cup of water kindly given, The widow's cheerful mites, Are worthier in the eye of heaven Than pride's most costly rites. His own, which He hath lent on trust, He asks of thee again; Little or much, the claim is just, And thine excuses vain. Go, then, and strive to do thy part — Though humble it may be; The ready hand, the willing heart. Are all heaven asks of thee. — William Cutler. ONE TALENT t^ (Matt. XXV. 1 8) In a napkin smooth and white, Hidden from all mortal sight, My one talent lies to-night. Mine to hoard, or mine to use; Mine to keep, or mine to lose; May I not do what I choose? Ah! the gift was only lent With the Giver's known intent That it should be wisely spent. And I know he will demand Every farthing at my hand. When I in his presence stand. What will be my grief and shame When I hear my humble name And cannot repay his claim! One poor talent — nothing more! All the years that have gone o'er Have not added to the store. Some will double what they hold. Others add to it tenfold And pay back the shining gold. Would that I had toiled like them! All my sloth I now condemn; Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm. Lord, oh teach me what to do. Make me faithful, make me true. And the sacred trust renew. Help me, ere too late it be. Something yet to do for Thee, Thou who hast done all for me. Art thou little ? Do thy little well ; And for thy comfort know Great men can do their greatest work No better than just so. — ^Johann W. von Goethe. 46 DUTY RESPONSIBILITY FOR TALENTS Thou that in life's crowded city art ar- rived, thou knowest not how — By what path or on what errand — Hst and learn thine errand now. From the palace to the city on the busi- ness of thy King Thou wert sent at early morning, to re- turn at evening. Dreamer, waken ; loiterer, hasten ; what thy task is understand: Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand. Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned? Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confoimd? Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays. Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities; Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise. And know this — at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning. Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day Reap of Him ; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay. —Richard Chenevix Trench. Not once or twice in our fair island- story The path of duty was the way to glory. He, that ever following her commands, On with toil of heart and knees and hands, Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won His path upward, and prevailed, Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God himself is moon and sun. —Alfred Tennyson, GO RIGHT ON WORKING Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true, But what's the use of sighing? They're soonest with their duties through Who bravely keep on trying. There's no advantage to be foimd In sorrowing or shirking; They with success are soonest crowned Who just go right on working. Strive patiently and with a will That shall not be defeated; Keep singing at your task until You see it stand completed. Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near. Your sky's glad sunshine murking; Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer, And just go right on working. — Nixon Waterman. JUSTICE ONLY Be not too proud of good deeds wrought! When thou art come from prayer, speak truly! Even if he wrongeth thee in aught, Respect thy Gviru. Give alms duly. But let none wist! Live, day by day, With little and with little swelling Thy tale of duty done — the way The wise ant-people build their dwel- ling; Not harming any living thing; That thou may'st have — at time of dying— A Hand to hold thee, and to bring Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying. Pass to the farther world. For none Save Justice leads there! Father, mother. Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son. Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other Save only Justice! All alone Each entereth here, and each one leaveth This life alone; and every one The fniit of all his deeds receiveth Alone — alone; bad deeds and good! That day when kinsmen, sadly turn- ing, Forsake thee, like the clay or wood, A thing committed to the burning. DUTY 47 But Justice shall not quit thee then, If thou hast served her, therefore never Cease serving; that shall hold thee when The darkness falls which falls forever, Which hath no star, nor way and guide. But Justice knows the road; and mid- night Is noon to her. Man at her side Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light. And he who loved her more than all. Who purged by sorrow his offenses, Shall shine, in realms celestial. With glory, quit of sins and senses. — Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit. GOD'S VENGEANCE Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;" "I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine. Lit by the flash of his word. How shall his vengeance be done? How, when his purpose is clear? Must he come down from the throne? Hath he no instruments here? Sleep not in imbecile trust, Waiting for God to begin; While, growing strong in the dust, Rests the bruised serpent of sin. Right and Wrong — both cannot live Death-grappled. Which shall we see ? Strike! Only Justice can give Safety to all that shall be. Shame! to stand faltering thus. Tricked by the balancing odds; Strike! God is waiting for us! Strike! for the vengeance is God's! — ^John Hay. Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. A SINGLE STITCH One stitch dropped as the weaver drove His nimble shuttle to and fro, In and out, beneath, above. Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow As if the fairies had helping been; One small stitch which co^d scarce be seen. But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out, And a weak place grew in the fabric stout ; And the perfect pattern was marred for aye By the one small stitch that was dropped that day. One small life in God's great plan, How futile it seems as the ages roll, Do what it may or strive how it can To alter the sweep of the infinite whole ! A single stitch in an endless web, A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb! But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost. Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed; And each life that fails of its true intent Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant. — Susan Coolidge. THE BLESSINGS An angel came from the courts of gold. With gifts and tidings manifold; With blessings many to crown the one Whose work of life was the noblest done. He came to a rich man's gilded door; Where a beautiful lady stood before His vision, fair as the saints are fair, With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear. He needed not to be told her life — The pure young mother, the tender wife ; He needed not to be told that she, In home of sorrow and poverty, Was giving wealth with a lavish hand; He thought her worthy in heaven to stand. "No! no!" a voice to the angel heart Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart." 48 DUTY He fomid a door that was worn and old ; The night was damp and the wind was cold. A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent; The midnight lamp to her features lent A paler look as she toiled the while, But yet the mouth had a restful smile. Doing her duty with honest pride; Breasting temptation on every side. "For her the blessings," the angel said, And touched with pity the girlish head. "No time nor money for alms has she, But duty is higher than charity." — Sarah Knowles Bolton. DUTIES I reach a duty, yet I do it not, And therefore see no higher; but, if done, My view is brightened and another spot Seen on my moral sim. For, be the duty high as angels' flight. Fulfill it, and a higher will arise E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite — Receding as the skies. And thus it is the purest most deplore Their want of purity. As fold by fold, In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more Of duty they behold. Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes On duties crowding only to appal? No; duty is our ladder to the skies. And, climbing not, we fall. — Robert Leighton (1611-1684). WHAT SHE COULD "And do the hoiirs step fast or slow? And are ye sad or gay? And is your heart with your liege lord, lady. Or is it far away?" The lady raised her calm, proud head, Though her tears fell, one by one: "Life covmts not hours by joy or pangs, But just by duties done. "And when I lie in the green kirkyard, With the mould upon my breast, Say not that 'She did well — or ill,' Only, 'She did her best.'" — Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. UNWASTED DAYS The longer on this earth we live And weigh the various qualities of men, Seeing how most are fugitive Or fitful gifts at best, of now and then — Wind-favored corpse-lights, daugh- ters of the fen — The more we feel the high, stem-fea- tured beauty Of plain devotcdness to duty, Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise. But finding amplest recompense For life's ungarlanded expense In work done squarely and tmwasted days. — ^James Russell Lowell. TRIFLES THAT MAKE SAINTS A tone of pride or petulance repressed A selfish inclination firmly fought, A shadow of annoyance set at naught, A measure of disquietude suppressed; A peace in importunity possessed, A reconcilement generously sought, A purpose put aside, a banished thought, A word of self-explaining unexpressed: Trifles they seem, these petty soul-re- straints, Yet he who proves them so must needs possess A constancy and courage grand and bold; They are the trifles that have made the saints. Give me to practice them in humble- ness And nobler power than mine doth no man hold. The world is full of beauty. As other worlds above; And if we did our dvity It might be full of love. — Gerald Massey. DUTY 49 What stronger breastplate than a heart imtainted? Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is cor- rupted. — William Shakespeare. I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty; I woke, and found that life was Duty. Was thy dream then, a shadowy lie? Toil on, sad heart, courageously, And thou shalt find that dream to be A noonday light and truth to thee. — Ellen Sturgis Hooper. Do thy duty; that is best; Leave unto thy Lord the rest. — James Russell Lowell. While I sought Happiness she fled Before me constantly. Weary, I turned to Duty's f)ath. And Happiness sought me. Saying, "I walk this road to-day, I'll bear thee company." So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man. When Duty whispers low, "Thou must, The youth replies, "I can." Ralph Waldo Emerson. Faithfully faithful to every trust, Honestly honest in every deed, Righteously righteous and justly just; This is the whole of the good man's creed. Find out what God would have you do. And do that little well; For what is great and what is small 'Tis only he can tell. SERVICE USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR WAKING I have done at length with dreaming; Henceforth, O thou soul of mine! Thou must take up sword and buckler, Waging warfare most divine. Life is struggle, combat, victory! Wherefore have I slumbered on With my forces all immarshaled, With my weapons all vmdrawn? how many a glorious record Had the angels of me kept Had I done instead of doubted. Had I warred instead of wept! But begone, regret, bewailing! Ye had weakened at the best; 1 have tried the trusty weapons Resting erst within my breast. I have wakened to my duty. To a knowledge strong and deep, That I recked not of aforetime. In my long inglorious sleep. For the end of life is service, And I felt it not before, And I dreamed not how stupendous Was the meaning that it bore. In this subtle sense of being. Newly stirred in every vein, I can feel a throb electric — Pleasure half allied with pain. 'Tis so sweet, and yet so awful. So bewildering, yet brave. To be king in every conflict Where before I crouched a slave! 'Tis so glorious to be consciovts Of a growing power within Stronger than the rallying forces Of a charged and marshaled sin! Never in those old romances Felt I half the thrill of life That I feel within me stirring. Standing in this place of strife. O those olden days of dalliance. When I wantoned with my fate; When I trifled with the knowledge That had well-nigh come too late. Yet, my soul, look not behind thee; Thou hast work to do at last; Let the brave toil of the present Overarch the crumbling past. Build thy great acts high and higher; Build them on the conquered sod Where thy weakness first fell bleeding. And thy first prayer rose to God. — Caroline Atherton Mason. SMALL BEGINNINGS A traveler through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe its early vows; And age was pleased, in heat of noon, to bask beneath its boughs; The dormouse loved its dangling twigs the birds sweet music bore; It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. 50 SERVICE 51 He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new; A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame. The thought was small; its issue great; a watchfire on the hill. It shed its radiance far ad own, and cheers the valley still! A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of Hope and Love, un- studied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown — a transitory breath — It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death. O germ! O fotint! O word of love! O thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last! — Charles Mackay. THE CHOIR INVISIBLE O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence ; live In pulses stirred to generosity. In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars. And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world. Breathing as beauteous order that con- trols With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed and agonized. With widening retrospect that bred de- spair. Rebellious flesh that would not be sub- dued, A vicious parent shaming still its child Poor, anxious penitence, is qviick dis- solved ; Its discords, quenched by meeting har- monies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer, self. That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better — saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary. And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love — That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb. Unread forever. This is life to come. Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love. Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — Be the sweet presence of a good diffused. And in diffusion ever more intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world. — George Eliot. MY TASK To love some one more dearly ev'ry day, To help a wandering child to find his way. To ponder o'er a noble thought, and pray. And smile when evening falls. To follow truth as blind men long for light, To do my best from dawn of day till night, To keep my heart fit for His holy sight. And answer when He calls. — Maude Louise Ray. 52 SERVICE "IT IS MORE BLESSED" Give I as the morning that flows oitt of heaven ; Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give I as the free air and sunshine are given ; Lavishly, utterly, joyftiUy give! Not the waste drops of thy cup over- flowing; Not the faint sparks of thy hearth, ever glowing; Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing: Give as He gave thee who gave thee to live. Pour out thy love like the rush of a river. Wasting its waters, forever and ever. Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver: Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea. Scatter thy life as the summer's shower pouring; What if no bird through the pearl rain is soaring? What if no blossom looks upward ador- ing? Look to the life that was lavished for thee! So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses : Evil and thankless the desert it blesses; Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses ; Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing. What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses? What if on rocks thy tired bosom re- poses? Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes. Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling. Almost the day of thy giving is over; Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover: What shall thy longing avail in the grave ? Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking — Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking; Soon, heaven's river thy soul-fever slak- ing, Thou shalt know God and the gift that he gave. — Rose Terry Cooke. ALONG THE WAY There arc so many helpful things to do Along life's way (Helps to the helper, if we did but know) , From day to day. So many troubled hearts to soothe. So many pathways rough to smooth, So many comforting words to say. To the hearts that falter along the way. Here is a lamp of hope gone out Along the way. Some one stumbled and fell, no doubt — But, brother, stay! Out of thy store of oil refill; Kindle the courage that smoulders still ; Think what Jesus would do to-day For one who had fallen beside the way. How many lifted hands still plead Along life's way! The old, sad story of human need Reads on for aye. But let us follow the Saviour's plan — Love unstinted to every man; Content if, at most, the world should say: " He helped his brother along the way ! " SAVED TO SERVE Is thy crvise of comfort failing? Rise and share it with another. And through all the years of famine It shall serve thee and thy brother. Love divine will fill thy storehouse Or thy handful still renew; Scanty fare for one will often Make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving — All its wealth is living gain; Seeds which mildew in the gamer Scattered fill with gold the plain. Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily? Help to bear thy brother's burden; God will bear both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow? Chafe that frozen form beside thee, And together both shall glow. SERVICE 53 Art thou stricken in life's battle? Many wounded round thee moan : Lavish on their woimds thv balsam, And that balm shall heal thine own. Is thy heart a well left empty? None but God the void can fill. Nothing but the ceaseless Fountain Can its ceaseless longings still. Is the heart a living power? Self-entwined its strength sinks low. It can only live in loving, And by serving love will grow. BY DOING GOOD WE LIVE A certain wise man, deeply versed In all the learning of the East, Grew tired in spirit, and athirst From life to be released. So to Eliab, holy man Of God he came : " Ah, give me, friend, The herb of death, that now the span Of my vain life may end." Eliab gently answered: "Ere The soul may free itself indeed, This herb of healing thou must bear To seven men in need; " When thou hast lightened each man's grief. And brought him hope and joy again, Return; nor shalt thou seek relief At Allah's hands in vain." The wise man sighed, and humbly said: "As Allah willeth, so is best." And with the healing herb he sped Away upon his quest. And as he journeyed on, intent To serve the sorrowing in the land On deeds of love and mercy bent. The herb bloomed in his hand, And through his pulses shot a fire Of strength and hope and happiness; His heart leaped with a glad desire To live and serve and bless. Lord of all earthly woe and need, Be this, life's flower, mine! To love, to comfort, and to heal — Therein is life divine! — Josephine Troup. FOR STRENGTH WE ASK l'\)r strength wo ask For the ten thousand times repeated task. The endless smallnesses of every day. No, not to lay My life down in the cause I cherish most, That were too easy. But, whate'er it cost. To fail no more In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor In love toward the unlovely, and to give, Each day I live, To every hour with outstretched hand, its meed Of not-to-be-regretted thought and deed. — Agnes Ethel wyn Wetherald. MARTHA OR MARY? I cannot choose; I should have liked so much To sit at Jesus* feet — to feel the touch Of his kind gentle hand upon my head While drinking in the gracious words he said. And yet to serve Him I — Oh, divine em- ploy- To minister and give the Master joy; To bathe in coolest springs his weary feet, And wait upon Him while He sat at meat! Worship or service — which? Ah, that is best To which he calls us, be it toil or rest; To labor for Him in life's busy stir, Or seek His feet, a silent worshiper. — Caroline Atherton Mason. This is the gospel of labor — ring it, ye bells of the kirk — The Lord of Love came down from above to live with the men who work. This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil; Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil. — Henry van Dyke. 54 SERVICE MARTHA Yes, Lord, Yet some must serve! Not all with tranquil heart, Even at Thy dear feet, Wrapped in devotion sweet, May sit apart! Yes, Lord! Yet some must bear The burden of the day, Its labor and its heat, While others at Thy feet May muse and pray. Yes, Lord! Yet some must do Life's daily task-work; some Who fain would sing must toil Amid earth's dust and moil, While lips are dumb! Yes, Lord! Yet man must earn And woman bake the bread; And some must watch and wake Early for others' sake. Who pray instead! Yes, Lord ! Yet even thou Hast need of earthly care; I bring the bread and wine To Thee a Guest divine — Be this my prayer! — ^Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr. If we sit down at set of sun And count the things that we have done, And coimting, find One self-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him who heard. One glance most kind. That fell like sunshine where it went. Then we may count the day well spent. But if through all the livelong day We've eased no heart by yea or nay; If through it all We've nothing done that we can trace That brought the sunshine to a face. No act most small That helped some soul, and nothing cost, Then count that day as worse than lost. This for the day of life I ask: Some all-absorbing, useful task; And when 'tis wholly, truly done, A tranquil rest at set of sun. SERVICE Ah! grand is the world's work, and noble, forsooth. The doing one's part, be it ever so small ! You, reaping with Boaz, I, gleaning with Ruth, Are honored by serving, yet servants of all. No drudge in his comer but speeds the world's wheels; No serf in the field but is sowing God's seed — More noble, I think, in the dust though he kneels. Than the pauper of wealth, who makes scorn of the deed. Is toil but a treadmill? Think not of the grind, But think of the grist, what is done and to do, The world growing better, more like to God's mind, By long, faithful labor of helpers like you. The broom or the spade or the shuttle, that plies Its own honest task in its own honest way. Serves heaven not less than a star in the skies — What more could the Pleiades do than obey? — ^James Buckham. SUMMER AND WINTER If no kindly thought or word We can give, some soul to bless, If our hands, from hour to hour, Do no deeds of gentleness; If to lone and weary ones We no comfort will impart — Tho' 'tis summer in the sky. Yet 'tis winter in the heart! If we strive to lift the gloom From a dark and burdened life; If we seek to lull the storm Of our fallen brother's strife; If we bid all hate and scorn From the spirit to depart — Tho' 'tis winter in the sky, Yet 'tis summer in the heart! SERVICE 55 THE ELEVENTH-HOUR LABORER Idlers all day about the market-place They name us, and our dumb lips answer not, Bearing the bitter while our sloth's dis- grace, And our dark tasking whereof none may wot. Oh, the fair slopes where the grape- gatherers go! — Not they the day's fierce heat and burden bear. But we who on the market-stones drop slow Our barren tears, while all the bright hours wear. Lord of the vineyard, whose dear word declares Our one hour's labor as the day's shall be. What coin divine can make our wage as theirs Who had the morning joy of work for Thee? — L. Gray Noble. "THY LABOR IS NOT IN VAIN" "I have labored in vain," a preacher said. And his brow was marked with care; "I have labored in vain." He bowed down his head. And bitter and sad were the tears he shed In that moment of dark despair. "I am weary and worn, and my hands are weak, And my courage is well-nigh gone; For none give heed to the words I speak, And in vain for a promise of fruit I seek Where the seed of the Word is sown." And again with a sorrowful heart he wept, For his spirit with grief was stirred, Till the night grew dark, and at last he slept. And a silent calm o'er his spirit crept, And a whisper of "peace" was heard. And he thought in his dream that his soul took flight To a blessed and bright abode; He saw a throne of dazzling light, And harps were ringing, and robes were white — Made white in a Saviour's blood. And he saw such a countless throng around As he never had seen before, Their brows with jewels of light were crowned. And sorrow and sighing no place had found — The troubles of time were o'er. Then a white-robed maiden came forth and said, "Joy! Joy! for the trials are passed! I am one that thy gentle words have led In the narrow pathway of life to tread — I welcome thee home at last!" And the preacher gazed on the maiden's face — He had seen that face on earth, Where, with anxious heart, in his wonted place He had told his charge of a Saviour's grace. And their need of a second birth. Then the preacher smiled, and the angel said, "Go forth to thy work again; It is not in vain that the seed is shed — If only ONE soul to the cross is led. Thy labor is not in vain." And at last he woke, and his knee he bent In grateful, childlike prayer. And he prayed till an answer of peace was sent. And Faith and Hope as a rainbow bent O'er the clouds of his earthly care. And he rose in joy, and his eye was bright. His sorrow and grief had fled, And his soul was calm and his heart was light, For his hands were strong in his Saviour's might As forth to his work he sped. Whatever dies, or is forgot — Work done for God, it dieth not. 56 SERVICE FOLLOWING THE MASTER 1 asked the Lord that. I inijjhL woiihirr be, Mijjjht. prow in faith ami hope ami charity; And straij^ht, "Go feed my lambs!" he answered me. "Nay, Lord!" I cried. "Can outward deeds avail To cleanse my spirit? Heart and xour- a);e fail And sins prevent, and foes and fears assail. ' And still, "Go, feed my lambs!" was all I heard. But should I rest upon that simple word ? Was that, indeed, mv messa>;e from mv Lord? Behold, I thought that he his hand would lay On my sick soul, and words of healinj; sav. And charm the ])lagne-spot from my heart away. Half wroth, I turned to go; but oh! the look He on me cast — a gaze I could ikU brook ; With deep relen tings all my spirit shook. "O dearest Lord," I cried, "I will obey, Say what thou wilt! only lead thou the way; For, following thee, mj' footsteps shall not stray. ' ' He took me at my word. He w^Mit be- fore ; He led me to the dwellings of the poor. Where wolf-eyed Want keeps watch be- side the door. He beckoned me, and I essayed to go Where Sin and Crime, more sad than Want and Woe, Hold carni\-al, and Vice walks to and fro. And when I faltered at the sight. He said, "Behold, I died for such! These hands have bled, This side for such has pierced been," he said. "Is the disciple greater than his Lord? The servant than his Master?" Oh, that word! It smote me like a sharp, two-edged sword I And since that hour, if any work of mine Has been accepted by my Lord assign 'I'hat I was following ni his steps divine; If, serving others (though imperfectly), My own poor life has worthier come to be. And I have grown in faith and charity. Dear Lord, be thine the glory I Thou hast wrought, All miaware, the blessing that I sought. O that these lii)S might praise thee as they ought! BE ALWAYS GIVING The sun gives ever; so the earth — What it can give so much 'tis worth; The ocean gi\es in many ways — (lives baths, gives fishes, rivers, bays; So, too, the air, it gives us breath. When it stops giving, comes in death. Give, give, be always giving; Who gives not is not living; 'IMie more you give The more you live. God's love hath in us wealth unheaped Only by giving it is reaped; The body withers, and the mind Is jient U]) by a selfish rind. Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf. Give love, give tears, and give thyself. Give, give, be always giving, Who gives not is not living; The more we gi\^e The more we live. Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs. For the world wants daily little kindly deeds ; O, what care and sorrow you may help remove With your song and courage, sympathy and love. SERVICE 57 NOT LOST The look of sympathy; the gentle word Spoken so low that only angels heard; The secret act of pure self-sacrifice, Unseen by men, but marked by angels' eyes; These arc not lost. The silent tears that fall at deail of night Over soiled robes that once were pure and white; The prayers that rise like incense from the soul. Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole ; These are not lost. The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth, When dreams had less of self and more of truth; The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet, Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet ; These are not lost. The kindly plans devised for others' good. So seldom guessed, so little understood; The quiet, steadfast love that strove to win Some wanderer from the ways of sin; These are not lost. Not lost, O Lord ! for in Thy city bright Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light. And tnings long hidden from our gaze below Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know They were not lost. There's never a rose in all the world But makes some green spray sweeter; There's never a wind in all the sky But makes some bird wing fleeter; There's never a star but brings to heaven Some silver radiance tender; And never a rosy cloud but helps To crown the sunset splendor; No robin but may thrill some heart. His dawn like gladness voicing; God gives us all some small sweet way To set the world rejoicing. A BROADER FIELD O thou who sighest for a broader lield Wherein to sow the seeds of truth and right— Who fain a fuller, nobler power would wield O'er human souls that languish for the light — Searcli well the realm that even now is thine! Canst not thou in some far-off corner find A heart sin-bound, like ti^ee with sapping vine. Waiting for help its burdens to un- bind? Some human plant, perchance beneath thine eyes. Pierced through with hidden thorns of idle fears; Or drooping low for need of light from skies Obscured by doubt-clouds raining poison tears? Some bruised soul the balm of love would heal; Some timid spirit faith would courage give ; Or maimed brother, who, though brave and leal. Still needeth thee, to rightly walk and live? O while one soul thou findest which hath not known The fullest help thy soul hath power to give. Sigh not for fields still broader than thine own. But, steadfast in thine own, more broadly live. — ^Julia Anna Wolcott. Be it health or be it leisure. Be it skill we have to give. Still in spending it for others Christians only really live. Not in having or receiving. But in giving, there is bliss; He who has no other pleasure Ever may rejoice in this. 58 SERVICE WHAT CHRIST SAID I said, "Let me walk in the fields." He said, "No, walk in the town." I said, "There are no flowers there." He said, "No flowers, but a crown." I said, "But the skies are black; There is nothing but noise and din." And He wept as he sent me back; "There is more," He said; "there is sin." I said, "But the air is thick. And fogs are veiling the sun." He answered, "Yet souls are sick. And souls in the dark undone." I said, "I shall miss the light. And friends will miss me, they say." He answered, "Choose to-night If / am to miss you, or they." I pleaded for time to be given. He said, "Is it hard to decide? It will not seem hard in heaven To have followed the steps of your Guide." I cast one look at the fields, Then set my face to the town; He said, " My child, do you yield? Will you leave the flowers for the crown? " Then into His hand went mine, And into my heart came He; And I walk in a light divine The path I had feared to see. — George Macdonald. MY SERVICE I asked the Lord to let me do Some mighty work for Him; To fight amid His battle hosts. Then sing the victor's hymn. I longed my ardent love to show. But Jesus would not have it so. He placed me in a quiet home, Whose life was calm and still, And gave me little things to do, My daily round to fill; I could not think it good to be Just put aside so silently. Small duties gathered rotmd my way, They seemed of earth alone; I, who had longed for conquests bright To lay before His throne. Had common things to do and bear, To watch and strive with daily care. So then I thought my prayer unheard, And asked the Lord once more That He would give me work for Him And open wide the door; Forgetting that my Master knew Just what was best for me to do. Then quietly the answer came, "My child, I hear thy cry; Think not that mighty deeds alone Will bring the victory. The battle has been planned by Me, Let daily life thy conquests see." PASS IT ON Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on. It was not given to you alone. Pass it on. Let it travel through the years; Let it wipe another's tears; Till in heaven the deed appears, Pass it on. Have you found the heavenly light? Pass it on. Souls are groping in the night. Daylight gone. Lift your lighted lamp on high. Be a star in some one's sky, He may live who else would die. Pass it on. GIVING AND TAKING Who gives, and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise. Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land. Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven. — John Greenleaf Whittier, from Tinne- valuna of India. SERVICE 59 ONE PATH TO LIGHT What is the world ? A wandering maze, Where sin hath tracked a thousand ways Her victims to ensnare. All broad and winding and aslope, All tempting with perfidious hope. All ending in despair. Millions of pilgrims throng those roads. Bearing their baubles or their loads Down to eternal night. One only path that never bends, Narrow and rough and steep, ascends Through darkness into light. Is there no guide to show that path? The Bible. He alone that hath The Bible need not stray. But he who hath and will not give That light of life to all that live, Himself shall lose the way. IF WE COULD ONLY SEE It were not hard, we think, to serve Him If we could only see! If he would stand with that gaze intense Burning into our bodily sense. If we might look on that face most ten- der, The brows where the scars are turned to splendor. Might catch the light of his smile so sweet, And view the marks on his hands and feet, How loyal we should be! It were not hard, we think, to serve him. If we could only see! It were not hard, he says, to see him. If we would only serve; "He that doeth the will of Heaven, To him shall knowledge and sight be given." While for his presence we sit repining, Never we see his countenance shining; They who toil where his reapers be The glow of his smile may always see. And their faith can never swerve. It were not hard, he says, to see him, If we would only serve. Think not in sleep to fold thy hands. Forgetful of thy Lord's commands. From Duty's claims no life is free, Behold! To-day has need of thee. WHEN YOU DO AN ACT You can never tell when you do an act Just what the result will be; But with every deed you are sowing a seed, Though its harvest you may not see. Each kindly act is an acorn dropped In God's productive soil; Though you may not know, yet the tree shall grow And shelter the brows that toil. YOUR MISSION If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet; You can stand among the sailors Anchored yet within the bay; You can lend a hand to help them As they launch their boat away. If you are too weak to journey Up the mountain steep and high, You can stand within the valley While the multitudes go by; You can chant in happy measure As they slowly pass along; Though they may forget the singer They will not forget the song. If you have not gold and silver Ever ready to command; If you cannot toward the needy, Reach an ever-open hand; You can visit the afflicted. O'er the erring you can weep; You can be a true disciple Sitting at the Saviour's feet. If you cannot in the harvest Gamer up the richest sheaves, Many a grain both ripe and golden Will the careless reapers leave; Go and glean among tne briers Growing rank against the wall. For it may be that their shadow Hides tne heaviest wheat of all. If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true, If where fire and smoke are thickest There's no work for you to do; When the battle-field is silent You can go with careful tread: You can bear away the wounded. You can cover up the dead. 6o SERVICE If you cannot be the watchman, Standing high on Zion's wall, Pointing out the path to heaven. Offering life and peace to all; With your prayers and with your boun- ties You can do what Heaven demands, You can be like faithful Aaron, Holding up the prophet's hands. Do not, then, stand idly waiting For some greater work to do; Fortune is a lazy goddess — She will never come to you. Go and toil in any vineyard. Do not fear to do or dare; If you want a field of labor You can find it anywhere. — G. M. Grannis. THE FAITHFUL MONK Golden gleams of noonday fell On the pavement of the cell. And the monk still lingered there In the ecstasy of prayer; Fixller floods of glory streamed Through the window, and it seemed Like an answering glow of love From the countenance above. On the silence of the cell Break the faint tones of a bell. 'Tis the hour when at the gate Crowds of poor and himgry wait, Wan and wistful, to be fed With the friar of mercy's bread. Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells! On the monk's rapt ear it swells, No! fond, flattering dream, away! Mercy calls; no longer stay! Whom thou yeamest here to find In the musings of thy mind, God and Jesus, lo, they wait Knocking at thy convent gate! From his knees the monk arose; With full heart and hand he goes, At his gate the poor relieves, Gains a blessing and receives; To his cell returned, and there Found the angel of his prayer, Who with radiant features said, "Hadst thou stayed I must have fled." — Charles Timothy Brooks. THE HEAVENLY PRESENCE Somewhere I have read of an aged monk Who, kneeling one day in his cell, Beheld in a glorious vision the form Of the dear Lord Christ ; and there fell Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet. And his lips could frame no word. As he gazed on the form and noted the love That beamed from the face of his Lord. There came to his ears the sotmd of a bell Which called him early and late To carry loaves to the wretched poor Who lingered about the gate. Could he leave his cell now glorified By the presence of the Christ, The Blessed Son, the Holy One, His Saviour, the Sacrificed? He went to his act of mercy, and when He returned to his cell, the dim Gay light was dispelled as the loving Christ Re-entered to welcome him. And the Blessed One remained, more fair. More glorious than before, And the heart of the aged monk was glad. And his cell was dim no more. " Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ, All through this day," is the prayer Which sounds from my heart, and my lips repeat Each morning, and Christ, the Fair, Seems very near as his words I hear. Though his form I do not see; "When you care for the least of these, dear child. You have done it unto me. "With loving service fill all this day, Do good in the name of your Lord, And I will be near, your heart to cheer. According to my word." — William Norris Burr. SERVICE 6i ONLY It was only a blossom, Just the merest bit of bloom, But it brought a glimpse of summer To the little darkened room. It was only a glad "good morning," As she passed along the way; But it spread the morning's glory- Over the livelong day. Only a song; but the music, Though simply pure and sweet. Brought back to better pathways The reckless roving feet. "Only," in our blind wisdom, How dare we say at all? Since the ages alone can tell us Which is the great or small. SOMETHING YOU CAN DO Hark! the voice of Jesus calling, "Who will go and work to-day? Fields are white and harvests waiting, Who will bear the sheaves away ? ' ' Loud and long the Master calleth. Rich reward he offers free; Who will answer, gladly saying, "Here am I, send me, send me." If you cannot cross the ocean And the heathen lands explore, You can find the heathen nearer. You can help them at your door; If you cannot give your thousands You can give the widow's mite; And the least you give for Jesus Will be precious in his sight. If you cannot speak like angels, If you cannot preach like Paul, You can tell the love of Jesus, You can say he died for all. If you cannot rouse the wicked With the Judgment's dread alarms. You can lead the little children To the Saviour's waiting arms. Let none hear you idly saying "There is nothing I can do," While the sons of men are dying. And the Master calls for you. Take the task he gives you gladly. Let his work your pleasure be; Answer quickly, when he calleth, "Here am I, send me, send me." — Daniel March. SEEDTIME Sow thou thy seed! Glad is the light of Spring — the sun is glowing. Do thou thy deed : Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing? Thy seed may be Bearer of thousands scattered far and near; Eternity May feel the impress of the deed done here. — Arthur L. Salmon. TOIL A BLESSING The toil of brain, or heart, or hand, Is man's appointed lot; He who God's call can understand Will work and miu-mur not. Toil is no thorny crown of pain. Bound round man's brow for sin; True souls, from it, all strength may gain. High manliness may win, O God! who workest hitherto. Working in all we see. Fain woiild we be, and bear, and do. As best it pleaseth thee. Where'er thou sendest we will go, Nor any questions ask, And that thou biddest we will do. Whatever be the task. Our skill of hand, and strength of limb, Are not our own, but thine; We link them to the work of Him Who made all life divine. Our brother-friend, thy holy Son, Shared all our lot and strife; And nobly will our work be done If molded by his life. — Thomas W. Freckelton. No service in itself is small; None great, though earth it fill; But that is small that seeks its own. And great that seeks God's will. Then hold my hand, most gracious God, Guide all my goings still; And let it be my life's one aim. To know and do thy will. 62 SERVICE EASILY GIVEN It was only a sunny smile, And little it cost in the giving; But it scattered the night Like morning light, And made the day worth living. Through life's dull warp a woof it wove, In shining colors of light and love. And the angels smiled as they watched above. Yet little it cost in giving. It was only a kindly word, And a word that was lightly spoken; Yet not in vain. For it stilled the pain Of a heart that was nearly broken. It strengthened a fate beset by fears And groping blindly through mists of tears For light to brighten the coming years. Although it was lightly spoken. It was only a helping hand, And it seemed of little availing; But its clasps were warm, And it saved from harm A brother whose strength was failing. Its touch was tender as angels' wings, But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs, And pointed the way to higher things, Though it seemed of little availing. A smile, a word, a touch, And each is easily given; Yet one may win A soul from sin Or smooth the way to heaven. A smile may lighten a falling heart, A word may soften pain's keenest smart, A touch may lead us from sin apart — How easily each is given! WORKING WITH CHRIST O matchless honor, all unsought, High privilege, surpassing thought That thou shouldst call us. Lord, to be Linked in work-fellowship with thee! To carry out thy wondrous plan. To bear thy messages to man; "In trust," with Christ's own word of grace To every soul of human race. THE "NEW LOGION" "Jesus saith," and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand. Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand? Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high: " Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire, That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire. Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high, " Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay, Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way. Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high, " Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always see In the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree. Underlying, all-pervading. Soul of Na- ture, ever nigh, " Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"? Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife. In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life. Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high, " Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I." — Mrs. Henry B. Smith. He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done, To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun. That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race. ■ — ^James Russell Lowell. SERVICE 63 HER CREED She stood before a chosen few, With modest air and eyes of blue; A gentle creature, in whose face Were mingled tenderness and grace. "You wish to join onr fold," they said; "Do you believe in all that's read From ritual and written creed. Essential to our htunan need?" A troubled look was in her eyes; She answered, as in vague surprise, As though the sense to her were dim. "I only strive to follow Him." They knew her life, how oft she stood, Pure in her guileless maidenhood, By dying bed, in hovel lone, Whose sorrow she had made her own. Oft had her voice in prayer been heard, Sweet as the note of any bird; Her hand been open in distress; Her joy to brighten and to bless. Yet still she answered, when they sought To know her inmost, earnest thought, With look as of the seraphim "I only strive to follow Him." — Sarah Knowles Bolton. WAKING THOUGHTS Another day God gives me, pure and white. How can I make it holy in his sight? Small means have I and but a narrow sphere, Yet work is round me, for he placed me here. How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes; Show me the duty that around me lies. "The house is small, but human hearts are there. And for this day at least beneath thy care. Someone is sad — ^then speak a word of cheer; Someone is lonely — make him welcome here ; Someone has failed — protect him from despair; Someone is poor — there's something you can spare! "Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer, And carry sunshine with thee every- where. The little duties do with all thine heart And from things sordid keep a mind apart ; Then sleep, my child, and take a well- earned rest. In blessing others thou thyself art blest!" LONELY SERVICE Methought that in a solemn church I stood ; Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet. Lay spread from door to door, from street to street. Midway the form himg high upon the rood Of Him who gave his life to be otir good. Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and mur- mured meet Among the candles, shining still and sweet. Men came and went, and worshipped as they could — And still their dust a woman with her broom, Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door. Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom, Across the church a silent figure come; "Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor." "It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more. — George Macdonald. SHARE YOUR BLESSINGS Dig channels for the streams of love. Where they may broadly rtm, And love has overflowing streams To fill them every one. But if at any time thou cease Such channels to provide, The very founts of love to thee Will soon be parched and dried. For thou must share if thou wouldst keep That good thing from above; Ceasing to share you cease to have; Such is the law of love. 64 SERVICE ONLY A LITTLE Only a seed — but it chanced to fall In a little cleft of a city wall, And taking root, grew bravely up Till a tiny blossom crowned its top. Only a thought — but the work it wrought Could never by tongue or pen be taught ; For it ran through a life like a thread of gold. And the life bore fruit — a hundred fold. Only a word — but 'twas spoken in love, With a whispered prayer to the Lord above ; And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more, For a new-bom soxd "entered in by the door." PAUL AT MELITA Secure in his prophetic strength. The water peril o'er, The many-gifted man at length Stepped on the promised shore. He trod the shore; but not to rest, Nor wait till angels came; Lo! humblest pains the saint attest, The firebrands and the flame. But when he felt the viper's smart, Then instant aid was given. Christian, hence learn to do thy part, Axid leave the rest to Heaven. — ^John Henry Newman. All service ranks the same with God; If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work — God's puppets, best and worst. Are we ; there is no last nor first. Say not "a small event!" Why "small"? Costs it more pain that this, ye call A "great event," should come to pass Than that? Untwine me, from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in, or exceed. — Robert Browning. What will it matter in a little while That for a day We met and gave a word, a touch, a smile. Upon the way? These trifles! Can they make or mar Human life? Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes are By love or strife? Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break. Or make it whole, And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake. May save a soul. Get leave to work In this world — 'tis the best you get at all ; For God in cursing gives us better gifts Than men in benediction. God says, "Sweat For foreheads;" men say "crowns;" and so we are crowned — Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Be useful where thou livest, that they may Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still; Kindness, good parts, great places, are the way To compass this. Find out men's wants and will. And meet them there. All worldly joys go less To the one joy of doing kindnesses. — George Herbert. When He who, sad and weary, longing sore For love's sweet service sought the sis- ters' door. One saw the heavenly, one the human guest ; But who shall say which loved the Master best? — ^John Greenleaf Whittier. SERVICE 6S Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver, Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there. Then with a rush the intolerable crav- ing Shivers throughout me like a tnimpet call— Oh to save these! to perish for their saving. Die for their life, be offered for them all! No man is bom into the world whose work Is not bom with him; there is always work. And tools to work withal, for those who will ; And blessed are the homy hands of toil! — ^James Russell Lowell. The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need ; Not what we give, but what we share. For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three : Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. — ^James Russell Lowell. Look not beyond the stars for heaven. Nor 'neath the sea for hell; Know thou, who leads a useful life In Paradise doth dwell. — Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin. Small service is true service while it lasts : Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one; The daisy, by the shadow that it casts. Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. — William Wordsworth. Mechanic soul, thou must not only do With Martha, but with Mary ponder too ; Happy's the home where these fair sis- ters vary ; But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary. — Francis Quarles. If thou hast the gift of strength, then know Thy part is to uplift the trodden low; Else, in the giant's grasp, imtil the end A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul con- tend. — George Meredith. The best men doing their best Know, peradventure, least of what they do. Men usefuUest i' the world are simply used. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. New words to speak, new thoughts to hear. New love to give and take; Perchance new burdens I may bear To-day for love's sweet sake, He doth good work whose heart can find The spirit 'neath the letter; Who makes his kind of happier mind, Leaves wiser men and better. Work for some good, be it ever so slowly. Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly, Labor — all labor is noble and holy. — Frances Sargent Osgood. In silence mend what ills deform the mind; But all thy good impart to all thy kind. — ^John Sterling. God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day: A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say. That best portion of a good man's life — His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. — William Wordsworth. Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground. Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round. — Richard Chenevix Trench. BROTHERHOOD CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD There are hermit souls that live with- drawn In the peace of their self-content; There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where highways never ran — But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by — The men who are good and the men who are bad. As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scomer's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban — Let me live in a house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life. The men who press with the ardor of hope The men who are faint with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears — Both parts of an infinite plan — Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height; And the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers re- joice. And weep with the strangers that raoan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by — They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong. Wise, foolish — so am I. Then why should I sit in the scomer's seat Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. — Sam Walter Foss. IS YOUR LAMP BURNING? Say, is your lamp burning, my brother? I pray you look quickly and see; For if it were biuning, then surely Some beams would fall brightly on me. Straight, straight is the road, but I falter. And oft I fall out by the way; Then lift your lamp higher, my brother, Lest I should make fatal delay. There are many and many around you Who follow wherever you go; If you thought that they walked in the shadow Your lamp would bum brighter, I know. Upon the dark mountains they stumble. They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie With their white pleading faces turned upward To the clouds and the pitiful sky. 66 BROTHERHOOD. 67 There is many a lamp that is lighted, We behold them anear and afar, But not many among them, my brother, Shine steadily on, like a star. I think, were they trimmed night and morning, They would never bum down or go out. Though from the four quarters of heaven The winds were all blowing about. If once all the lamps that are lighted Should steadily blaze in a line. Wide over the land and the ocean, What a girdle of glory would shine! How all the dark places would brighten ! How the mists would roll up and away! How the earth would laugh out in her gladness To hail the millennial day! Say, is your lamp bviming, my brother? I pray you look quickly and see; For if it were burning, then surely Some beams would fall brightly on me. IP I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT If I should die to-night. My friends would look upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting-place, And deem that death had left it almost fair. And laying snow-white flowers upon my hair. Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness. And fold my hands with lingering caress — Poor hands, so empty and so cold to- night! If I should die to-night. My friends would call to mind, with lov- ing thought. Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought. Some gentle word the frozen lips had said — Errands on which the willing feet had sped; The memory of my selfishness and pride. My hasty words, would all be put aside. And so I should be loved and mourned to-night. If I should die to-night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, Recalling other days remorsefxilly. The eyes that chill me with averted glance Would look upon me as of yore, per- chance, And soften in the old familiar way; For who would war with dumb, un- conscious clay? So I might rest, forgiven of all to- night. O friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow. The way is lonely ; let me feel them now. Think gently of me; I am travel- worn, My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead ! When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need The tenderness for which I long to- night. — Belle Eugenia Smith. FRUITION We scatter seeds with careless hand And dream we ne'er shall see them more. But for a thousand years Their fruit appears In weeds that mar the land Or helpful store. The deeds we do, the words we say — Into still air they seem to fleet; We count them ever past; But they shall last — In the dread judgment they And we shall meet. I charge thee by the years gone by. For the love's sake of brethren dear. Keep thou the one true way, In work and play. Lest in that world their cry Of woe thou hear. — John Keble. Still shines the light of holy lives Like star beams over doubt; Each sainted memory. Christlike, drives Some dark possession out. — ^John Greenleaf Whittier. 68 BROTHERHOOD HAVE CHARITY Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it: And just as lamely can ye mark How far, perhaps, they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord — its various tone. Each spring — its various bias; Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute. But know not what's resisted. — Robert Burns. THE VOICE OP PITY Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness, O'er the sons of wrong and strife. Were their strong temptations planted In thy path of life? He alone whose hand is bounding Human power and human will. Looking through each soul's surround- ing. Knows its good or ill. Earnest words must needs be spoken When the warm heart bleeds or bums With its scorn of wrong, or pity For the wronged, by turns. But, by all thy nature's weakness. Hidden faults and follies known. Be thou, in rebuking evil. Conscious of thine own. Not the less shall stem-eyed Duty To thy lips her trumpet set, But with harsher blasts shall mingle Wailings of regret. So when thoughts of evil-doers Waken scorn or hatred move. Shall a mournful fellow-feeling Temper all with love. — John Greenleaf Whittier. 'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan, That man shall be the joy of man. — From the Scandinavian, tr. by Fred- eric Rowland Marvin. JUDGE NOT Judge not; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain In God's pure light may only be A scar — brought from some well-won field Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight May be a token that, below. The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe — Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace And cast thee shuddering on thy face! The fall thou darest to despise — May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings. And judge none lost; but wait and see. With hopeful pity, not disdain. The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain, And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days. — Adelaide Anne Procter, THINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING Think gently of the erring; Ye know not of the power With which the dark temptation came, In some tmguarded hour; Ye may not know how earnestly They struggled, or how well. Until the hour of weakness came And sadly thus they fell. Think gently of the erring; Oh, do not thou forget, However darkly stained by sin, He is thy brother yet; Heir of the self-same heritage, Child of the self-same God, He has but stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod. Speak gently to the erring; For is it not enough That innocence and peace have gone, Without thy censure rough? BROTHERHOOD 69 It stire must be a weary lot, That sin-stained heart to bear, And those who share a happier fate Their chidings well may spare. Speak gently to the erring; Thou yet mayst lead them back, With holy words and tones of love, From misery's thorny track; Forget not thou hast often sinned, And sinful yet must be; Deal gently with the erring, then. As God has dealt with thee. — ^Julia A. Fletcher. HARSH JUDGMENTS God! whose thoughts are brightest light, Whose love runs always clear. To whose kind wisdom sinning sotds Amidst their sins are dear, Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart With charity like thine. Till self shall be the only spot On earth which does not shine. 1 often see in my own thoughts, When they lie nearest Thee, That the worst men I ever knew Were better men than me. He whom no praise can reach is aye Men's least attempts approving; Whom justice makes all-merciful Omniscience makes all-loving. How thou canst think so well of us Yet be the God thou art, Is darkness to my intellect. But sunshine to my heart. Yet habits linger in the soul; More grace, O Lord! more grace! More sweetness from thy loving heart! More sunshine from thy face! The discord is within, which jars So sadly in life's song; 'Tis we, not they, who are in fault, When others seem so wrong. 'Tis we who weigh upon ourselves; Self is the irksome weight; To those who can see straight them- selves, All things look always straight. My God, with what surpassing love Thou lovest all on earth; How good the least good is to thee. How much each soul is worth! All bitterness is from ourselves; All sweetness is from thee; Sweet God! for evermore be thou Fountain and fire in me! — Frederick William Faber. HOW TO JUDGE "Judge the people by their actions" — 'tis a rule you often get — "Judge the actions by their people" is a wiser maxim yet. Have I known you, brother, sister? Have I looked into your heart? Mingled with yoixr thoughts my feelings, taken of yotir life my part? Through the warp of yoiir convictions sent the shuttle of my thought Till the web became the Credo, for us both, of Should and Ought? Seen in thousand ways your nature, in all act and look and speech? By that large induction only I your law of being reach. Now I hear of this wrong action — what is that to you and me? Sin within you may have done it — fruit not nature to the tree. Foreign graft has come to bearing — mistletoe grown on your bough — If I ever realty knew you, then, my friend, I know you now. So I say, "He never did it," or, " He did not so intend"; Or, "Some foreign power o'ercame him" — so I judge the action, friend. Let the mere outside observer note ap- pearance as he, can; We, more righteous judgment passing, test each action by its man. — ^James Freeman Clarke. "TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL" If I knew you and you knew me. If both of us could clearly see. And with an inner sight divine The meaning of your heart and mine, I'm sure that we would differ less, And clasp our hands in friendliness ; Our thoughts would pleasantly agree If I knew you and you knew me. — Nixon Waterman. 70 BROTHERHOOD KINDNESS A little word in kindness spoken, A motion, or a tear. Has often healed the heart that's broken And made a friend sincere. A word, a look, has crushed to earth Full many a budding flower, Which, had a smile but owned its birth, Wovdd bless life's darkest hour. Then deem it not an idle thing A pleasant word to speak; The face you wear, the thought you bring, A heart may heal or break. — John Greenleaf Whittier. ' IF WE KNEW If we knew the cares and sorrows Crowded round our neighbor's way. If we knew the little losses, Sorely grievous, day by day. Would we then so often chide him For the lack of thrift and gain, Leaving on his heart a shadow Leaving on our hearts a stain? If we knew the clouds above us. Held by gentle blessings there, Wotid we tvim away, all trembling, In our blind and weak despair? Would we shrink from little shadows Lying on the dewy grass While 'tis only birds of Eden Just in mercy flying past? ^Let us reach within our bosoms J For the key to other lives, And with love to erring natures Cherish good that still survives; So that when our disrobed spirits Soar to realms of light again. We may say, "Dear Father, judge vis As we judged our fellow men." Time to me this truth hath taught, 'Tis a truth that's worth revealing: More offend from want of thought Than from want of feeling. If advice we would convey, There's a time we should convey it; If we've but a word to say. There's a time in which to say it. HONOR ALL MEN Great Master! teach us how to hope in man: We lift our eyes upon his works and ways. And disappointment chills us as we gaze. Our dream of him so far the truth out- ran. So far his deeds are ever falling short. And then we fold our graceful hands and say, "The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away, O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought. Because the humble souls of Galilee Were timed not to the music of thine own And chimed not to the pulsing under- tone Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea? Shame thou our coldness, most be- nignant Friend, When we so daintily do condescend. — Martha Perry Howe. BROTHERHOOD That plenty but reproaches me Which leaves my neighbor bare. Not wholly glad my heart can be While his is bowed with care. If I go free, and sound, and stout, While his poor fetters clank, Unsated still, I'll still cry out, And plead with Whom I thank. Almighty, thou who Father be Of him, of me, of all. Draw us together, him and me. That, whichsoever fall. The other's hand may fail him not — The other's strength decline No task of succor that his lot May claim from son of thine. I would be fed. I would be clad. I would be housed and dry. But if so be my heart is sad — What benefit have I? Best he whose shoulders best endure The load that brings relief; And best shall be his joy secure Who shares that joy with grief. — Edward Sandford Martin. BROTHERHOOD 71 THE LIFE I SEEK Not in some cloistered cell Dost thou, Lord, bid me dwell My love to show. But 'mid the busy marts. Where men with burdened hearts Do come and go. Some tempted soul to cheer When breath of ill is near And foes annoy; The sinning to restrain. To ease the throb of pain — Be such my joy. Lord, make me quick to see Each task awaiting me. And quick to do; Oh, grant me strength, I pray, With lowly love each day. And ptupose true, To go as Jesus went, Spending and being spent. Myself forgot ; Supplying human needs By loving words and deeds — Oh, happy lot! —Robert M. Offord. THY BROTHER When thy heart with joy o'erfiowing Sings a thankful prayer. In thy joy, O let thy brother With thee share. When the harvest sheaves ingathered Fill thy bams with store. To thy God and to thy brother Give the more. If thy soul with power uplifted Yearns for glorious deed. Give thy strength to serve thy brother In his need. Hast thou borne a secret sorrow In thy lonely breast? Take to thee thy sorrowing brother For a guest. Share with him thy bread of blessing. Sorrow's burden share; When thy heart enfolds a brother, God is there. — Theodore Chickering Williams. ALL'S WELL Sweet- voiced Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half life's good to me: Thy painter. Fancy, hath not force To show how sweet it is to be! Thy witching dream And pictured scheme To match the fact still want the power: Thy promise brave — From birth to grave — Life's boon may beggar in an hour. "Ask and receive," 'tis sweetly said; Yet what to plead for know I not; For wish is wasted, hope o'ersped. And aye to thanks returns my thought. If I would pray, I've naught to say But this, that God may be God still; For him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish, his will. wealth of life beyond all bound! Eternity each moment given! What plummet may the Present sound Who promises a future heaven? Or glad or grieved. Oppressed, relieved. In blackest night or brightest day. Still pours the flood Of golden good. And more than heartful fills me aye. My wealth is common; I possess No petty province, but the whole. What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul. Talk not of store. Millions or more — Of values which the purse may hold — But this divine! I own the mine Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold. 1 have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; All hearts of men my coffers are. My ores arterial tides convey; The fields and skies And sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold-dust. The oaks and brooks And speaking looks Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust. 72 BROTHERHOOD Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow For him who Hves above all years; Who all-immortal makes the Now, And is not ta'en in Time's arrears; His life's a hymn The seraphim Might stop to hear or help to sing, And to his soul The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring. "All mine is thine," the sky-sotil saith; "The wealth I am must then become Richer and richer, breath by breath — Immortal gain, immortal room!" And since all his Mine also is, Life's gift outruns my fancies far, And drowns the dream In larger stream, As morning drinks the morning star. — David Atwood Wasson. HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED? How doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low. When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow? It clothes their every gift and grace With radiance from the holiest place. With light as from an angel's face, Recalling with resistless force And tracing to their hidden source Deeds scarcely noticed in their course — This little loving fond device, That daily act of sacrifice. Of which too late we learned the price. Opening our weeping eyes to trace Simple unnoticed kindnesses, Forgotten tones of tenderness, Which evermore to us must be Sacred as hymns in infancy Learnt listening at a mother's knee. Thus doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low. Then let love antedate the work of death, And speak thus now. How does death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low, When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow? It sweeps their faults with heavy hand As sweeps the sea the trampled sand, Till scarce the faintest print is scanned. It shows how much the vexing deed Was but a generous nature's weed Or some choice virtue run to seed; How that small fretting fretfulness Was but love's overanxiousness. Which had not been had love been less ; This failing at which we repined But the dim shade of day declined Which should have made us doubly kind. It takes each failing on our part And brands it in upon the heart With caustic power and cruel art. The small neglect that may have pained A giant stature will have gained When it can never be explained; The little service which had proved How tenderly we watched and loved. And those mute lips to smiles had moved ; The little gift from out our store Which might have cheered some cheer- less hour When they with earth's poor needs were poor. It shows our faults like fires at night; It sweeps their failings out of sight; It clothes their good in heavenly light. O Christ, our life, foredate the work of death And do this now; Thovi, who art love, thus hallow our be- loved ; Not death, but Thou I — Elizabeth Rundle Charles. God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives That lamp due measure of oil: Lamp lighted — hold high, wave wide. Its comfort for others to share! — Muleykeh. BROTHERHOOD 73 THE NEW ERA It is coming! it is coming I The day is just a-dawning When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother; When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning, Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother. When the men who work for wages shall not toil from mom till even, With no vision of the sunlight, nor flowers, nor birds a-singing; When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven, Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing. The time is coming when the man who cares not for another Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation; Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother, As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation. Tho hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling. And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be; And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity. It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper; They are giving of their millions as they never gave before; They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper. And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more. — Sarah Knowles Bolton. To a darning-needle once exclaimed the kitchen sieve, "You've a hole right through your body, and I wonder how you live." But the needle (who was sharp) replied, "I too have wondered That you notice my one hole, when in you there are a hundred!" — Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke. LOOKING FOR PEARLS The Master came one evening to the gate Of a fair city; it was growing late, And sending his disciples to buy food. He wandered forth intent on doing good, As was his wont. And in the market-place He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space. Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground, Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck — A dead dog with a halter round his neck. And those who stood by mocked the object there, And one said, scoffing, "It pollutes the air!" Another, jeering, asked, "How long to- night Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?" "Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jew- ish wit, " You could not cut even a shoe from it," And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed," A fourth chimed in, "an unclean wretch indeed!" "He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried. And spumed the loathsome beast from side to side. Then Jesus, standing by them in the street. Looked on the poor, spent creature at his feet. And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men, "Pearls are not whiter than his teeth." And then The people at each other gazed, asking, "Who is this stranger pitying this vile thing?" Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath, "This surely is the Man of Nazareth; This must be Jesus, for none else but he Something to praise in a dead dog could see!" And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head, And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then em- brace. — Alexander Pope. 74 BROTHERHOOD WHAT MIGHT BE DONE What might be done if men were wise — What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, Would they luiitc In love and right. And cease their scorn of one another! Oppression's heart might be imbued With kindling drops of loving-kind- ness, And ktiowledge pour From shore to snore Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs. All vice and crime, might die together; And wine and corn To each man born Be free as wannth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, Might stand erect In self-respect. And share the teeming world to- morrow. What might be done? This might be done. And more than this, my suffering brother; More than the tongxie E'er said or sung If men were wise and loved each other. — Charles Mackay. If I could see A brother languishing in sore distress. And I should turn and leave him com- fortless. When I might W A messenger of hope and happiness — How could I ask to have that I denied In my own hour of bitterness supplied? If I might share A brother's load aU>ng the dusty way. And I should tvmi and walk alone that day. How could I dare — When in the evening watch I kneel to pr-iy— , To ask for help to bear my pain and loss. If I had heeded not my brother's cross? SHARED I said it in the meadow path, I say it on the mountain-stairs: The best things any mortal hath Are those which every mortal shares. The air we breathe — the sky — the breeze — The light without tis and within — Life with its unlocked trcasiu-ies — God's riches, are for all to win. The grass is softer to my tread I'^or rest it yields luinumbered feet; Sweeter to me the wikl-rose red Because she makes the whole world sweet. Into yom- heavenly loneliness Ye welcomed me, O solemn peaks I And me in every gi^test you bless Who reverently your mystery seeks. And up the radiant peojilcd way That opens into worlds unknown It will be life's delight to say, " Heaven is not heaven for me alone." Rich through my brethren's poverty! Such wealth were hideous! I am blest Only in what thoy share with me. In what I share with all the rest. — Lucy Larcom. UNCHARITABLENESS NOT CHRISTIAN I know not if 'twas wise or well To give all heathens up to hell — ■ Hadrian — Aurclius — Socrates — And others wise atid good as these; I know not if it is forbid. But this I know — Christ never did. May every soul that touches mine — Be it the slightest contact — get there- from some good, Some little grace, one kindly thought. One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith To brave the thickening ills of life. One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists, To make this life worth while, And heaven a surer heritage. BROTHERHOOD 75 SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY O for a closer walk with man I Sweet fellowship of soul, Where each is to the other bound, Parts of one living whole. Our Father, God, help us to see That all in thee are one; O warm our hearts with thy pure love. Strong as your glorious sun. Pride, envy, selfishness will melt Beneath that kindling fire; Our brother's faults we scarce shall see. But good in all admire. No bitter cry of misery Shall ever pass unheard; But gentle sympathy spring forth In smile and strengthening word. And when our brother's voice shall call From lands beyond the sea, Our hearts in glad response will say, "Here, Lord, am I, send me." O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man. Grant us thy face to see; In thy light shall we understand What human life may be. Then daily with thy Spirit filled. According to thy word, New power shall flow through us to all, And draw men near our Lord. Thus will the deep desire be met With which our jirayor began; A closer walk with Thee will mean A closer walk with man. If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter. If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter, God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing. And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing. If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter. If any little care of mine make other life completer, If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another, God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother. CHARITY NOT JUSTICE Outwearied with the littleness and spite, The falsehood and the treachery of men, I cried, "Give me but justice! " think- ing then I meekly craved a common boon which might Most easily be granted; soon the light Of deeper truth grew on my wonder- ing ken, (Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen). And then I saw that in my pride bcdight I claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven — God's own great vested right; and I grew calm, With folded hands, like stone, to patience given. And pitying, of pure love distilling balm ; And now I wait in quiet trust to be All known to God — and ask of men sweet charity. — Elizabeth Oakes Smith. GOD SAVE THE PEOPLE When wilt thou save the people, O God of mercy, when? Not kings alone, but nations? Not tnrones and crowns, but men? Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they: Let them not pass, like weeds, away — Their heritage a sunless day. God save the people! Shall crime bring crime forever, Strength aidiiig still the strong? Is it thy will, O Father, That man shall toil for wrong? "No," say thy inountains, "No," thy skies; Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise, And songs ascend instead of sighs. God save the people! When wilt thou save the people? O God of mercy, when? The people. Lord, the people. Not thrones and crowns, but men? God save the people; thine they are, Thy children, as thine angels fair; From vice, oppression, and despair, God save the people! — Ebcnezer Elliott. 76 BROTHERHOOD HYMN OF THE CITY Not in the solitude Alone may man commxme with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale the present Deity; Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty! — here, amidst the crowd Through the great city rolled With everlasting murmxirs deep and loud — Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. The golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies And lights their inner homes; For them thou fiU'st with air the un- bounded skies And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Qviickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound — Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng — Like the resounding sea. Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. And when the hour of rest Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine. Hushing its billowy breast — The quiet of that moment too is Thine It breathes of Him who keeps The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. — William Cullen Bryant. No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though tmknown. Responds unto his own. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Believe not each accusing tongue, As most weak people do; But still believe that story wrong Which ought not to be true. — Richard Brinsley Sheridan. CHRIST IN THE CITY Where cross the crowded ways of life. Where sound the cries of race and clan. Above the noise of selfish strife. We hear thy voice, O Son of man. In haunts of wretchedness and need. On shadowed thresholds dark with fears. From paths where hide the lures of greed We catch the vision of thy tears. From tender childhood's helplessness, From woman's grief, man's burdened toil, From famished souls, from sorrow's stress, Thy heart has never known recoil. The cup of water given for Thee Still holds the freshness of thy grace; Yet long these multitudes to see The sweet compassion of thy face. O Master, from the moxintain side Make haste to heal these hearts of pain, Among these restless throngs abide, O tread the city's streets again. Till sons of men shall learn thy love And follow where thy feet have trod ; Till glorious from thy heaven above Shall come the city of our God. — Frank Mason North. Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; While he who walks in love may wander far. But God will bring him where the blessed are. — Henry van Dyke. Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art. Hard study never made the matter clearer ; 'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer. — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. BROTHERHOOD 77 SPEAK OUT If you have a friend worth loving, Love him. Yes, and let him know That you love him, ere life's evening Tinge his brow with sunset glow. Why should good words ne'er be said Of a friend — till he is dead? If you hear a song that thrills you, Stuig by any child of song, Praise it. Do not let the singer Wait deserved praises long. Why should one who thrills your heart Lack the joy you may impart? If you hear a prayer that moves you By its humble, pleading tone. Join it. Do not let the seeker Bow before his God alone. Why should not thy brother share The strength of "two or three" in prayer? If your work is made more easy By a friendly, helping hand. Say so. Speak out brave and truly, Ere the darkness veil the land. Should a brother workman dear Falter for a word of cheer? Scatter thus your seeds of kindness All enriching as you go — Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver; He will make each seed to grow. So, until the happy end, Your life shall never lack a friend. INFLUENCE The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean Will leave a track behind forevermore ; The lightest wave of influence, once in motion. Extends and widens to the eternal shore. We shovdd be wary, then, who go before A myriad yet to be, and we should take Otir bearings carefully where breakers roar And fearful tempests gather: one mis- take May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake. — Sarah Knowles Bolton. TELL HIM SO If you have a word of cheer That may light the pathway drear, Of a brother pilgrim here, Let him know. Show him you appreciate What he does, and do not wait Till the heavy hand of fate Lays him low. If your heart contains a thought That will brighter make his lot, Then, in mercy, hide it not; Tell him so. Bide not till the end of all Carries him beyond recall When beside his sable pall. To avow Your affection and acclaim To do honor to his name And to place the wreath of fame On his brow. Rather speak to him to-day; For the things you have to say May assist him on his way: Tell him now. Life is hard enough, at best: But the love that is expressed Makes it seem a pathway blest To our feet; And the troubles that we share Seem the easier to bear. Smile upon your neighbor's care, As you greet. Rough and stony are our ways. Dark and dreary are our days; But another's love and praise Make them sweet. Wait not till your friend is dead Ere your compliments are said; For the spirit that has fled, If it know. Does not need to speed it on Our poor praise; where it has gone Love's eternal, golden dawn Is aglow. But unto our brother here That poor praise is very dear; If you've any word of cheer Tell him so. — ^J. A. Egerton. So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 78 BROTHERHOOD THE MAN WITH A GRUDGE There once was a man who bore a grudge. Stoutly he bore it many a year. "Beware I" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge! Well it becomes me, never fear. "Men for this world, and saints for heaven ; Too much of meekness shows a--fool ; My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven ; 'Give as you get,' is a good old rule." The longer he bore it, the more it grew, Grew his grvidge, as he trudged along; Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew. And he heard within it a wondrous song. The shining porter said, "Walk in." He sought to do so ; the gate was strait : Hard he struggled his way to win. The way was narrow, the grudge was great. He turned in haste to lay it down; He strove to tear it away — to cut — But it had fast to his heart strings grown, "O wait," he cried; but the door was shut. Through windows bright and clear he saw The blessed going with their Lord to sup. But Satan clapped on his grvidge a claw; Hell opened ncr mouth and swallowed him up. — Sara Hammond Palfrey. Man judges from a partial view. None ever yet his brother knew ; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul. And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inward side. — ^John Greenleaf Whittier. O brothers! are ye asking how The hills of happiness to find? Then know they lie beyond the vow- "God helping me, I will be kind." — Nixon Waterman. A BLESSING Not to the man of dollars, Not to the man of deeds, Not unto craft and cunning, Not unto human creeds; Not to the one whose passion Is for the world's renown, Not in the form of fashion Cometh a blessing down. But to the one whose spirit Yearns for the great and good; Unto the one whose storehouse Yieldeth the hungry food; Unto the one who labors Fearless of foe or frown; Unto the kindly-hearted, Cometh a blessing down. — Mary Frances Tucker. WEAPONS Both swords and guns arc strong, no doubt. And so are tongue and pen. And so are sheaves of good bank notes, To sway the souls of men. But gxins and swords and piles of gold, Though mighty in their sphere, Are sometimes feebler than a smile, And poorer than a tear. — Charles Mackay. Enough to know that, through the winter's frost And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost, And every duty pays at last its cost. — ^John Greenleaf Whittier. A kindly act is a kernel sown That will grow to a goodly tree. Shedding its fruit when time is flown Down the gulf of Eternity. —John Boyle O'Reilly. The kindly word unspoken is a sin — A sin that wraps itself in purest guise. And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies. —John Boyle O Reilly. CONSECRATION SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY THE CHARIOTEER O God, take the reins of my life! I have driven it blindly, to left and to right. In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite, Where the brambles were rife, In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night. God, take the reins of my life! For I am so weary and weak. My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart, And my eyes are too tired for the tear- drops to start. And the worn horses reek With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart. While I am all weary and weak. But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power. Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way Shall be wisdom to giiide and controlling to stay, And my life in that hour Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey; For thou wilt be peace and all power. Now, Lord, without tarrying, now! While eyes can look up and while reason remains. And my hand yet has strength to sur- render the reins. Ere death stamp my brow And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins — Come, Lord, without tarrying, now! 1 yield Thee my place, which is thine. Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor; Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more, While the glad axles shine. And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door, — Now thou hast my place, which is thine. — Amos R. Wells. WHOLLY THE LORD'S My whole though broken heart, O Lord. From henceforth shall be thine; And here I do my vow record — This hand, these words are mine: All that I have, without reserve, I offer here to thee: Thy will and honor all shall serve That thou bestow 'st on me. All that exceptions save I lose; All that I lose I save; The treasures of thy love I choose, And Thou art all I crave. My God, thou hast my heart and hand; I all to thee resign; I'll ever to this covenant stand, Though flesh hereat repine. I know that Thou wast willing first. And then drew my consent; Having thus loved me at the worst Thou wilt not now repent. Now I have quit all self-pretense, Take charge of what's thine own: My life, my health, and my defense. Now lie on thee alone. — Richard Baxter. THE LAST WISH To do or not to do; to have Or not to have, I leave to thee; To be or not to be I leave; Thy only will be done in me. All my requests are lost in one: Father, thy only will be done. Suffice that, for the season past, Myself in things divine I sought, For comforts cried with eager haste. And murmured that I found them not. I leave it now to Thee alone: Father, thy only will be done. 79 8o CONSECRATION Thy gifts I clamor for no more, Or selfishly thy grace require An evil heart to varnish o'er; Jesus, the Giver, I desire, After the flesh no longer known: Father, thy only will be done. Welcome alike the crown or cross; Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace. Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss. Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease. Nor life, nor death, but ever groan. Father, thy only will be done. — Charles Wesley. MORNING HYMN O God! I thank thee for each sight Of beauty that thy hand doth give; For sunny skies and air and light; O God, I thank thee that I live! That life I consecrate to Thee; And ever as the day is bom, On wings of joy my soul would flee And thank thee for another mom; Another day in which to cast Some silent deed of love abroad, That, greatening as it journeys past. May do some earnest work for God; Another day to do and dare ; To tax anew my growing strength; To arm my soul with faith and prayer, And so reach heaven and Thee at length. — Caroline Atherton Mason. "INTO THY HANDS" Into Thy guiding hands; Along a way thy love and care forefend Gladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bend The longest road that leads at life's far end Into thy hands. Into thy chastening hands: If e'er 1 yield to weakness or to sin, Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win. Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline. Into thy hands. Into Thy healing hands; No hurt of soul or body long enthralls, The bruisdd heart that for thy succor calls When, far from doubting as from fear, it falls Into thy hands. Into thy saving hands: Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake, My life a perfect whole thy power can make. If Thou my shards of broken purpose take Into thy hands. Into Thy keeping hands; As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail— So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail — The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale, Into thy hands. Into thy loving hands; Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest; Who made the world to tire made thee my rest; My joyful heart I give, at thy behest, Into thy hands. — Louise Manning Hodgkins. HERE AM I My will would like a life of ease. And power to do, and time to rest, And health and strength my will would please. But, Lord, I know thy will is best. If I have strength to do thy will That should be power enough for me, Whether to work or to sit still The appointment of the day may be. And if by sickness I may grow More patient, holy and resigned. Strong health I need not wish to know, And greater ease I cannot find. And rest — I need not seek it here; For perfect rest remaineth still; When in thy presence we appear Rest shall be given by thy will. CONSECRATION 81 Lord, I have given my life to thee, And every day and hour is thine; What thou appointest let them be: Thy will is better, Lord, than mine. — Anna B. Warner. THE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine, Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake ; I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine — Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make ; But here I bring within my trembling hand, This will of mine — a thing that seemeth small, And Thou alone, O God, canst under- stand How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all. Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see Struggles of passion — visions of de- light- All that I love, and am, and fain would be. Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite. It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs. Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none — Now, from thy footstool where it van- quished lies. The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done." Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail. And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en If, in some desperate hour, my cries pre- vail, And thou give back my will, it may have been So changed, so purified, so fair have grown. So one with thee, so filled with peace divine, I may not see nor know it as my own. But, gaining back my will, may find it thine. Manlike is it to fall into sin, Fiendlike is it to dwell therein. Christlike is it for sin to grieve. Godlike is it all sin to leave. — Friedrich von Logau. O GOD OF TRUTH O God of Truth, whose living word Upholds whate'er hath breath. Look down on thy creation, Lord, Enslaved by sin and death. Set up thy standard. Lord, that they Who claim a heavenly birth May march with thee to smite the lies That vex thy ransomed earth. Ah! would we join that blest array, And follow in the might Of Him, the Faithful and the True, In raiment clean and white. We fight for truth, we fight for God — Poor slaves of lies and sin! He who would fight for thee on earth Must first be true within. Thou God of Truth for whom we long — Thou who wilt hear our prayer — Do thine own battle in our hearts; And slay the falsehood there. Still smite! still bum! till naught is left But God's own truth and love; Then, Lord, as morning dew come down, Rest on us from above. Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire, From every lie set free, Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us. And we shall live in Thee. — Thomas Hughes. GOD ONLY Lord, in the strength of grace, With a glad heart and free, Myself, my residue of days, I consecrate to Thee. Thy ransomed servant, I Restore to thee thine own; And from this moment live or die To serve my God alone. — Charles Wesley. In full and glad surrender we give our- selves to thee, Thine utterly and only and evermore to be! O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone. And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own. — Frances Ridley Havergal. 82 CONSECRATION GOD IS EVERYWHERE A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air; And in my cage I sit and sing To him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleaseth thee. Naught have I else to do; I sing the whole day long; And He whom most I love to please Doth listen to my song; He caught and bound my wandering wing, But still he bends to hear me sing. My cage confines me round, Abroad I cannot fiy; But though my wings are closely bound My heart's at liberty. My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of my soul. Oh, it is grand to soar These bolts and bars above To Him whose purpose I adore, Whose providence I love I And in thy mighty will to find The joy, the freedom of the mind. — Madame Guyon. A CONSECRATED LIFE Take my life and let it be Consecrated, Lord, to thee. Take my moments and my days; Let them flow in ceaseless praise. Take my hands, and let them move At the impulse of thy love. Take my feet and let them be Swift and "beautiful" for Thee. Take my voice, and let me sing Always, only, for my King. Take my lips, and let them be Filled with messages from Thee. Take my silver and my gold; Not a mite would I withhold. Take my intellect, and use Every power as Thou shalt choose. Take my will and make it Thine; It shall be no longer mine. Take my heart; it is thine own; It shall be thy royal throne. Take my love; my Lord, I pour At thy feet its treasure-store. Take myself, and I will be Ever, only, all for Thee. — Frances Ridley Havergal. UNION WITH GOD Strong are the walls around me, That hold me all the day; But they who thus have bound me Cannot keep God away: My very dungeon walls are dear, Because the God I love is here. They know, who thus oppress me, 'Tis hard to be alone; But know not One can bless me Who comes through bars and stone. He makes my dungeon's darkness bright And fills my bosom with delight. Thy love, O God! restores me From sighs and tears to praise; And deep my soul adores thee Nor thinks of time or place: I ask no more, in good or ill, But union with thy holy will. 'Tis that which makes my treasure, 'Tis that which brings my gain; Converting woe to pleasure. And reaping joy from pain. Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall. To know that God is All in All. — Madame Guyon. DEDICATED O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart. And fix my frail, inconstant heart; Henceforth my chief desire shall be To dedicate myself to thee. Whate'er pursuits my time employ. One thought shall fill my soul with joy: That silent, secret thought shall be That all my hopes are fixed on thee. Thy glorious eye pervadeth space; Thy presence. Lord, fills every place; And wheresoe'er my lot may be Still shall my spirit cleave to thee. Renouncing every worldly thing, And safe beneath thy spreading winef. My sweetest thought henceforth shall oe That all I want I find in thee. — Jean P. Oberlin. CONSECRATION 83 LEAVING ALL Jesus, I my cross have taken. All to leave and follow thee; Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, Thou, from hence, my all shalt be: Perish every fond ambition. All I've sought, and hoped, and known; Yet how rich is my condition, God and heaven are still my own! Let the world despise and leave me. They have left my Saviour too; Human hearts and looks deceive mc; Thou art not, like man, untrue; And while thou shalt smile upon me, God of wisdom, love, and might. Foes may hate, and friends may shun me ; Show thy face, and all is bright. Go, then, earthly fame and treasure! Come, disaster, scorn, and pain! In Thy service, pain is pleasure; With thy favor, loss is gain. I have called thee, "Abba, Father"; I have stayed my heart on thee: Storms may howl, and clouds may father, must work for good to me. Man may trouble and distress me, 'Twill but drive me to Thy breast ; Life with trials hard may press me, Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. O 'tis not in grief to harm me. While thy love is left to me ; O 'twere not in joy to charm me. Were that joy unmixed with thee. Know, my soul, thy full salvation; Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care; Joy to find in every station Something still to do or bear. Think what Spirit dwells within thee; What a Father's smile is thine; What a Saviour died to win thee; Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine? Haste thee on from grace to glory, Armed by faith, and winged by prayer; Heaven's eternal day's before thee, God's own hand shall guide thee there. Soon shall close thy earthly mission. Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days, Hope shall change to glad fruition, Faith to sight, and prayer to praise. — Henry F. Lyte. CHOOSE THOU Thy way, not mine, O Lord! However dark it be; Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be, or rough. It will be still the best; Winding or straight it matters not, It leads me to Thy rest. I dare not choose my lot, I would not if I might; Choose Thou for me, O God! So shall I walk aright. The kingdom that I seek Is Thine; so let the way That leads to it be thine Else I must surely stray. Take Thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill; As best to Thee may seem; Choose Thou my good or ill. Choose Thou for me my friends My sickness or my health; Choose thou my cares for me. My poverty or wealth. Not mine, not mine the choice In things or great or small; Be Thou my guide, my strength. My wisdom and my all. — Horatius Bonar. ONLY TO-DAY Only to-day is mine. And that I owe to Thee; Help me to make it thine; As pure as it may be; Let it see something done. Let it see something won. Then at the setting sun I'll give it back to thee. What if I cannot tell The cares the day may bring? I know that I shall dwell Beneath Thy sheltering wing; And there the load is light; And there the dark is bright. And weakness turns to might. And so I trust and sing. 84 CONSECRATION What shall I ask to-day? Naught but Thine own sweet will; The windings of the way Lead to thy holy hill; And whether here or there Why should I fear or care? Thy heavens are everywhere, And they are o'er me still. Give me Thyself to-day, I dare not walk alone; Speak to me by the way, *- And "all things are my own"; The treasures of thy grace. The secret hiding place, The vision of thy face. The shadow of thy throne! — Henry Burton. THE OFFERING No more my own, Lord Jesus, Bought with thy precious blood, I give thee but thine own. Lord, That long thy love withstood. I give the life thou gavest. My present, future, past; My joys, my fears, my sorrows. My first hope and my last. I give thee up my weakness That oft distrust hath bred. That thy indwelling power May thus be perfected. I give the love the sweetest Thy goodness grants to me; Take it, and make it meet. Lord, For offering to thee. Smile, and the very shadows In thy blest light shall shine; Take thou my heart. Lord Jesus, For thou hast made it thine. Thou knowest my soul's ambition. For thou hast changed its aim (The world's reproach I fear not) To share a Saviour's shame. Outside the camp to suffer; Within the veil to meet, And hear Thy softest whisper From out the mercy-seat. Thou bear'st me in thy bosom, Amidst thy jewels worn, Upon thy hands deep graven By arms of love upborne. Rescued from sin's destruction. Ransomed from death and hell; Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus: Thou hast done all things well. Oh, deathless love that bought me! Oh, price beyond my ken! Oh, Life that hides my own life E'en from my fellow-men! Now fashion, form and fill me With light and love divine; So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus, I'm thine — forever thine! I IN THEE AND THOU IN ME I am but clay in thy hands, but Thou art the all-loving artist; Passive I lie in thy sight, yet in my self-hood I strive So to embody the life and the love thou ever impartest. That in my sphere of the finite I may be truly alive. Knowing Thou needest this form, as I thy divine inspiration. Knowing thou shapest the clay with a vision and purpose divine. So would I answer each touch of thy hand in its loving creation. That in my conscious life thy power and beauty may shine. Reflecting the noble intent Thou hast in forming thy creatures; Waking from sense into life of the soul, and the image of thee; Working with thee in thy work to model hvimanity's features Into the likeness of God, myself from myself I wotdd free. One with all human existence, no one above or below me; Lit by Thy wisdom and love, as roses are steeped in the mom; Growing from clay to a statue, from statue to flesh, till thou know me Wrought into manhood celestial, and in thine image reborn. CONSECRATION 85 So in thy love will I trust, bringing me sooner or later Past the dark screen that divides these shows of the finite from Thee. Thine, thine only, this warm dear life, O loving' Creator! Thine the invisible future, bom of the present, must be. — Christopher Pearse Cranch. ON THEE MY HEART IS RESTING On Thee my heart is resting: Ah! this is rest indeed! What else, Almighty Saviour, Can a poor sinner need? Thy light is all my wisdom. Thy love is all my stay; Our Father's home in glory Draws nearer every day. Great is my guilt, but greater The mercy Thou dost give; Thyself, a spotless offering, Hast died that I should live. With Thee my soul unfettered Has risen from the dust; Thy blood is all my treasure; Thy word is all my trust. Through me, thou gentle Master, Thy purposes fulfill: I yield myself forever To thy most holy will. What though I be btxt weakness My strength is not in me; The poorest of thy people Has all things, having Thee, When clouds are darkest round me. Thou, Lord, art then most near, My drooping faith to quicken, My weary soul to cheer. Safe nestling in thy bosom, I gaze upon thy face. In vain my foes would drive me From Thee, my hiding-place. 'Tis Thou hast made me happy; 'Tis thou hast set me free. To whom shall I give glory Forever but to Thee! Of earthly love and blessing Should every stream run dry. Thy grace shall still be with me — Thy grace to live and die! — ^Theodore Monod. WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE? I love, and have some cause to love, the earth ; She is my Maker's creature, therefore good; She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; She is my tender nurse, she gives me food; Btit what's a creature. Lord, compared with Thee? Or what's my mother or my nurse to me ? The highest honors that the world can boast Are subjects far too low for my desire ; The brightest beams of glory are, at most. But dying sparkles of thy living fire ; The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee. Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares; Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet, sad- ness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness: Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be. Nor have their being when compared with Thee. In having all things, and not Thee, what have I? Not having Thee, what have my labors got? Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I? And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish nor sea nor land ; nor would I be Possess'd of heaven, heaven unpossess'd of thee. — Francis Quarles. Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it ever Sealed on the heart, and engraved on the life; Pulse of all gladness, and nerve of en- deavor. Secret of rest and the strength of our strife. — Frances Ridley Havergal. 86 CONSECRATION SINCE FIRST THY WORD AWAKED MY HEART Sinco lirsl thy word uwakcd my lu'urt, lyikc lU'vv life dawniii),' o'er luo, Where \'r I turn my eyes, Thou art All liKht iiiul love before me. Nought else I feel