For the love of God is broader Than the measure of man's mind, And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind. If our love were but more simple, We should take him at his word, And our lives would be all sunshine In the sweetness of our Lord.

—Frederick William Faber.

THE LOVE THAT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE

Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art, That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest; Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart, And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.

It is thy perfect love that casts out fear; I know the voice that speaks the "It is I." And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.

Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross; Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb; All meaner love is perishable dross, But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.

It blesses now, and shall forever bless; It saves me now, and shall forever save; It holds me up in days of helplessness, It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.

Girt with the love of God on every side, Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air, I work or wait, still following my Guide, Braving each foe, escaping every snare.

'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God, That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song; Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod, Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.

I am all want and hunger; this faint heart Pines for a fullness which it finds not here, Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart, Make room within for something yet more dear.

More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hour More of thy glory, O my God and Lord! More of thyself in all thy grace and power More of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.

Love that asketh love again Finds the barter naught but pain; Love that giveth in full store, Aye receives as much, and more.

Love, exacting nothing back, Never knoweth any lack; Love, compelling love to pay, Sees him bankrupt every day.

—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.

—James Russell Lowell.

HIS BANNER OVER ME

Surrounded by unnumbered foes, Against my soul the battle goes! Yet, though I weary, sore distrest, I know that I shall reach my rest. I lift my tearful eyes above; His banner over me is love.

Its sword my spirit will not yield, Though flesh may faint upon the field; He waves before my fading sight The branch of palm—the crown of light; I lift my brightening eyes above, His banner over me is love.

My cloud of battle-dust may dim, His veil of splendor curtain him, And in the midnight of my fear I may not feel him standing near; But, as I lift mine eyes above, His banner over me is love.

—Gerald Massey.

THE SPILT PEARLS

His courtiers of the caliph crave: "O say how this may be, That of thy slaves this Ethiop slave Is best beloved by thee?

"For he is hideous as the night: Yet when has ever chose A nightingale for its delight A hueless, scentless rose?"

The caliph then: "No features fair, No comely mien are his; Love is the beauty he doth wear; And love his glory is.

"Once when a camel of my train There fell, in narrow street, From broken casket rolled amain Rich pearls before my feet.

"I nodding to my slaves that I Would freely give them these, At once upon the spoil they fly The costly boon to seize.

"One only at my side remained— Beside this Ethiop none; He, moveless as the steed he reined, Behind me sat alone.

"'What will thy gain, good fellow, be, Thus lingering at my side?' 'My king, that I shall faithfully Have guarded thee,' he cried.

"True servant's title he may wear, He only, who has not, For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er, His lord himself forgot!"

So thou alone dost walk before Thy God with perfect aim, From him desiring nothing more Beside himself to claim.

For if thou not to him aspire, But to his gifts alone, Not love, but covetous desire, Has brought thee to his throne.

While such thy prayer; it climbs above In vain—the golden key Of God's rich treasure-house of love Thine own will never be.

—Saadi, tr. by Richard Chenevix Trench.

THE HIGHER PRIVILEGE

For some the narrow lane of "must," Be mine the big, broad "may"; Better to love—be happy—trust, Than simply to obey.

O troubled over many things, Choose thou the better part; Service unconscious of itself, And childlikeness of heart.

Why cast your burden on the Lord And strive to drag it, too? Call work an opportunity Till it grows joy to you.

"Ought" is a servant's work, not mine; I sign no grudging pledge; I am a child and son; my toil Is only privilege.

Who'd be a thrall to vain debates Of "were this right or wrong," When he might toss these cares to God And catch instead a song!

Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere, Forgetful we can fly, When the high zenith, "God is Love," Allures us to the sky?

The virtues hide their vanquished fires Within that whiter flame, Till conscience grows irrelevant, And duty but a name!

—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

THE WIDOW'S OIL

2 Kings 4. 1-6

Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth, It will not fail until Thou failest vessels to provide Which it may freely fill.

But then, when such are found no more, Though flowing broad and free Till then, and nourished from on high, It straightway stanched will be.

Dig channels for the streams of love, Where they may broadly run; And love has overflowing streams To fill them every one.

But if at any time thou cease Such channels to provide, The very founts of love for thee Will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep, That good thing from above; Ceasing to give, we cease to have; Such is the law of love.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

ONLY LOVE

Lord and Father, great and holy! Fearing naught, we come to thee; Fearing naught, though weak and lowly, For thy love has made us free. By the blue sky bending o'er us, By the green earth's flowery zone, Teach us, Lord, the angel chorus, "Thou art Love, and Love alone!"

Though the worlds in flame should perish, Suns and stars in ruin fall, Trust in thee our hearts should cherish, Thou to us be all in all. And though heavens thy name are praising, Seraphs hymn no sweeter tone Than the strains our hearts are raising, "Thou art Love, and Love alone!"

—Frederic William Farrar.

That love for one from which there doth not spring Wide love for all is but a worthless thing.

—James Russell Lowell.

JOHN AND JESUS

A voice by Jordan's shore! A summons stern and clear: Reform! be just! and sin no more! God's judgment draweth near!

A voice by Galilee, A holier voice I hear; Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see, God's mercy draweth near!

O voice of Duty, still Speak forth; I hear with awe. In thee I own the sovereign will, Obey the sovereign law.

Thou higher voice of Love! Yet speak thy word in me; Through Duty let me upward move To thy pure liberty!

—Samuel Longfellow.

WHAT REDRESS?

I pray you, do not use this thing For vengeance; but if questioning What wound, when dealt your humankind, Goes deepest—surely he shall find Who wrongs you, loving him no less— There's nothing hurts like tenderness.

—James Whitcomb Riley.

FORGIVENESS

When on the fragrant sandal-tree The woodman's axe descends, And she who bloomed so beauteously Beneath the keen stroke bends, E'en on the edge that wrought her death Dying she breathed her sweetest breath, As if to token, in her fall, Peace to her foes, and love to all.

How hardly man this lesson learns, To smile, and bless the hand that spurns; To see the blow, to feel the pain, But render only love again! This spirit not to earth is given— ONE had it, but he came from heaven. Reviled, rejected, and betrayed, No curse he breathed, no plaint he made, But when in death's deep pang he sighed Prayed for his murderers, and died.

LOVE COUNTETH NOT THE COST

There is an ancient story, simply told, As ever were the holy things of old, Of one who served through many a toiling year To earn at last the joy he held most dear; A weary term, to others strangely lost. What mattered it? Love counteth not the cost.

Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skies The faithful life hath, patient, won its prize; Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swell The soul, some Rachel waits beside the well; For her the load is borne, the desert crossed. What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.

This then of man—and what, dear Lord, of thee, Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane— Come from those regions infinite with peace, To buy with such a price the world's release? Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed, "What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who stand Beneath the pressure of thy gracious hand— What is the service thou wouldst have from me? What is the burden to be borne for thee? I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust, "What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

LOVE OF HOME

Thy voice is heard through rolling drums That beat to battle where he stands; Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands. A moment, while the trumpets blow, He sees his brood about thy knee; The next, like fire he meets the foe, And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

—Alfred Tennyson.

BE KIND TO THYSELF

Comes a message from above— "As thyself thy neighbor love." With myself so vexed I grow— Of my weakness weary so; Easier may I tolerate My neighbor than myself not hate.

Take not part of thee for whole; Thou art neighbor to thy soul; The ray from heaven that gilds the clod Love thou, for it comes from God. Bear thou with thy human clay, Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.

—Edward Sandford Martin.

LOVE AND LIGHT

Through love to light! oh wonderful the way That leads from darkness to the perfect day! From darkness and from sorrow of the night To morning that comes singing o'er the sea, Through love to light! Through light, O God, to thee, Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light.

—Richard Watson Gilder.

SYMPATHETIC LOVE

O Love divine, that stooped to share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear! On thee we cast each earthborn care; We smile at pain while thou art near.

Though long the weary way we tread, And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shun, no darkness dread, Our hearts still whispering, "Thou art near!"

When drooping pleasure turns to grief And trembling faith is changed to fear, The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf, Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near!"

On thee we fling our burdening woe, O Love divine, forever dear; Content to suffer while we know, Living and dying, thou art near!

—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

—Alfred Tennyson.

For, lo! in hidden deep accord The servant may be like his Lord. And thy love, our love shining through, May tell the world that thou art true, Till those who see us see thee too.

—Anna Letitia Waring.

Who loves, no law can ever bind; He'd cleave to God as well Were there no golden heaven's reward, And no dark cave of hell.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win? Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

For others' sake to make life sweet Though thorns may pierce your weary feet; For others' sake to walk each day As if joy helped you all the way, While in the heart may be a grave That makes it hard to be so brave. Herein, I think, is love.

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Ah, yes! I would a phoenix be, And burn my heart in Deity! Then I should dwell by his dear side, And in the self of God abide.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe: Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.



HOPE

PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM

THE PROMISED LAND—TO-MORROW

High hopes that burned like stars sublime Go down the heavens of freedom, And true hearts perish in the time We bitterliest need them; But never sit we down and say, There's nothing left but sorrow— We walk the wilderness to-day, The Promised Land to-morrow.

Our birds of song are silent now, There are no flowers blooming, But life beats in the frozen bough And freedom's spring is coming. And freedom's tide comes up alway Though we may stand in sorrow; And our good bark, aground to-day, Shall float again to-morrow.

Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes With shining futures glisten; Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies: Lean out your souls and listen! The earth rolls freedom's radiant way, And ripens with her sorrow; And 'tis the martyrdom to-day Brings victory to-morrow.

Through all the long night of the years The people's cry ascended; The earth was wet with blood and tears Ere their meek sufferings ended. The few shall not forever sway, The many toil in sorrow, The bars of hell are strong to-day But Christ shall rise to-morrow.

'Tis weary watching wave on wave, But still the tide heaves onward; We climb like corals, grave on grave, But build a pathway sunward; We're beaten back in many a fray, But strength divine will borrow— And where our vanguard rests to-day Our rear shall march to-morrow.

Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire; With energies immortal, To many a haven of desire Your yearning opes a portal. And though age wearies by the way, And hearts break in the furrow, We sow the golden grain to-day— The harvest comes to-morrow.

—Gerald Massey.

THE RIGHT MUST WIN

O it is hard to work for God, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart!

He hides himself so wondrously, As though there were no God; He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad.

Or He deserts us at the hour The fight is all but lost; And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need him most.

Yes, there is less to try our faith, In our mysterious creed, Than in the godless look of earth In these our hours of need.

Ill masters good, good seems to change To ill with greatest ease; And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross purposes.

It is not so, but so it looks, And we lose courage then; And doubts will come if God hath kept His promises to men.

Ah! God is other than we think; His ways are far above; Far beyond reason's height, and reached Only by childlike love.

The look, the fashion, of God's ways Love's lifelong study are; She can be bold, and guess, and act When reason would not dare.

She has a prudence of her own; Her step is firm and free. Yet there is cautious science, too In her simplicity.

Workman of God! oh, lose not heart, But learn what God is like, And in the darkest battle-field, Thou shalt know where to strike.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given The instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he Is most invisible.

Blest, too, is he who can divine Where real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems Wrong to man's blindfold eye.

Then learn to scorn the praise of men And learn to lose with God; For Jesus won the world through shame And beckons thee his road.

God's glory is a wondrous thing, Most strange in all its ways, And, of all things on earth, least like What men agree to praise.

God's justice is a bed where we Our anxious hearts may lay, And, weary with ourselves, may sleep Our discontent away.

For right is right, since God is God, And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin.

—Frederick William Faber.

Let us believe That there is hope for all the hearts that grieve; That somewhere night Drifts to a morning beautiful with light, And that the wrong Though now it triumphs, wields no scepter long. But right will reign Throned where the waves of error beat in vain.

—Frank L. Stanton.

To change and change is life; to move and never rest; Not what we are, but what we hope, is best.

—James Russell Lowell.

HAVE HOPE

Have Hope! it is the brightest star That lights life's pathway down: A richer, purer gem than decks An Eastern monarch's crown. The Midas that may turn to joy The grief-fount of the soul; That paints the prize and bids thee press With fervor to the goal.

Have Hope! as the tossed mariner Upon the wild sea driven With rapture hails the polar star— His guiding light to haven— So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide Along life's stormy road, And as a sacred beacon stand To point thee to thy God.

—B. A. G. Fuller.

WAITING

Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind or tide or sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For, lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own, and draw The brook that springs in yonder height; So flows the good, with equal law, Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky; The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time nor space, nor deep nor high, Can keep my own away from me.

—John Burroughs.

THE LARGER HOPE

O, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last—far off—at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream; but what am I? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope through darkness up to God.

I stretch lame hands of faith and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.

—Alfred Tennyson.

DESPONDENCY REBUKED

Say not, the struggle naught availeth; The labor and the wounds are vain; The enemy faints not, nor faileth; And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be—in yon smoke concealed— Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes, silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow—how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright!

—Arthur Hugh Clough.

COMMIT THY WAY

Commit thy way to God, The weight which makes thee faint; Worlds are to him no load, To him breathe thy complaint. He who for winds and clouds Maketh a pathway free, Through wastes or hostile crowds, Can make a way for thee.

Thou must in him be blest Ere bliss can be secure; On his works must thou rest If thy work shall endure. To anxious, prying thought, And weary, fretting care, The highest yieldeth naught: He giveth all to prayer.

Father, thy faithful love, Thy mercy, wise and mild, Sees what will blessing prove, Or what will hurt thy child; And what thy wise foreseeing Doth for thy children choose Thou bringest into being, Nor sufferest them to lose.

Hope, then, though woes be doubled; Hope and be undismayed; Let not thy heart be troubled, Nor let it be afraid. This prison where thou art— Thy God will break it soon, And flood with light thy heart In his own blessed noon.

Up! up! the day is breaking; Say to thy cares, Good night! Thy troubles from thee shaking Like dreams in day's fresh light. Thou wearest not the crown, Nor the best course can tell; God sitteth on the throne And guideth all things well.

—Paul Gerhardt, tr. by Elizabeth Rundle Charles.

THE SILVER LINING

There's never a day so sunny But a little cloud appears, There's never a life so happy But has its time of tears; Yet the sun shines out the brighter Whenever the tempest clears.

There's never a garden growing With roses in every plot; There's never a heart so hardened But has one tender spot; We have only to prune the border To find the forget-me-not.

There's never a sun that rises But we know 'twill set at night; The tints that gleam in the morning At evening are just as bright; And the hour that is the sweetest Is between the dark and light.

There is never a cup so pleasant But has bitter with the sweet; There is never a path so rugged, Bearing not the print of feet, But we have a helper furnished For the trials we may meet.

There is never a way so narrow But the entrance is made straight, There is always a guide to point us To the "little wicket gate." And the angels will be nearest To a soul that's desolate.

There is never a heart so haughty But will some day bow and kneel; There is never a heart so wounded That the Saviour cannot heal; There is many a lowly forehead Bearing now the hidden seal.

There's never a dream so happy But the waking makes us sad; There's never a dream of sorrow But the waking makes us glad; We shall look some day with wonder At the troubles we have had.

Yet sometimes glimmers on my sight, Through present wrong, the eternal right; And, step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

FARTHER ON

I hear it singing, singing sweetly, Softly in an undertone, Singing as if God had taught it, "It is better farther on!"

Night and day it sings the song, Sings it while I sit alone, Sings so that the heart may hear it, "It is better farther on!"

Sits upon the grave and sings it, Sings it when the heart would groan, Sings it when the shadows darken, "It is better farther on!"

Farther on? How much farther? Count the milestones one by one? No! no counting—only trusting, "It is better farther on!"

NEW EVERY MORNING

Every day is a fresh beginning, Every morn is the world made new; You who are weary of sorrow and sinning, Here is a beautiful hope for you— A hope for me and a hope for you.

All the past things are past and over, The tasks are done and the tears are shed; Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover; Yesterday's wounds, which smarted and bled, Are healed with the healing which night has shed.

Yesterday is a part of forever, Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight; With glad days, and sad days, and bad days, which never Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight, Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

Let them go, since we cannot relieve them; Cannot undo, and cannot atone; God in his mercy, receive, forgive them! Only the new days are our own. To-day is ours, and to-day alone.

Here are the skies all burnished brightly, Here is the spent earth all reborn; Here are the tired limbs springing lightly To face the sun, and to share with the morn In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.

Every day is a fresh beginning; Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain, And, spite of all sorrow and old sinning, And puzzle forecasted, and possible pain, Take heart with the day, and begin again.

—Susan Coolidge.

CHEER UP

Never go gloomily, man with a mind; Hope is a better companion than fear; Providence, ever benignant and kind, Gives with a smile what you take with a tear. All will be right; look to the light; Morning is ever the daughter of night; All that was black will be all that is bright; Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.

Many a foe is a friend in disguise, Many a sorrow a blessing most true, Helping the heart to be happy and wise, Bringing true love and joys ever new. Stand in the van; strive like a man; This is the bravest and cleverest plan— Trusting in God while you do what you can, Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.

PROGRESS

Idly as thou, in that old day Thou mournest, did thy sire repine; So, in his time, thy child grown gray Shall sigh for thine.

But life shall on and upward go; Th' eternal step of Progress beats To that great anthem, calm and slow, Which God repeats.

Take heart! The Waster builds again; A charmed life old Goodness hath; The tares may perish, but the grain Is not for death.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE VEILED FUTURE

Veiled the future comes, refusing, To be seen, like Isaac's bride Whom the lonely man met musing In the fields at eventide.

Round him o'er the darkening waste Deeper shades of evening fall, And behind him in the past Mother Sarah's funeral.

Mother Sarah being dead, There comes his veiled destiny; The veiled Rebecca he must wed Whatsoe'er her features be.

On he walks in silent prayer, Bids the veiled Rebecca hail, Doubting not she will prove fair When at length she drops the veil.

When the veil is dropped aside, Dropped in Mother Sarah's tent, Oh! she is right fair, this bride Whom his loving God has sent.

To those walking 'twixt the two— 'Twixt the past with pleasures dead And the future veiled from view— The veiled future thou must wed;

Walk like Isaac, praying God; Walk by faith and not by sight; And though darker grows the road Doubt not all will yet come right.

Things behind forgetting, hail Every future from above. Doubt not when it drops the veil 'Twill be such as thou wouldst love.

Till at death-eve, when the past Rings dear Mother Earth's own knells, Bridal heaven unveils at last With a peal of marriage bells.

—William Robertson.

The night is mother of the day, The winter of the spring; And ever upon old decay The greenest mosses cling. Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his hope with all.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

IMAGINARY EVILS

Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow; Leave things of the future to fate; What's the use to anticipate sorrow? Life's troubles come never too late! If to hope overmuch be an error, 'Tis one that the wise have preferred; And how often have hearts been in terror Of evils that never occurred.

Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee; Permit not suspicion and care With invisible bonds to acclaim thee, But bear what God gives thee to bear. By his spirit supported and gladdened, Be ne'er by forebodings deterred; But think how oft hearts have been saddened By fear of what never occurred.

Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow; Short and dark as our life may appear We may make it still darker by sorrow, Still shorter by folly and fear! Half our troubles are half our invention, And often from blessings conferred Have we shrunk, in the wild apprehension Of evils that never occurred.

—Charles Swain.

THE MORNING STAR

There is a morning star, my soul! There is a morning star; 'Twill soon be near and bright, my soul, Though now it seem so dim and far. And when time's stars have come and gone, And every mist of earth has flown, That better star shall rise On this world's clouded skies To shine forever!

The night is well-nigh spent, my soul! The night is well-nigh spent; And soon above our heads shall rise A glorious firmament. A sky all clear and glad and bright, The Lamb once slain its perfect light, A star without a cloud, Whose light no mists enshroud, Descending never!

THREE LESSONS

There are three lessons I would write— Three words as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light, Upon the hearts of men.

Have Hope. Though clouds environ now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow— No night but hath its morn.

Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven— The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth— Know this: God rules the host of heaven, The inhabitants of earth.

Have Love. Not love alone for one, But man as man thy brother call; And scatter like the circling sun Thy charities on all.

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul— Faith, Hope, and Love—and thou shalt find Strength when life's surges rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind.

—Johann Christopher Friedrich von Schiller.

Knowing this, that never yet Share of truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvests yellow.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Yet I argue not Against Thy hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward.

—John Milton.

The world is growing better, No matter what they say; The light is shining brighter In one refulgent ray; And though deceivers murmur, And turn another way, Yet still the world grows better And better every day.

Never give up! it is wiser and better Always to hope than once to despair; Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter, And break the dark spell of tyrannical care; Never give up, or the burden may sink you— Providence kindly has mingled the cup; And in all trials and troubles bethink you The watchword of life must be—Never give up.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce; It's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That, after Last, returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched; That what began best, can't end worst, Nor what God blest once, prove accurst.

—Robert Browning.

Hope, Christian soul! in every stage Of this thine earthly pilgrimage, Let heavenly joy thy thoughts engage; Abound in hope. Hope through the watches of the night; Hope till the morrow brings the light; Hope till thy faith be lost in sight; Abound in hope.

God works in all things; all obey His first propulsion from the night; Wake thou and watch! the world is gray With morning light.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

When the sun of joy is hidden, And the sky is overcast, Just remember—light is coming, And the storm won't always last.

The mist denies the mountains; The wind forbids the sea; But, mist or wind, I go to find The day that calls to me.

For there are mornings yonder And noons that call and call; And there's a day with arms outheld, That waits beyond them all.

—Josephine Preston Peabody.

Open the door of your hearts, my lads, To the angel of Love and Truth When the world is full of unnumbered joys, In the beautiful dawn of youth. Casting aside all things that mar, Saying to wrong, Depart! To the voices of hope that are calling you Open the door of your heart.

—Edward Everett Hale.

A little bit of hope Makes a rainy day look gay; A little bit of charity Makes glad a weary way!

Hope, child, to-morrow, and to-morrow still, And every morrow hope; trust while you live. Hope! each time the dawn doth heaven fill, Be there to ask as God is there to give.

—Victor Hugo.



FAITH

ASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF

THE ETERNAL GOODNESS

I bow my forehead to the dust, I veil mine eyes for shame, And urge, in trembling self-distrust, A prayer without a claim. No offering of mine own I have, Nor works my faith to prove; I can but give the gifts he gave, And plead his love for love.

I dimly guess, from blessings known, Of greater out of sight; And, with the chastened psalmist, own His judgments too are right. And if my heart and flesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed he will not break, But strengthen and sustain.

I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. And so beside the silent sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from him can come to me On ocean or on shore.

I know not where his islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond his love and care. And thou, O Lord, by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on thee.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Forgive us, Lord, our little faith; And help us all, from morn till e'en, Still to believe that lot the best Which is, not that which might have been.

And grant we may so pass the days The cradle and the grave between, That death's dark hour not darker be For thoughts of what life might have been.

THE ONE THING NEEDFUL

My prayer to the promise shall cling— I will not give heed to a doubt; For I ask for the one needful thing Which I cannot be happy without:

A spirit of lowly repose In the love of the Lamb that was slain; A heart to be touched with his woes, And a care not to grieve him again;

The peace that my Saviour has bought, The cheerfulness nothing can dim, The love that can bring every thought Into perfect obedience to him;

The wisdom his mercy to own In the way he directs me to take— To glory in Jesus alone, And to love and do good for his sake.

All this thou hast offered to me In the promise whereon I will rest; For faith, O my Saviour! in thee, Is the substance of all my request.

Thy word has commanded my prayer, Thy Spirit has taught me to pray; And all my unholy despair Is ready to vanish away.

Thou wilt not be weary of me; Thy promise my faith shall sustain; And soon, very soon, shall I see I have not been asking in vain.

—Anna Letitia Waring.

Ah, God! I have not had thee day and night In thought, nor magnified thy name aright, Nor lauded thee, nor glorified, nor laid Upon thine altars one poor kusa-blade! Yet now, when I seek refuge, Lord! with thee, I ask, and thou wilt give, all good to me.

—Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.

ABOVE ALL, THE SHIELD

Faith fails; Then in the dust Lie failing rest and light and trust. So doth the troubled soul itself distress, And choke the fountain in the wilderness. I care not what your peace assails! The deep root is, faith fails.

Faith fails When in the breast The Lord's sweet presence doth not rest; For who believes, clouds cannot make afraid; He knows the sun doth shine behind the shade; He rides at anchor through the gales. Do you not so? Faith fails.

Faith fails; Its foes alarm, And persecution's threats disarm; False friends can scarcely wish it a good day, Before it taketh fright and shrinks away. When God doth guard, what foe prevails? Why then the fear? Faith fails.

Faith fails; Else cares would die, And we should on God's care rely. Man for the coming day doth grieve and fret, And all past days doth sinfully forget. For every beast God's care avails; Why not for us? Faith fails.

Faith fails; Then cometh fear, If sickness comes, if death is near. O man, why is it, when the times are bad And the days evil, that thy face is sad? How is it that thy courage quails? It must be this: Faith fails.

My God! Let my faith be Living, and working actively With hope and joy, that death may not surprise. So let them sweetly close my eyes; The Christian's life to death may yield— Hope stands; faith has the field.

—S. C. Schoener.

LOOKING UNTO GOD

I look to Thee in every need, And never look in vain; I feel thy strong and tender love, And all is well again: The thought of thee is mightier far Than sin and pain and sorrow are.

Discouraged in the work of life, Disheartened by its load, Shamed by its failures or its fears, I sink beside the road; But let me only think of Thee, And then new heart springs up in me.

Thy calmness bends serene above My restlessness to still; Around me flows thy quickening life, To nerve my faltering will; Thy presence fills my solitude; Thy providence turns all to good.

Embosomed deep in Thy dear love, Held in thy law, I stand; Thy hand in all things I behold, And all things in thy hand; Thou leadest me by unsought ways, And turn'st my mourning into praise.

—Samuel Longfellow.

FAITH

If I could feel my hand, dear Lord, in thine, And surely know That I was walking in the light divine Through weal or woe;

If I could hear thy voice in accents sweet But plainly say, To guide my groping, wandering feet, "This is the way;"

I would so gladly walk therein; but now I cannot see. Oh, give me, Lord, the faith to humbly bow And trust in thee!

There is no faith in seeing. Were we led Like children here, And lifted over rock and river-bed, No care, no fear,

We should be useless in the busy throng; Life's work undone; Lord, make us brave and earnest, true and strong, Till heaven is won.

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

DOUBTING NOTHING

Acts 10. 9-20.

Not to thy saints of old alone dost Thou In heavenly trance make known thy perfect will, But to each hungry soul thy love would fill— Descending out of heaven, we wist not how— Comes by thy grace the holy vision now; While we whose hearts should with the message thrill Cry "Common and unholy!" to thee still, And, uninspired, in grief before thee bow.

O Thou, whose Own the way we fare hath trod, Give to thy children quick, discerning eyes To see in life upspringing from the sod All the divineness that within it lies, Till humble service lift us to the skies Who, "doubting nothing," seek thy will, O God!

—Louise Manning Hodgkins.

THE EYE OF FAITH

I do not ask for earthly store Beyond a day's supply; I only covet more and more The clear and single eye. To see my duty face to face And trust the Lord for daily grace.

I care not for the empty show That thoughtless worldlings see; I crave to do the best I know, And leave the rest with thee; Well satisfied that sweet reward Is sure to those who trust the Lord.

Whate'er the crosses mine shall be, I will not dare to shun; I only ask to live for thee, And that thy will be done; Thy will, O Lord, be mine each day, While passing on my homeward way.

And when at last, my labor o'er, I cross the narrow sea, Grant, Lord, that on the other shore My soul may dwell with thee, And learn what here I cannot know: Why thou hast ever loved me so.

—J. J. Maxfield.

HAVE FAITH IN GOD

Have faith in God! for he who reigns on high Hath borne thy grief and hears the suppliant's sigh, Still to his arms, thine only refuge, fly. Have faith in God!

Fear not to call on him, O soul distressed! Thy sorrow's whisper wooes thee to his breast; He who is oftenest there is oftenest blest. Have faith in God!

Lean not on Egypt's reeds; slake not thy thirst At earthly cisterns. Seek the kingdom first. Though man and Satan fight thee with their worst, Have faith in God!

Go tell him all! The sigh thy bosom heaves Is heard in heaven. Strength and grace he gives Who gave himself for thee. Our Jesus lives; Have faith in God!

FAITH IN GOD

Though time may dig the grave of creeds, And dogmas wither in the sod, My soul will keep the thought it needs— Its swerveless faith in God.

No matter how the world began, Nor where the march of science goes, My trust in something more than man Shall help me bear life's woes.

Let progress take the props away, And moldering superstitions fall; Still God retains his regal sway— The Maker of us all.

Why cavil over that or this? One thought is vast enough for me— The great Creator was, and is, And evermore will be.

A STRONGER FAITH

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.

He fought his doubts and gathered strength, He would not make his judgment blind, He faced the specters of the mind And laid them; thus he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own, And Power was with him in the night, Which makes the darkness and the light, And dwells not in the light alone.

—Alfred Tennyson.

A PERFECT FAITH

O for a faith that will not shrink Though pressed by every foe, That will not tremble on the brink Of any earthly woe!

That will not murmur nor complain Beneath the chastening rod, But in the hour of grief or pain Will lean upon its God;

A faith that shines more bright and clear When tempests rage without; That when in danger knows no fear. In darkness feels no doubt;

That bears, unmoved, the world's dread frown, Nor heeds its scornful smile; That seas of trouble cannot drown, Nor Satan's arts beguile.

Lord, give us such a faith as this, And then, whate'er may come, We'll taste, e'en here, the hallowed bliss Of an eternal home.

—William H. Bathurst.

Who liveth best? Not he whose sail, Swept on by favoring tide and gale, Swift wins the haven fair; But he whose spirit strong doth still A victory wrest from every ill; Whose faith sublime On every cloud a rainbow paints— 'Tis he redeems the time.

BELIEVE GOOD THINGS OF GOD

When in the storm it seems to thee That he who rules the raging sea Is sleeping—still, with bended knee, Believe good things of God.

When thou hast sought in vain to find The silver thread of love entwined With life's oft-tangled web—resigned, Believe good things of God.

And should he smite thee till thy heart Is crushed beneath the bruising smart, Still, while the bitter tear-drops start, Believe good things of God.

'Tis true, thou canst not understand The dealings of thy Father's hand; But, trusting what his love has planned, Believe good things of God.

He loves thee! In that love confide— Unchanging, faithful, true, and tried; And let or joy or grief betide, Believe good things of God.

Thou canst not raise thy thoughts too high; As spreads above the earth the sky, So do his thoughts thy thoughts outvie: Believe good things of God.

In spite of what thine eyes behold; In spite of what thy fears have told; Still to his gracious promise hold— Believe good things of God.

For know that what thou canst believe Thou shalt in his good time receive; Thou canst not half his love conceive— Believe good things of God.

—William Luff.

BE NOT WEARY

Then, fainting soul, arise and sing; Mount, but be sober on the wing; Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer, Be sober, for thou art not there. Till death the weary spirit free, Thy God hath said 'tis good for thee To walk by faith, and not by sight, Take it on trust a little while; Soon thou shalt read the mystery right In the full sunshine of his smile.

—John Keble.

ALL'S FOR THE BEST

All's for the best; be sanguine and cheerful; Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise; Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful, Courage forever is happy and wise.

All's for the best, if a man would but know it; Providence wishes us all to be blest; This is no dream of the pundit or poet, Heaven is gracious and all's for the best.

All's for the best; then fling away terrors; Meet all your fears and your foes in the van; And in the midst of your dangers or errors, Trust like a child, while you strive like a man.

All's for the best; unbiased, unbounded, Providence reigns from the east to the west; And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded, Hope, and be happy, that all's for the best.

—Martin Farquhar Tupper.

BLEST IS THE FAITH DIVINE AND STRONG

Blest is the faith divine and strong, Of thanks and praise an endless fountain, Whose life is one perpetual song High up the Saviour's holy mountain.

Blest is the hope that holds to God, In doubt and darkness still unshaken; And sings along the heavenly road, Sweetest when most it seems forsaken.

Blest is the love that cannot love Aught that earth gives of best and brightest; Whose raptures thrill, like saints above, Most when its earthly gifts are lightest.

Blest is the time that in the eye Of God its hopeful watch is keeping, And grows into eternity Like noiseless trees when men are sleeping.

—Frederick William Faber.

GOD'S VOICE

Around my path life's mysteries Their deepening shadows throw; And as I gaze and ponder, They dark and darker grow; Yet still amid the darkness I feel the light is near, And in the awful stillness God's voice I seem to hear.

Thy voice I hear above me, Which says, "Wait, trust, and pray, The night will soon be over, And light will come with day." Amen! the light and darkness Are both alike to thee; Then to thy waiting servant Alike they both shall be.

That great unending future, I cannot pierce its shroud, But nothing doubt nor tremble, God's bow is on the cloud; To him I yield my spirit, On him I lay my load; Fear ends with death; beyond it I nothing see but God.

—Samuel Greg.

FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT

Prune thou thy words; the thoughts control That o'er thee swell and throng;— They will condense within thy soul, And change to purpose strong.

But he who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow Shrinks when hard service must be done, And faints at every woe.

Faith's meanest deed more favor bears, Where hearts and wills are weighed, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, Which bloom this hour, and fade.

—John Henry Newman.

Fair is the soul, rare is the soul Who has kept, after youth is past, All the art of the child, all the heart of the child, Holding his faith at last.

—Frank Gelett Burgess.

GOD KNOWS

God knows—not I—the devious way Wherein my faltering feet may tread, Before into the light of day, My steps from out this gloom are led, And, since my Lord the path doth see, What matter if 'tis hid from me?

God knows—not I—how sweet accord Shall grow at length from out this clash Of earthly discords which have jarred On soul and sense; I hear the crash, Yet feel and know that on his ear Breaks harmony—full, deep, and clear.

God knows—not I—why, when I'd fain Have walked in pastures green and fair, The path he pointed me hath lain Through rocky deserts, bleak and bare. I blindly trust—since 'tis his will— This way lies safety, that way ill.

He knoweth, too, despite my will I'm weak when I should be most strong. And after earnest wrestling still I see the right yet do the wrong. Is it that I may learn at length Not mine, but his, the saving strength?

His perfect plan I may not grasp, Yet I can trust Love Infinite, And with my feeble fingers clasp The hand which leads me into light. My soul upon his errands goes, The end I know not—but God knows.

THE LORD'S LEADING

Thus far the Lord hath led us, in darkness and in day, Through all the varied stages of the narrow homeward way; Long since he took that journey—he trod that path alone; Its trials and its dangers full well himself hath known.

Thus far the Lord hath led us; the promise hath not failed. The enemy, encountered oft, has never quite prevailed: The shield of faith has turned aside, or quenched each fiery dart, The Spirit's sword in weakest hands has forced him to depart.

Thus far the Lord hath led us; the waters have been high, But yet in passing through them we felt that he was nigh. A very present helper in trouble we have found, His comforts most abounded when our sorrows did abound.

Thus far the Lord hath led us; our need hath been supplied, And mercy hath encompassed us about on every side; Still falls the daily manna; the pure rock-fountains flow; And many flowers of love and hope along the wayside grow.

Thus far the Lord hath led us; and will he now forsake The feeble ones whom for his own it pleases him to take? Oh, never, never! earthly friends may cold and faithless prove, But his is changeless pity and everlasting love.

Calmly we look behind us, our joys and sorrows past, We know that all is mercy now, and shall be well at last; Calmly we look before us; we fear no future ill, Enough for safety and for peace, if Thou art with us still.

Yes, they that know thy name, Lord, shall put their trust in thee, While nothing in themselves but sin and helplessness they see. The race thou hast appointed us with patience we can run, Thou wilt perform unto the end the work thou hast begun.

Have you found your life distasteful? My life did and does smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved, and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again. I find earth not gray, but rosy; Heaven not grim, but fair of hue. Do I stoop? I pluck a posy; Do I stand and stare? All's blue.

—Robert Browning.

WE SHALL KNOW

In wise proportion does a fond hand mingle The sweet and bitter in our life-cup here; Each drop of either is by love eternal Poured forth in wisdom for his children dear.

The loving Father, as a wise physician, Knows what the wants of all those children are; Knows which is needed most—the joy or sorrow, The peace of comfort, or affliction's war.

Then, should the bitter be our daily portion, So that we cannot any sweet discern, Let us, in childlike faith, receive with meekness The needed tonic, and its lessons learn.

And if we cannot even that decipher, Let us be still, nay, thank him for his care, Contented that we soon shall know—hereafter— When we the fullness of his presence share.

—Charlotte Murray.

THE STEPS OF FAITH

Know well, my soul, God's hand controls Whate'er thou fearest; Round him in calmest music rolls Whate'er thou hearest.

Nothing before, nothing behind; The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The rock beneath.

The Present, the Present is all thou hast For thy sure possessing; Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast Till it gives its blessing.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

I am of sinfulness and sorrows full! Thou art the Mighty, Great, and Merciful! How should we not be friends, or thou not save Me who bring naught to thee who all things gave?

—Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.

MY GUIDE

I know not the way I am going, But well do I know my Guide! With a childlike trust do I give my hand To the mighty Friend by my side; And the only thing that I say to him, As he takes it, is, "Hold it fast! Suffer me not to lose the way, And lead me home at last."

As when some helpless wanderer Alone in some unknown land, Tells the guide his destined place of rest, And leaves all else in his hand; 'Tis home—'tis home that I wish to reach, He who guides me may choose the way; And little I care what path I take When nearer home each day.

THE LORD'S PROVISION

In some way or other the Lord will provide; It may not be my way, it may not be thy way; And yet in his own way, "The Lord will provide."

At some time or other the Lord will provide; It may not be my time, it may not be thy time; And yet in his own time, "The Lord will provide."

Despond, then, no longer, the Lord will provide. And this be the token—no word he hath spoken Was ever yet broken: "The Lord will provide."

March on, then, right boldly; the sea shall divide; The pathway made glorious, with shoutings victorious We'll join in the chorus, "The Lord will provide."

—Mary Ann W. Cook.

It is faith, The feeling that there's God. He reigns and rules Out of this low world.

—Robert Browning.

FAITH IS THE VICTORY

Encamped along the hills of light, Ye Christian soldiers, rise, And press the battle ere the night Shall veil the glowing skies; Against the foe in vales below Let all our strength be hurled; Faith is the victory, we know, That overcomes the world.

His banner over us is love, Our sword the word of God; We tread the road the saints above With shouts of triumph trod; By faith they, like a whirlwind's breath, Swept on o'er every field; The faith by which they conquered death Is still our shining shield.

On every hand the foe we find Drawn up in dread array; Let tents of ease be left behind, And—onward to the fray; Salvation's helmet on each head, With truth all girt about, The earth shall tremble 'neath our tread, And echo with our shout.

To him that overcomes the foe White raiment shall be given; Before the angels he shall know His name confessed in heaven; Then onward from the hills of light, Our hearts with love aflame, We'll vanquish all the hosts of night In Jesus' conquering name.

—John H. Yates.

RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCES

Yes, we do differ when we most agree, For words are not the same to you and me, And it may be our several spiritual needs Are best supplied by seeming different creeds. And, differing, we agree in one Inseparable communion, If the true life be in our hearts; the faith Which not to want is death; To want is penance; to desire Is purgatorial fire; To hope is paradise; and to believe Is all of heaven that earth can e'er receive.

—Hartley Coleridge.

THE LORD WILL PROVIDE

Though troubles assail, and dangers affright, Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite, Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide, The promise assures us, "The Lord will provide."

The birds, without barn or storehouse, are fed; From them let us learn to trust for our bread: His saints what is fitting shall ne'er be denied, So long as 'tis written, "The Lord will provide."

When Satan appears to stop up our path, And fills us with fears, we triumph by faith; He can not take from us, though oft he has tried, The heart-cheering promise, "The Lord will provide."

He tells us we're weak, our hope is in vain; The good that we seek we ne'er shall obtain: But when such suggestions our graces have tried, This answers all questions, "The Lord will provide."

No strength of our own nor goodness we claim; Our trust is all thrown on Jesus's name: In this our strong tower for safety we hide: The Lord is our power, "The Lord will provide."

When life sinks apace, and death is in view, The word of his grace shall comfort us through; Not fearing or doubting, with Christ on our side, We hope to die shouting, "The Lord will provide."

—John Newton.

Art thou afraid his power will fail When comes thy evil day? And can an all-creating arm Grow weary, or decay!

IF WE BELIEVED

If we believed we should arise and sing, Dropping our burdens at his pierced feet. Sorrow would flee and weariness take wing, Hard things grow fair, and bitter waters sweet.

If we believed, what room for fear or care Within his arms, safe sheltered on his breast? Peace for our pain, and hope for our despair, Is what he meant who said, "I give thee rest."

Why linger, turn away, or idly grieve? Where else is rest—the soul's supremest need? Grandly he offers; meanly we receive. Yet love that gives us rest is love indeed.

The love that rests—say, shall it not do more? Make haste, sad soul, thy heritage to claim. It calms; it heals; it bears what erst ye bore, And marks thy burdens with his own dear name.

Carried in him and for him, can they harm Or press thee sore, or prove a weary weight? Nay, nay; into thy life his blessed calm Shall drop, and thou no more be desolate.

TO FAITH

Beside thy gracious hearth content I stay, Or with thee fate's appointed journey go; I lean upon thee when my step is slow, I wrap me with thee in the naked day.

With thee no loneliness, no pathless way; The wind is heaven's, to take as it shall blow; More than thy voice, thy hand, I need not know; I may not murmur, for I shall not stray.

WAIT ON GOD

Not so in haste, my heart! Have faith in God, and wait; Although he seems to linger long He never comes too late.

He never comes too late; He knoweth what is best; Vex not thyself, it is in vain; Until he cometh, rest.

Until he cometh, rest; Nor grudge the hours that roll; The feet that wait for God, 'tis they Are soonest at the goal.

Are soonest at the goal That is not gained by speed; Then hold thee still, O restless heart, For I shall wait his lead.

—Bradford Torrey.

BEGONE, UNBELIEF

Begone, unbelief, my Saviour is near, And for my relief will surely appear. His love in time past forbids me to think He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink.

Since all that I meet shall work for my good, The bitter is sweet, the medicine food; Though painful at present, 'twill cease before long, And then, oh, how pleasant the conqueror's song!

—John Newton.

As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top, So, darkness in the pathway of man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence, By the great Sun of Wisdom cast therein; And what is dark below is light in Heaven.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Faith is a grasping of Almighty power; The hand of man laid on the arm of God; The grand and blessed hour In which the things impossible to me Become the possible, O Lord, through thee.

—Anna E. Hamilton.

There is no faith in seeing. Were we led Like children here, And lifted over rock and river bed, No care, no fear, We should be useless in the busy throng, Life's work undone; Lord, make us brave and earnest, in faith strong, Till heaven is won.

The cross on Golgotha can never save Thy soul from deepest hell; Unless with loving faith thou setts't it up Within thy heart as well.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

In vain they smite me. Men but do What God permits with different view. To outward sight they hold the rod, But faith proclaims it all of God.

—Madame Guyon.

Talk Faith. The world is better off without Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt. If you have faith in God, or man, or self, Say so; if not, push back upon the shelf Of silence lower thoughts till faith shall come.

The body sins not, 'tis the will That makes the action good or ill.

—Robert Herrick.

Who never doubted, never half believed; Where doubt, there truth is—'tis her shadow.

—Philip James Bailey.

'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay, But the high faith that failed not by the way.

—James Russell Lowell.

No more with downcast eyes go faltering on, Alone and sick at heart, and closely pressed. Thy chains shall break, thy heavy heart is gone, For he who calls thee, he will "give thee rest."

—Mary Lowe Dickinson.

My God, I would not live Save that I think this gross hard-seeming world Is our misshaping vision of the Powers Behind the world that make our griefs our gains.

—Alfred Tennyson.

And all is well, though faith and form Be sundered in the night of fear. Well roars the storm to those that hear A deeper voice across the storm.

—Alfred Tennyson.

The crowd of cares, the weightiest cross, Seem trifles less than light; Earth looks so little and so low, When faith shines full and bright.

—Frederick William Faber.

A faith that shines by night and day Will lighten every earthly load.

Grant us, O God, in love to thee— Clear eyes to measure things below, Faith the invisible to see, And wisdom thee in all to know.

Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.

—William Shakespeare.



TRUST

GUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS

RESTING IN GOD

Since thy Father's arm sustains thee, Peaceful be; When a chastening hand restrains thee, It is he. Know his love in full completeness Fills the measure of thy weakness; If He wound the spirit sore, Trust him more.

Without murmur, uncomplaining, In His hand. Lay whatever things thou canst not Understand. Though the world thy folly spurneth, From thy faith in pity turneth, Peace thy inmost soul shall fill, Lying still.

Like an infant, if thou thinkest Thou canst stand, Childlike, proudly pushing back The offered hand, Courage soon is changed to fear, Strength doth feebleness appear; In his love if thou abide, He will guide.

Fearest sometimes that thy Father Hath forgot? When the clouds around thee gather, Doubt him not. Always hath the daylight broken; Always hath He comfort spoken; Better hath he been for years Than thy fears.

Therefore, whatsoe'er betideth, Night or day, Know His love for thee provideth Good alway. Crown of sorrow gladly take; Grateful wear it for His sake; Sweetly bending to his will, Lying still.

To his own thy Saviour giveth Daily strength. To each troubled soul that liveth, Peace at length. Weakest lambs have largest share Of the tender Shepherd's care; Ask him not the "When," or "How"; Only bow.

—Charles Rudolf Hagenbach.

I WILL TRUST

I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, But only to discover and to do With cheerful heart the work that God appoints.

I will trust in him That he can hold his own; and I will take His will, above the work he sendeth me, To be my chiefest good.

—Jean Ingelow.

I KNOW NOT IF THE DARK OR BRIGHT

I know not if the dark or bright Shall be my lot; If that wherein my hopes delight Be best or not.

It may be mine to drag for years Toil's heavy chain; Or day and night my meat be tears, On bed of pain.

Dear faces may surround my hearth With smiles and glee; Or I may dwell alone, and mirth Be strange to me.

My bark is wafted to the strand By breath divine; And on the helm there rests a hand Other than mine.

One who has known in storms to sail I have on board; Above the raging of the gale I hear my Lord.

He holds me when the billows smite; I shall not fall; If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light, He tempers all.

Safe to the land, safe to the land! The end is this: And then with him go, hand in hand, Far into bliss.

—Dean Alford.

I CAN TRUST

I cannot see, with my small human sight, Why God should lead this way or that for me; I only know he saith, "Child, follow me." But I can trust.

I know not why my path should be at times So straitly hedged, so strongly barred before; I only know God could keep wide the door; But I can trust.

I find no answer, often, when beset With questions fierce and subtle on my way, And often have but strength to faintly pray; But I can trust.

I often wonder, as with trembling hand I cast the seed along the furrowed ground, If ripened fruit will in my life be found; But I can trust.

I cannot know why suddenly the storm Should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath; But this I know—God watches all my path, And I can trust.

I may not draw aside the mystic veil That hides the unknown future from my sight; Nor know if for me waits the dark or light; But I can trust.

I have no power to look across the tide, To see, while here, the land beyond the river; But this I know, I shall be God's forever; So I can trust.

The world is wide In time and tide, And God is guide; Then do not hurry. That man is blest Who does his best And leaves the rest; Then do not worry.

—Charles F. Deems.

WISDOM OF DISCIPLINE

Whate'er my God ordains is right; His will is ever just; Howe'er he orders now my cause I will be still, and trust. He is my God, Though dark my road, He holds me that I shall not fall, Wherefore to him I leave it all.

Whate'er my God ordains is right; He never will deceive; He leads me by the proper path, And so to him I cleave, And take, content, What he hath sent; His hand can turn my grief away, And patiently I wait his day.

Whate'er my God ordains is right; He taketh thought for me; The cup that my Physician gives No poisoned draught can be, But medicine due; For God is true; And on that changeless truth I build And all my heart with hope is filled.

Whate'er my God ordains is right; Though I the cup must drink That bitter seems to my faint heart, I will not fear nor shrink; Tears pass away With dawn of day; Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart, And pain and sorrow all depart.

Whate'er my God ordains is right; My Light, my Life, is he, Who cannot will me aught but good; I trust him utterly; For well I know, In joy or woe, We soon shall see, as sunlight clear, How faithful was our Guardian here.

Whate'er my God ordains is right; Here will I take my stand; Though sorrow, need, or death, make earth For me a desert land. My Father's care Is round me there; He holds me that I shall not fall, And so to him I leave it all.

—S. Rodigast.

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND

"My times are in thy hand"; My God, I wish them there; My life, my friends, my soul, I leave Entirely to thy care.

"My times are in thy hand," Whatever they may be; Pleasing or painful, dark or bright, As best may seem to thee.

"My times are in thy hand"; Why should I doubt or fear? My Father's hand will never cause His child a needless tear.

"My times are in thy hand," Jesus, the crucified! The hand my cruel sins had pierced Is now my guard and guide.

"My times are in thy hand"; I'll always trust in thee; And, after death, at thy right hand I shall forever be.

—William F. Lloyd.

ALL FOR THE BEST

Away, my needless fears, And doubts no longer mine; A ray of heavenly light appears, A messenger divine.

Thrice comfortable hope, That calms my troubled breast; My Father's hand prepares the cup And what he wills is best.

If what I wish is good, And suits the will divine, By earth and hell in vain withstood, I know it shall be mine.

Still let them counsel take To frustrate his decree; They cannot keep a blessing back, By heaven designed for me.

Here, then, I doubt no more; But in his pleasure rest Whose wisdom, love, and truth, and power, Engage to make me blest.

—Charles Wesley.

GOD NEVER FORSAKES

Leave God to order all thy ways, And hope in him, whate'er betide, Thou'lt find in him, in evil days, Thy all-sufficient strength and guide. Who trusts in God's unchanging love Builds on the rock that naught can move.

What can these anxious cares avail, The never-ceasing moans and sighs? What can it help us to bewail Each painful moment as it flies? Our cross and trials do but press The heavier for our bitterness.

Only thy restless heart keep still, And wait in cheerful hope, content To take whate'er his gracious will, His all-discerning love, hath sent. Nor doubt our inmost wants are known To him who chose us for his own.

He knows when joyful hours are best; He sends them as he sees it meet; When thou hast borne the fiery test, And now art freed from all deceit, He comes to thee all unaware And makes thee own his loving care.

Nor in the heat of pain and strife Think God has cast thee off unheard, And that the man whose prosperous life Thou enviest is of him preferred. Time passes, and much change doth bring And sets a bound to everything.

All are alike before his face; 'Tis easy to our God most high To make the rich man poor and base, To give the poor man wealth and joy; True wonders still by him are wrought Who setteth up and brings to naught.

Sing, pray, and swerve not from his ways, But do thine own part faithfully; Trust his rich promises of grace, So shall they be fulfilled in thee. God never yet forsook at need The soul that trusted him indeed.

—George Neumarck.

Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE SECRET PLACE

There is a safe and secret place, Beneath the wings divine, Reserved for all the heirs of grace: O be that refuge mine!

The least and feeblest there may bide, Uninjured and unawed; While thousands fall on every side, He rests secure in God.

He feeds in pastures large and fair Of love and trust divine; O child of God, O glory's heir, How rich a lot is thine!

A hand almighty to defend, An ear for every call, An honored life, a peaceful end, And heaven to crown it all!

—Henry F. Lyte.

GOD KNOWS

Our Father! through the coming year We know not what shall be; But we would leave without a fear Its ordering all to thee.

It may be we shall toil in vain For what the world holds fair; And all the good we thought to gain Deceive, and prove but care.

It may be it shall darkly blend Our love with anxious fears, And snatch away the valued friend, The tried of many years.

It may be it shall bring us days And nights of lingering pain; And bid us take a farewell gaze Of these loved haunts of men.

But calmly, Lord, on thee we rest; No fears our trust shall move; Thou knowest what for each is best, And thou art Perfect Love.

—Eliza Cleghorn Gaskell.

Forever in their Lord abiding Who can their gladness tell; Within his love forever hiding, They feel that all is well.

NO FEAR

I know no life divided, O Lord of life, from thee; In thee is life provided For all mankind and me: I know no death, O Jesus, Because I live in thee; Thy death it is which frees us From death eternally.

I fear no tribulation, Since, whatsoe'er it be, It makes no separation Between my Lord and me. If thou, my God and Teacher, Vouchsafe to be my own, Though poor, I shall be richer Than monarch on his throne.

If while on earth I wander My heart is light and blest, Ah, what shall I be yonder, In perfect peace and rest? O blessed thought! in dying We go to meet the Lord, Where there shall be no sighing, A kingdom our reward.

—Carl J. P. Spitta.

THE LORD'S APPOINTMENT

I say it over and over, and yet again to-day, It rests my heart as surely as it did yesterday: It is the Lord's appointment; Whatever my work may be, I am sure in my heart of hearts He has offered it to me.

I must say it over and over, and again to-day For my work is different from that of yesterday: It is the Lord's appointment; It quiets my restless will Like the voice of a tender mother, And my heart and will are still.

I will say it over and over, this and every day, Whatsoever the Master orders, come what may: It is the Lord's appointment; For only his love can see What is wisest, best and right— What is truly good for me.

TRUST

I know not what the future holds, Of good or ill for me and mine; I only know that God enfolds Me in his loving arms divine.

So I shall walk the earth in trust That He who notes the sparrow's fall Will help me bear whate'er I must And lend an ear whene'er I call.

It matters not if dreams dissolve Like mists beneath the morning sun, For swiftly as the worlds revolve So swiftly will life's race be run.

It matters not if hopes depart, Or life be pressed with toil and care. If love divine shall fill my heart And all be sanctified with prayer.

Then let me learn submission sweet In every thought, in each desire, And humbly lay at his dear feet A heart aglow with heavenly fire.

"SOMETIME"

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned, And sun and stars forevermore have set, The things which our weak judgment here had spurned, The things o'er which we grieve with lashes wet, Will flash before us out of life's dark night, As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue, And we shall see how all God's plans were right, And how what seemed reproof was love most true.

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, God's plans go on as best for you and me; How when we called he heeded not our cry, Because his wisdom to the end could see; And even as prudent parents disallow Too much of sweet to crooning baby's hest, So God perhaps is keeping from us now Life's sweetest things because it seemeth best.

And if sometimes commingled with life's wine We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink, Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine Poured out the potion for our lips to drink; And if some one we love is lying low, Where human kisses can not reach the face, O do not blame the loving Father so, But wear your sorrow with obedient grace,

And you will shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God gives his friend; And that sometimes the sable pall of death Conceals the fairest boon his love can send. If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all God's workings see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key.

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart, God's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold; We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. And if through patient toil we reach the land Where tired feet with sandals loosed may rest, When we shall clearly know and understand, I think that we will say: "God knew the best."

—May Louise Riley Smith.

O why and whither? God knows all; I only know that he is good, And that whatever may befall, Or here or there, must be the best that could. For He is merciful as just; And so, by faith correcting sight, I bow before his will, and trust Howe'er they seem he doeth all things right.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

NOT KNOWING

I know not what shall befall me; God hangs a mist o'er my eyes, And thus each step of my onward path He makes new scenes to rise, And every joy he sends me comes As a sweet and glad surprise.

I see not a step before me As I tread on another year; But the past is in God's keeping, The future his mercy shall clear, And what looks dark in the distance May brighten as I draw near.

For perhaps the dreaded future Is less bitter than I think; The Lord may sweeten the waters Before I stoop to drink, Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside its brink.

It may be he keeps waiting Till the coming of my feet Some gift of such rare blessedness, Some joy so strangely sweet, That my lips shall only tremble With the thanks they cannot speak.

O restful, blissful ignorance! 'Tis blessed not to know, It stills me in those mighty arms Which will not let me go, And hushes my soul to rest On the bosom which loves me so!

So I go on not knowing; I would not if I might; I would rather walk in the dark with God Than go alone in the light; I would rather walk with him by faith, Than walk alone by sight.

My heart shrinks back from trials Which the future may disclose, Yet I never had a sorrow But what the dear Lord chose; So I send the coming tears back With the whispered word, "He knows."

—Mary Gardner Brainard.

"Trust is truer than our fears," Runs the legend through the moss; "Gain is not in added years, Nor in death is loss."

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

CONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO

Fret not, poor soul; while doubt and fear Disturb thy breast, The pitying angels, who can see How vain thy wild regret must be, Say, "Trust and Rest."

Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait; His choice is best; While blind and erring is thy sight His wisdom sees and judges right; So Trust and Rest.

Strive not, nor struggle; thy poor might Can never wrest The meanest thing to serve thy will; All power is his alone. Be still, And Trust and Rest.

Desire thou not; self-love is strong Within thy breast, And yet he loves thee better still: So let him do his loving will, And Trust and Rest.

What dost thou fear? His wisdom reigns Supreme confessed; His power is infinite; his love Thy deepest, fondest dreams above! So Trust and Rest.

—Adelaide Anne Procter.

BE CAREFUL FOR NOTHING

My spirit on thy care, Blest Saviour, I recline; Thou wilt not leave me to despair, For thou art Love divine.

In Thee I place my trust, On thee I calmly rest; I know thee good, I know thee just, And count thy choice the best.

Whate'er events betide, Thy will they all perform; Safe in thy breast my head I hide, Nor fear the coming storm.

Let good or ill befall, It must be good for me; Secure of having thee in all, Of having all in thee.

—Henry F. Lyte.

IN HIM CONFIDING

Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on his wings. When comforts are declining He grants the soul again A season of clear shining, To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation We sweetly then pursue The theme of God's salvation, And find it ever new. Set free from present sorrow, We cheerfully can say, Let the unknown to-morrow Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing But He will bear us through; Who gives the lilies clothing, Will clothe his people too. Beneath the spreading heavens No creature but is fed; And He who feeds the ravens Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig tree neither Their wonted fruit should bear, Though all the fields should wither, Nor flocks nor herds be there; Yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice; For while in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice.

—William Cowper.

TRUSTING GOD

Whoever plants a leaf beneath the sod, And waits to see it push away the clod, He trusts in God.

Whoever says, when clouds are in the sky, "Be patient, heart; light breaketh by and by," He trusts in God.

Whoever sees 'neath winter's field of snow The silent harvest of the future grow, God's power must know.

Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep, Content to lock each sense in slumber deep, Knows God will keep.

TRUST IN GOD

The child leans on its parent's breast, Leaves there its cares and is at rest; The bird sits singing by his nest, And tells aloud His trust in God, and so is blest 'Neath every cloud.

He has no store, he sows no seed; Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed; By flowing stream or grassy mead, He sings to shame Men, who forget, in fear of need, A Father's name.

The heart that trusts for ever sings, And feels as light as it had wings; A well of peace within it springs; Come good or ill. Whate'er to-day, to-morrow, brings, It is his will.

—Isaac Williams.

NO FEARS

Give to the winds thy fears; Hope, and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears; God shall lift up thy head.

Through waves, and clouds, and storms, He gently clears thy way; Wait thou his time, so shall this night Soon end in joyous day.

Still heavy is thy heart? Still sink thy spirits down? Cast off the weight, let fear depart, And every care be gone.

What though thou rulest not? Yet heaven, and earth, and hell Proclaim, "God sitteth on the throne, And ruleth all things well."

Leave to his sovereign sway To choose and to command: So shalt thou, wondering, own his way, How wise, how strong his hand!

Far, far above thy thought, His counsel shall appear, When fully he the work hath wrought That caused thy needless fear.

—Paul Gerhardt.

SIMPLE TRUST

I do not know why sin abounds Within this world so fair, Why numerous discordant sounds Destroy the heavenly air— I can't explain this thing, I must Rely on God in simple trust.

I do not know why pain and loss Oft fall unto my lot. Why I must bear the heavy cross When I desire it not— I do not know, unless 'tis just To teach my soul in God to trust.

I know not why the evil seems Supreme on every hand: Why suffering flows in endless streams I do not understand— Solution comes not to adjust These mysteries. I can but trust.

I do not know why grief's dark cloud Bedims my sunny sky, The tear of bitterness allowed To swell within my eye— But, sorrow-stricken to the dust, I will look up to God and trust.

—R. F. Mayer.

ALL IS YOURS

O foolish heart, be still! And vex thyself no more! Wait thou for God, until He open pleasure's door. Thou knowest not what is good for thee, But God doth know— Let him thy strong reliance be, And rest thee so.

He counted all my days, And every joy and tear, Ere I knew how to praise, Or even had learned to fear. Before I him my Father knew He called me child; His help has guarded me all through This weary wild.

The least of all my cares Is not to him unknown— He sees and he prepares The pathway for his own; And what his hand assigns to me, That serves my peace; The greatest burden it might be, Yet joys increase.

I live no more for earth; Nor seek my full joy here; The world seems little worth When heaven is shining clear. Yet joyfully I go my way So free, so blest! Sweetening my toil from day to day With thoughts of rest.

Give me, my Lord, whate'er Will bind my heart to thee; For that I make my prayer, And know thou hearest me! But all that might keep back my soul— Make thee forgot— Though of earth-good it were the whole, O give it not!

When sickness, pains, distress, And want doth follow fear, And men their hate express, My sky shall still be clear. Then wait I, Lord, and wait for thee; And I am still, Though mine should unaccomplished be, Do thou thy will!

Thou art the strength and stay Of every weary soul; Thy wisdom rules the way Thy pity does control. What ill can happen unto me When thou art near? Thou wilt, O God, my keeper be; I will not fear.

—Christian F. Gellert (1715-1769).

I SHALL NOT WANT

I shall not want: in desert wilds Thou spreadst thy table for thy child; While grace in streams, for thirsting souls, Through earth and heaven forever rolls.

I shall not want: my darkest night Thy lovely smile shall fill with light; While promises around me bloom, And cheer me with divine perfume.

I shall not want: thy righteousness My soul shall clothe with glorious dress; My blood-washed robe shall be more fair Than garments kings or angels wear.

I shall not want: whate'er is good Of daily bread or angels' food Shall to my Father's child be sure, So long as earth and heaven endure.

—Charles F. Deems.

NO CARES

O Lord! how happy should we be If we could leave our cares to thee; If we from self could rest, And feel at heart that One above, In perfect wisdom, perfect love, Is working for the best.

For when we kneel and cast our care Upon our God, in humble prayer, With strengthened souls we rise; Sure that our Father, who is nigh To hear the ravens when they cry, Will hear his children's cries.

How far from this our daily life; How oft disturbed by anxious strife, By sudden wild alarm! O could we but relinquish all Our earthly props and simply fall On thine Almighty arms!

We cannot trust him as we should, So chafes weak nature's restless mood To cast its peace away; But birds and flowers around us preach All, all, the present evil teach, Sufficient for the day.

O may these anxious hearts of ours The lesson learn from birds and flowers, And learn from self to cease, Leave all things to our Father's will, And, in his mercy trusting, still Find in each trial peace.

—Joseph Anstice.

CARE CAST ON GOD

Lord, I delight in thee, And on thy care depend; To thee in every trouble flee, My best, my only Friend.

When nature's streams are dried Thy fullness is the same; With this will I be satisfied, And glory in thy name.

Who made my heaven secure Will here all good provide; While Christ is rich can I be poor? What can I want beside?

I cast my care on thee; I triumph and adore; Henceforth my great concern shall be To love and please thee more.

—John Ryland.

GOD KNOWS ALL

Nay, all by Thee is ordered, chosen, planned; Each drop that fills my daily cup; thy hand Prescribes for ills none else can understand. All, all is known to thee.

Be trustful, be steadfast, whatever betide thee, Only one thing do thou ask of the Lord— Grace to go forward wherever he guide thee, Simply believing the truth of his word.

Whatsoe'er our lot may be, Calmly in this thought we'll rest Could we see as thou dost see We should choose it as the best.

—Eliza Cleghorn Gaskell.

O FOR A PERFECT TRUST

O for the peace of a perfect trust, My loving God, in thee; Unwavering faith, that never doubts, Thou choosest best for me.

Best, though my plans be all upset; Best, though the way be rough; Best, though my earthly store be scant; In thee I have enough.

Best, though my health and strength be gone, Though weary days be mine, Shut out from much that others have; Not my will, Lord, but thine!

And even though disappointments come, They, too, are best for me— To wean me from this changing world And lead me nearer thee.

O for the peace of a perfect trust That looks away from all; That sees thy hand in everything, In great events or small;

That hears thy voice—a Father's voice— Directing for the best; O for the peace of a perfect trust, A heart with thee at rest!

A SONG OF TRUST

I cannot always see the way that leads To heights above; I sometimes quite forget that he leads on With hands of love; But yet I know the path must lead me to Immanuel's land, And when I reach life's summit I shall know And understand.

I cannot always trace the onward course My ship must take, But, looking backward, I behold afar Its shining wake Illumined with God's light of love; and so I onward go, In perfect trust that he who holds the helm The course must know.

I cannot always see the plan on which He builds my life; For oft the sound of hammers, blow on blow, The noise of strife, Confuse me till I quite forget he knows And oversees, And that in all details with his good plan My life agrees.

I cannot always know and understand The Master's rule; I cannot always do the tasks he gives In life's hard school; But I am learning, with his help, to solve Them one by one, And, when I cannot understand, to say, "Thy will be done."

—Gertrude Benedict Custis.

ALL IS WELL

The clouds which rise with thunder slake Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain. As through the shadowy lens of even The eye looks farthest into heaven— On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

CHOOSE FOR US, GOD

Still will we trust, though earth seem dark and dreary, And the heart faint beneath his chastening rod; Though rough and steep our pathway, worn and weary, Still will we trust in God.

Our eyes see dimly till by faith anointed, And our blind choosing brings us grief and pain; Through him alone who hath our way appointed, We find our peace again.

Choose for us, God! nor let our weak preferring Cheat our poor souls of good thou hast designed; Choose for us, God! thy wisdom is unerring, And we are fools and blind.

Let us press on in patient self-denial, Accept the hardship, shrink not from the loss; Our portion lies beyond the hour of trial, Our crown beyond the cross.

—William H. Burleigh.

ALL THINGS WORK GOOD

With strength of righteous purpose in the heart What cause to fear for consequence of deed? God guideth then, not we; nor do we need To care for aught but that we play our part. Most simple trust is often highest art. The issue we would fly may be a seed Ordained by God to bear our souls a meed Of peace that no self-judging could impart. "All things work good for him who trusteth God!" Doth God not love us with a longing love To make us happy, and hath he not sight From end to end of our short earthly road? This, Lord, I hold—aye, know that thou wouldst move The world to lead one trusting soul aright.

—Edward Harding.

RELIGIOUS INFIDELS

How many chatterers of a creed Think doubt the gravest sin, Unmindful of her double birth— For worry is her twin.

Ah! Christian atheism seems The most insulting kind, For, though the tongue says, God is love, The heart is deaf and blind.

How he who marks the sparrow's fall Must be aggrieved to see These loud lip-champions manifest Such infidelity!

Each fretful line upon their brow, Dug by the plow of care, Is treason to their pledge of faith And satire on their prayer.

O just to hold, without one fear, The strong, warm Hand above, With orthodoxy of the heart— The childlike creed of love!

None such can be a heretic; Nay, only he forsooth Who lives the falsity of doubt, But prates the cant of truth.

—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

Worry and Fret were two little men That knocked at my door again and again. "O pray let us in, but to tarry a night, And we will be off with the dawning of light." At last, moved to pity, I opened the door To shelter these travelers, hungry and poor; But when on the morrow I bade them "Adieu," They said, quite unmoved, "We'll tarry with you." And, deaf to entreaty and callous to threat, These troublesome guests abide with me yet.

Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings: I know that God is good!

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

MAKE THY WAY MINE

Father, hold thou my hand; The way is steep; I cannot see the path my feet must keep, I cannot tell, so dark the tangled way, Where next to step. O stay; Come close; take both my hands in thine; Make thy way mine!

Lead me. I may not stay; I must move on; but oh, the way! I must be brave and go, Step forward in the dark, nor know If I shall reach the goal at all— If I shall fall. Take thou my hand. Take it! Thou knowest best How I should go, and all the rest I cannot, cannot see: Lead me: I hold my hands to thee; I own no will but thine; Make thy way mine!

MY PSALM

All as God wills, who wisely heeds To give or to withhold; And knoweth more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told!

Enough that blessings undeserved Have marked my erring track; That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved His chastening turned me back;

That more and more a Providence Of love is understood, Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good;

That death seems but a covered way Which opens into light, Wherein no blinded child can stray Beyond the Father's sight.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

What most you wish and long for Might only bring you pain; You cannot see the future, God's purpose to explain.

So trust, faint heart, thy Master! He doeth all things well, He loveth more than heart can guess, And more than tongue can tell.

BETTER TRUST

Better trust all and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had blest one's life with true believing.

Oh, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth; Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth.

—Frances Anne Kemble.

Be patient; keep thy life-work Well in hand; Be trustful where thou canst not Understand; Thy lot, whate'er it be, is Wisely planned; Whate'er its mysteries, God holds the key; Thou well canst trust him, and bide patiently.

There is never a day so dreary But God can make it bright; And unto the soul that trusts him He giveth songs in the night. There is never a path so hidden But God will show the way, If we seek the Spirit's guidance And patiently watch and pray.

Build a little fence of trust Around to-day; Fill the space with loving deeds, And therein stay. Look not through the sheltering bars Upon to-morrow; God will help thee bear what comes Of joy or sorrow.

—Mary Frances Butts.

On God for all events depend; You cannot want when God's your friend. Weigh well your part and do your best; Leave to your Maker all the rest.

—Cotton.

OUR STRONG STAY

Then, O my soul, be ne'er afraid; On him who thee and all things made With calm reliance rest; Whate'er may come, where'er we go, Our Father in the heavens must know In all things what is best.

—Paul Fleming.

If the wren can cling To a spray a-swing In the mad May wind, and sing and sing As if she'd burst for joy—

Why cannot I Contented lie In his quiet arms, beneath his sky, Unmoved by life's annoy.

—Robert Haven Schauffler.

Be like the bird that, halting in her flight Awhile on boughs too slight, Feels them give way beneath her and yet sings— Knowing that she hath wings.

—Victor Hugo.

Let not your heart be troubled, Jesus said; Let not your heart be troubled or afraid. My peace into your hands I freely give; Trust in your God, and in his precepts live.

Thunder, lightning, fire and rain, Poverty, sorrow, loss and gain, Death and heaven, and earth and hell, For us must work together well.

With patient course thy path of duty run God nothing does, or suffers to be done, But thou wouldst do the same if thou couldst see The end of all events as well as he.

I welcome all thy sovereign will, For all that will is love; And when I know not what thou dost, I wait the light above.



GOD'S CARE

PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE

CONSIDER THE RAVENS

Lord, according to thy words, I have considered thy birds; And I find their life good, And better, the better understood; Sowing neither corn nor wheat They have all that they can eat; Reaping no more than they sow They have more than they could stow; Having neither barn nor store, Hungry again they eat more.

Considering, I see too that they Have a busy life, but plenty of play; In the earth they dig their bills deep, And work well, though they do not heap; Then to play in the way they are not loth, And their nests between are better than both.

But this is when there blow no storms, When berries are plenty in winter, and worms, When feathers are rife, with oil enough To keep the cold out and send the rain off; If there come, indeed, a long, hard frost, Then it looks as though thy birds were lost.

But I consider further and find A hungry bird has a free mind; He is hungry to-day, but not to-morrow, Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow; This moment is his, thy will hath said it, The next is nothing till Thou hast made it.

The bird has pain, but has no fear— Which is the worst of any gear; When cold and hunger and harm betide him, He does not take them and stuff inside him; Content with the day's ill he has got, He waits just, nor haggles with his lot; Neither jumbles God's will With driblets from his own still.

But next I see, in my endeavor, The birds here do not live forever; That cold or hunger, sickness or age, Finishes their earthly stage; The rooks drop in cold nights, Leaving all their wrongs and rights; Birds lie here and birds lie there With their feathers all astare; And in thine own sermon, thou That the sparrow falls dost allow.

It shall not cause me any alarm, For neither so comes the bird to harm, Seeing our Father, thou hast said, Is by the sparrow's dying bed; Therefore it is a blessed place, And a sharer in high grace.

It cometh therefore to this, Lord: I have considered thy word; And henceforth will be thy bird.

—George Macdonald.

GOD KEEPS HIS OWN

I do not know whether my future lies Through calm or storm; Whether the way is strewn with broken ties, Or friendships warm.

This much I know: Whate'er the pathway trod, All else unknown, I shall be guided safely on, for God Will keep his own.

Clouds may obscure the sky, and drenching rain Wear channels deep; And haggard want, with all her bitter train, Make angels weep.

And those I love the best, beneath the sod May sleep alone; But through it all I shall be led, for God Will keep his own.

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

CARE THOU FOR ME

Care Thou for me! Let me not care! Too weak am I, dear Lord, to bear The heavy burdens of the day; And oft I walk with craven feet Upon life's rough and toilsome way; How sweet to feel, how passing sweet, Thy watchful presence everywhere! Care Thou for me! Let me not care!

Care Thou for me! Why should I care, And looks of gloomy sadness wear, And fret because I cannot see (Thy wisdom doth ordain it so) The path thou hast marked out for me? My Father's plan is best, I know, It will be light, sometime—somewhere— Care thou for me! Why should I care?

Care Thou for me! Let me not care! This, each new day, shall be my prayer; Thou, who canst read my inmost heart, Dost know I am exceeding frail; Both just and merciful thou art, Whose loving kindness ne'er shall fail; My human nature thou wilt spare; Care Thou for me! I will not care!

THE SPARROW

I am only a little sparrow, A bird of low degree; My life is of little value, But the dear Lord cares for me.

He gave me a coat of feathers; It is very plain, I know, With never a speck of crimson, For it was not made for show,

But it keeps me warm in winter, And it shields me from the rain; Were it bordered with gold or purple Perhaps it would make me vain.

I have no barn or storehouse, I neither sow nor reap; God gives me a sparrow's portion, But never a seed to keep.

If my meal is sometimes scanty, Close picking makes it sweet; I have always enough to feed me, And "life is more than meat."

I know there are many sparrows, All over the world we are found; But our heavenly Father knoweth When one of us falls to the ground.

Though small, we are not forgotten; Though weak we are never afraid; For we know that the dear Lord keepeth The life of the creatures he made.

HE KNOWETH ALL

The twilight falls, the night is near, I fold my work away And kneel to One who bends to hear The story of the day.

The old, old story, yet I kneel To tell it at thy call; And cares grow lighter as I feel That Jesus knows them all.

Yes, all! The morning and the night, The joy, the grief, the loss, The roughened path, the sunbeam bright, The hourly thorn and cross—

Thou knowest all; I lean my head, My weary eyelids close, Content and glad awhile to tread This path, since Jesus knows!

And he has loved me! All my heart With answering love is stirred, And every anguished pain and smart Finds healing in the Word.

So here I lay me down to rest, As nightly shadows fall, And lean, confiding, on his breast, Who knows and pities all!

If to Jesus for relief My soul has fled by prayer, Why should I give way to grief Or heart-consuming care? While I know his providence Disposes each event Shall I judge by feeble sense, And yield to discontent? Sparrows if he kindly feed, And verdure clothe in rich array. Can he see a child in need, And turn his eyes away?

HE NEVER FORGETS

Nay, nay, do not tell me that God will not hear me. I know he is high over all, Yet I know just as well that he always is near me And never forgets me at all.

He shows not his face, for its glory would blind me, Yet I walk on my way unafraid; Though lost in the desert He surely would find me His angels would come to my aid.

He sits on his throne in the wonderful city, And I—I am ashes and dust! Yet I am at rest in His wonderful pity, And I in his promises trust.

He lighteth the stars, and they shine in their places; He maketh his sun like a flame; But better and brighter to Him are the faces Of mortals that call on his name.