To others death seems dark and grim, But not, O Lord, to me; I know thou ne'er forsakest him Who puts his trust in thee. Nay, rather with a joyful heart I welcome the release From this dark desert, and depart To thy eternal peace.

—Wolfgang C. Dessler.

MY LORD AND I

I have a Friend so precious, So very dear to me, He loves me with such tender love, He loves so faithfully, I could not live apart from him, I love to feel him nigh; And so we dwell together, My Lord and I.

Sometimes I'm faint and weary; He knows that I am weak, And as he bids me lean on him His help I gladly seek; He leads me in the paths of light Beneath a sunny sky, And so we walk together, My Lord and I.

He knows how much I love him, He knows I love him well, But with what love he loveth me My tongue can never tell. It is an everlasting love In ever rich supply, And so we love each other, My Lord and I.

I tell him all my sorrows, I tell him all my joys, I tell him all that pleases me, I tell him what annoys. He tells me what I ought to do, He tells me how to try, And so we talk together, My Lord and I.

He knows how I am longing Some weary soul to win, And so he bids me go and speak The loving word for him. He bids me tell his wondrous love, And why he came to die, And so we work together, My Lord and I.

I have his yoke upon me, And easy 'tis to bear; In the burden which he carries I gladly take a share; For then it is my happiness To have him always nigh; We bear the yoke together, My Lord and I.

—L. Shorey.

Ever, when tempted, make me see, Beneath the olive's moon-pierced shade, My God alone, outstretched and bruised, And bleeding on the earth he made; And make me feel it was my sin, As though no other sin there were, That was to him who bears the world A load that he could scarcely bear.

—Frederick William Faber.

JESUS ALL-SUFFICIENT

If only he is mine— If but this poor heart Never more, in grief or joy, May from him depart, Then farewell to sadness; All I feel is love, and hope, and gladness.

If only he is mine, Then from all below, Leaning on my pilgrim staff, Gladly forth I go From the crowd who follow, In the broad, bright road, their pleasures false and hollow.

If only he is mine, Then all else is given; Every blessing lifts my eyes And my heart to heaven. Filled with heavenly love, Earthly hopes and fears no longer tempt to move.

There, when he is mine, Is my Fatherland, And my heritage of bliss Cometh from his hand. Now I find again, In his people, love long lost, and mourned in vain.

—Novalis.

JESUS SUPREME

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ, Live o'er again in me, That, filled with love, I may become A Christ in my degree.

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ, My inmost being fill; So shall I think as thou dost think, And will as thou dost will.

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ, Thy life transfigure mine; And through this veil of mortal flesh Here may thy glory shine.

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ, Thy love's constraint I feel, Thy cross I see, and mind and heart Obey its mute appeal.

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ, And when this life is o'er May I be with thee where thou art, Like thee, forever more.

ALL FOR JESUS

What shall I sing for thee, My Lord and Light? What shall I bring to thee, Master, to-night? O for the strong desire! O for the touch of fire! Then shall my tuneful lyre Praise thee aright.

Thou hast given all for me, Saviour divine! I would give all to thee, Evermore thine! Let my heart cling to thee, Let my lips sing for thee, Let me just bring to thee All that is mine!

Didst thou not die for me, Ransom for sin? Ascending on high for me, Pleading within? All shall be dross for thee, All shall be loss for thee, Welcome the cross for thee I, too, shall win!

What can I do for thee, Glorious Friend? Let me be true to thee Right to the end! Close to thy bleeding side, Washed in the crimson tide, On till the waves divide, Till I ascend!

Then a still sweeter song, Jesus, I'll bring; Up 'mid the ransomed throng Thee will I sing! Never to leave thee now, Never to grieve thee now, Low at thy feet to bow, Wonderful King!

—Henry Burton.

CHRIST OUR EXAMPLE

O who like thee, so calm, so bright, Lord Jesus Christ, thou Light of light; O who like thee did ever go So patient through a world of woe? O who like thee so humbly bore The scorn, the scoffs of men, before; So meek, so lowly, yet so high, So glorious in humility?

Through all thy lifelong weary years, A Man of sorrows and of tears, The cross, where all our sins were laid, Upon thy bending shoulders weighed; And death, that sets the prisoner free, Was pang and scoff and scorn to thee; Yet love through all thy torture glowed, And mercy with thy life-blood flowed.

O wondrous Lord, our souls would be Still more and more conformed to thee! Would lose the pride, the taint of sin, That burns these fevered veins within? And learn of thee, the lowly One, And, like thee, all our journey run, Above the world, and all its mirth, Yet weeping still with weeping earth.

Be with us as we onward go; Illumine all our way of woe; And grant us ever on the road To trace the footsteps of our God; That when thou shalt appear, arrayed In light, to judge the quick and dead, We may to life immortal soar Through thee, who livest evermore.

—Arthur Cleveland Coxe.

IT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE

It passeth knowledge, that dear love of thine, My Jesus! Saviour! Yet this soul of mine Would of that love in all its depth and length, Its height and breadth and everlasting strength, Know more and more.

It passeth telling, that dear love of thine, My Jesus! Saviour! yet these lips of mine Would fain proclaim to sinners far and near A love which can remove all guilty fear, And love beget.

It passeth praises, that dear love of thine, My Jesus! Saviour! yet this heart of mine Would sing a love so rich, so full, so free, Which brought an undone sinner, such as me, Right home to God.

But ah! I cannot tell, or sing, or know, The fulness of that love whilst here below, Yet my poor vessel I may freely bring; O thou who art of love the living spring, My vessel fill.

I am an empty vessel! scarce one thought Or look of love to thee I've ever brought; Yet, I may come and come again to thee With this—the contrite sinner's truthful plea— "Thou lovest me!"

Oh! fill me, Jesus! Saviour! with thy love! My woes but drive me to the fount above: Thither may I in childlike faith draw nigh, And never to another fountain fly But unto thee!

And when, my Jesus, thy dear face I see, When at that lofty throne I bend the knee, Then of thy love—in all its breadth and length, Its height and depth, and everlasting strength— My soul shall sing.

—Mary Shekelnot.

SEEING JESUS

I would see Jesus. As I muse, and, thinking, Grow amazed—bewildered with a strange delight, My faith is roused, my spirit seemeth drinking A foretaste of that ever-longed-for sight.

I know that I shall see him; in that hour When he from fleshly bonds release doth give, Earth's mists dispersing at his word of power, Then shall I look upon my God and live!

O blessed hope! O glorious aspiration! A little while and I the Christ shall see! A patient waiting for the full salvation— Then shall I know my Lord as he knows me.

I have seen the face of Jesus: Tell me not of aught beside. I have heard the voice of Jesus: All my soul is satisfied.

SHE BROUGHT HER BOX OF ALABASTER

She brought her box of alabaster; The precious spikenard filled the room With honor worthy of the Master, A costly, rare, and rich perfume.

Her tears for sin fell hot and thickly On his dear feet, outstretched and bare; Unconscious how, she wiped them quickly With the long ringlets of her hair.

And richly fall those raven tresses Adown her cheek, like willow leaves, As stooping still, with fond caresses, She plies her task of love, and grieves.

Oh may we thus, like loving Mary, Ever our choicest offerings bring, Nor grudging of our toil, nor chary Of costly service to our King.

Methinks I hear from Christian lowly Some hallowed voice at evening rise, Or quiet morn, or in the holy Unclouded calm of Sabbath skies;

I bring my box of alabaster, Of earthly loves I break the shrine, And pour affections, purer, vaster, On that dear head, those feet of thine.

The joys I prized, the hopes I cherished, The fairest flowers my fancy wove, Behold my fondest idols perished, Receive the incense of my love!

What though the scornful world, deriding, Such waste of love, of service, fears? Still let me pour, through taunt and chiding, The rich libation of my tears.

I bring my box of alabaster; Accepted let the offering rise! So grateful tears shall flow the faster, In founts of gladness from mine eyes!

—C. L. Ford.

Not I but Christ be honored, loved, exalted, Not I but Christ be seen, be known, be heard, Not I but Christ in every look and action, Not I but Christ in every thought and word.

JESUS, I LOVE THEE

Jesus, I love thee, not because I hope for heaven thereby, Nor yet because, if I love not, I must forever die.

I love thee, Saviour dear, and still I ever will love thee, Solely because my God, thou art, Who first hast loved me.

For me to lowest depth of woe Thou didst thyself abase; For me didst bear the cross and shame, And manifold disgrace;

For me didst suffer pain unknown, Blood-sweat and agony— Yea, death itself—all, all for me, Who was thine enemy.

Then why, O blessed Saviour mine. Should I not love thee well? Not for the sake of winning heaven Nor of escaping hell.

Not with the hope of gaining aught, Nor seeking a reward; But freely, fully, as thyself Hast loved me, O Lord!

Even so I love thee, and will love, And in thy praise will sing, Solely because thou art my God And my eternal king.

—Francis Xavier.

I'VE FOUND A JOY IN SORROW

I've found a joy in sorrow, A secret balm for pain, A beautiful to-morrow Of sunshine after rain; I've found a branch of healing Near every bitter spring, A whispered promise stealing O'er every broken string.

I've found a glad hosanna For every woe and wail, A handful of sweet manna When grapes of Eschol fail; I've found a Rock of Ages When desert wells were dry; And, after weary stages, I've found an Elim nigh—

An Elim with its coolness, Its fountains, and its shade; A blessing in its fullness When buds of promise fade; O'er tears of soft contrition I've seen a rainbow light; A glory and fruition So near!—yet out of sight.

My Saviour, thee possessing, I have the joy, the balm. The healing and the blessing. The sunshine and the psalm; The promise for the fearful, The Elim for the faint, The rainbow for the tearful, The glory for the saint!

PATIENCE OF JESUS

What grace, O Lord, and beauty shone Around thy steps below! What patient love was seen in all Thy life and death of woe!

For ever on thy burdened heart A weight of sorrow hung; Yet no ungentle, murmuring word Escaped thy silent tongue.

Thy foes might hate, despise, revile, Thy friends unfaithful prove; Unwearied in forgiveness still, Thy heart could only love.

O give us hearts to love like thee, Like thee, O Lord, to grieve Far more for others' sins than all The wrongs that we receive.

One with thyself, may every eye In us, thy brethren, see That gentleness and grace that spring From union, Lord, with thee.

—Edward Denny.

True wisdom is in leaning On Jesus Christ, our Lord; True wisdom is in trusting His own life-giving word; True wisdom is in living Near Jesus every day; True wisdom is in walking Where he shall lead the way.

TELL ME ABOUT THE MASTER

Tell me about the Master! I am weary and worn to-night, The day lies behind me in shadow, And only the evening is light; Light with a radiant glory That lingers about the west; My poor heart is aweary, aweary, And longs, like a child, for rest.

Tell me about the Master! Of the hills he in loneliness trod, When the tears and the blood of his anguish Dropped down on Judea's sod. For to me life's numerous milestones But a sorrowful journey mark; Rough lies the hill country before me, The mountains behind me are dark.

Tell me about the Master! Of the wrong he freely forgave: Of his love and tender compassion, Of his love that is mighty to save; For my heart is aweary, aweary Of the woes and temptations of life, Of the error that stalks in the noonday, Of falsehood and malice and strife.

Yet I know that, whatever of sorrow Or pain or temptation befall, The infinite Master has suffered, And knoweth and pitieth all. So tell me the sweet old story, That falls on each wound like a balm, And my heart that was bruised and broken Shall grow patient and strong and calm.

JESU

Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name Is deeply carved there; but the other week A great affliction broke the little frame, E'en all to pieces; which I went to seek; And first I found the corner where was J, After where ES, and next where U was graved. When I had got these parcels, instantly I sat me down to spell them, and perceived That to my broken heart he was I EASE YOU, And to my whole is JESU.

—George Herbert.

SEALED

I am thine own, O Christ— Henceforth entirely thine; And life from this glad hour, New life, is mine!

No earthly joy shall lure My quiet soul from thee; This deep delight, so pure, Is heaven to me.

My little song of praise In sweet content I sing; To thee the note I raise, My King, my King!

I cannot tell the art By which such bliss is given; I know thou hast my heart, And I—have heaven!

O peace! O holy rest! O balmy breath of love! O heart divinest, best, Thy depth I prove.

I ask this gift of thee— A life all lily fair, And fragrant as the gardens be Where seraphs are.

—Helen Bradley.

JESUS, MY GOD AND MY ALL

O Jesus! Jesus! dearest Lord! Forgive me if I say For very love thy sacred name A thousand times a day.

I love thee so, I know not how My transports to control; Thy love is like a burning fire Within my very soul.

O wonderful! that thou shouldst let So vile a heart as mine Love thee with such a love as this, And make so free with thine.

The craft of this wise world of ours Poor wisdom seems to me; Ah! dearest Jesus! I have grown Childish with love of thee!

For thou to me art all in all, My honor and my wealth, My heart's desire, my body's strength, My soul's eternal health.

Burn, burn, O Love! within my heart Burn fiercely night and day, 'Till all the dross of earthly loves Is burned, and burned away.

O light in darkness, joy in grief, O heaven begun on earth! Jesus! my love! my treasure! who Can tell what thou art worth?

O Jesus! Jesus! sweetest Lord! What art thou not to me? Each hour brings joys before unknown, Each day new liberty!

What limit is there to thee, love? Thy flight where wilt thou stay? On! on! our Lord is sweeter far To-day than yesterday.

O love of Jesus! blessed love! So will it ever be; Time cannot hold thy wondrous growth, No, nor eternity.

—Frederick William Faber.

LOVE—JOY

As on a window late I cast mine eye, I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth To spend my judgment) said it seem'd to me To be the body and the letters both Of Joy and Charity. Sir, you have not miss'd, The man replied; it figures JESUS CHRIST.

—George Herbert.

WHY NOT?

Why not leave them all with Jesus— All thy cares, All the things that fret thee daily, Earth's affairs? Pour out all thy sin and longing; He has felt Need of human love as thou hast, And has knelt At his Father's feet, imploring, For the day, Strength to guard against temptation By the way.

Why not leave them all with Jesus— On his breast Find a balm for all earth-suffering, Peace and rest? Ah! he knows that thou hast striven To walk right; Longs to make the thorny pathway Clear and bright. See, he bathes thy feet, all bleeding, With his tears! Give to him thyself, thy burden, And thy fears.

JESUS ON THE SEA

When the storm of the mountains on Galilee fell And lifted its waters on high— And the faithless disciples were bound in the spell Of mysterious alarm—their terrors to quell Jesus whispered, "Fear not: it is I."

The storm could not bury that word in the wave, For 'twas taught through the tempest to fly; It shall reach his disciples in every clime, And his voice shall be near, in each troublous time, Saying, "Be not afraid: it is I."

When the spirit is broken with sickness or sorrow, And comfort is ready to die; The darkness shall pass and, in gladness to-morrow, The wounded complete consolation shall borrow From his life-giving word, "It is I."

When death is at hand, and the cottage of clay Is left with a tremulous sigh, The gracious forerunner is smoothing the way For its tenant to pass to unchangeable day, Saying, "Be not afraid: it is I."

When the waters are passed, and the glories unknown Burst forth on the wondering eye, The compassionate "Lamb in the midst of the throne" Shall welcome, encourage, and comfort his own, And say, "Be not afraid: it is I."

LET US SEE JESUS

We would see Jesus—for the shadows lengthen Across the little landscape of our life; We would see Jesus—our weak faith to strengthen For the last weariness, the mortal strife.

We would see Jesus—for life's hand hath rested With its dark touch on weary heart and brow; And though our souls have many billows breasted Others are rising in the distance now.

We would see Jesus—other lights are paling Which for long years we have rejoiced to see; The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing— We would not mourn them, for we come to thee.

We would see Jesus—yet the spirit lingers Round the dear object it has loved so long, And earth from earth will scarce unclose its fingers, Our love for thee makes not this love less strong.

We would see Jesus—the strong Rock-foundation Whereon our feet are set by sovereign grace; Not life or death, with all their agitation, Can thence remove us if we seek his face.

We would see Jesus—sense is all too blinding, And heaven appears too dim and far away; We would see Jesus—to gain the sweet reminding That thou hast promised our great debt to pay.

We would see Jesus—that is all we're needing, Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight; We would see Jesus—dying, risen, pleading— Then welcome day, and farewell mortal night!

—Anna B. Warner.

A SONG OF LOVE

To thee, O dear, dear Saviour! My spirit turns for rest; My peace is in thy favor, My pillow on thy breast; Though all the world deceive me, I know that I am thine, And thou wilt never leave me, O blessed Saviour mine!

In thee my trust abideth, On thee my hope relies, O thou whose love provideth For all beneath the skies! O thou whose mercy found me, From bondage set me free, And then forever bound me With threefold cords to thee!

My grief is in the dullness With which this sluggish heart Doth open to the fullness Of all thou wouldst impart; My joy is in thy beauty Of holiness divine, My comfort in the duty That binds my life to thine.

Alas! that I should ever Have fail'd in love to thee, The only One who never Forgot or slighted me. O for a heart to love thee More truly as I ought, And nothing place above thee In deed, or word, or thought.

O for that choicest blessing Of living in thy love, And thus on earth possessing The peace of heaven above! O for the bliss that by it The soul securely knows, The holy calm and quiet Of faith's serene repose!

—John Samuel Bewley Monsell.

THE UNFAILING FRIEND

O Jesus! Friend unfailing, How dear art thou to me! Are cares and fears assailing? I find my strength in thee! Why should my feet grow weary Of this my pilgrim way? Rough though the path, and dreary, It ends in perfect day.

Naught, naught I count as treasure; Compared, O Christ, with thee! Thy sorrow without measure Earned peace and joy for me. I love to own, Lord Jesus, Thy claims o'er me and mine; Bought with thy blood most precious, Whose can I be but thine?

What fills my soul with gladness? 'Tis thine abounding grace! Where can I look in sadness, But, Jesus, in thy face? My all is thy providing; Thy love can ne'er grow cold; In thee, my refuge, hiding, No good wilt thou withhold.

Why should I droop in sorrow? Thou'rt ever by my side: Why, trembling, dread the morrow? What ill can e'er betide? If I my cross have taken, 'Tis but to follow thee; If scorned, despised, forsaken, Naught severs me from thee!

Oh, worldly pomp and glory! Your charms are spread in vain! I've heard a sweeter story, I've found a truer gain! Where Christ a place prepareth, There is my loved abode; There shall I gaze on Jesus, There shall I dwell with God!

For every tribulation, For every sore distress, In Christ I've full salvation, Sure help, and quiet rest. No fear of foes prevailing! I triumph, Lord, in thee! O Jesus! Friend unfailing! How dear art thou to me!

THE SONG OF A HEATHEN

(Sojourning in Galilee, A. D. 32)

If Jesus Christ is a man— And only a man—I say That of all mankind I cleave to him, And to him will I cleave alway.

If Jesus Christ is a God— And the only God—I swear I will follow him through heaven and hell, The earth, the sea, the air.

—Richard Watson Gilder.

"IT IS TOWARD EVENING"

Abide with me, O Christ; thou must not go For life's brief day is now far down the west; In dark'ning clouds my sun is sinking low; Lord, stay and soothe thy fretted child to rest.

Abide with me; ere I can fall on sleep My throbbing head must on thy breast recline, That I may hear anew thy voice, and feel The thrill of thy pierced hands in touch with mine.

Abide with me; so then shall I have peace The world can never give nor take from me; Nor life nor death can that calm peace disturb, Since life and death alike are gain through thee.

If life, 'tis well; for though in paths of pain, In desert place afar, I'm led aside, Yet here 'tis joy my Master's cup to share; And so I pray, O Christ, with me abide.

'Tis gain if death; for in that far-off land— No longer far—no veil of flesh will dim For me the wondrous beauty of my King, As he abides with me and I with him.

Abide with me; I have toiled gladly on, A little while, in stir of care and strife; The task is laid aside at thy command, Make thou it perfect with thy perfect life.

THE BLESSED FACE

Jesus, these eyes have never seen That radiant form of thine; The veil of sense hangs dark between Thy blessed face and mine.

I see thee not, I hear thee not, Yet art thou oft with me; And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot As where I meet with thee.

Like some bright dream that comes unsought When slumbers o'er me roll, Thine image ever fills my thought And charms my ravished soul.

Yet though I have not seen, and still Must rest in faith alone, I love thee, dearest Lord, and will, Unseen but not unknown.

When death these mortal eyes shall seal, And still this throbbing heart, The rending veil shall thee reveal, All-glorious as thou art.

—Ray Palmer.

TO THEE

I bring my sins to thee The sins I cannot count, That all may cleansed be In thy once-opened fount. I bring them, Saviour, all to thee; The burden is too great for me.

My heart to thee I bring, The heart I cannot read; A faithless, wandering thing, An evil heart indeed. I bring it, Saviour, now to thee, That fixed and faithful it may be

To thee I bring my care, The care I cannot flee; Thou wilt not only share, But take it all for me. O loving Saviour, now to thee, I bring the load that wearies me.

I bring my grief to thee, The grief I cannot tell; No words shall needed be, Thou knowest all so well. I bring the sorrow laid on me, O suffering Saviour! all to thee.

My joys to thee I bring, The joys thy love has given, That each may be a wing To lift me nearer heaven. I bring them, Saviour, all to thee, Who hast procured them all for me.

My life I bring to thee, I would not be my own; O Saviour! let me be Thine ever, thine alone! My heart, my life, my all, I bring To thee, my Saviour and my King.

WE LONG TO SEE JESUS

We would see Jesus! we have longed to see him Since first the story of his love was told; We would that he might sojourn now among us, As once he sojourned with the Jews of old.

We would see Jesus! see the infant sleeping, As on our mother's knees we, too, have slept; We would see Jesus! see him gently weeping, As we, in infancy, ourselves have wept.

We would behold him, as he wandered lowly— No room for him, too often, in the inn— Behold that life, the beautiful, the holy, The only sinless in this world of sin.

We would see Jesus! we would have him with us, A guest beloved and honored at our board; How blessed were our bread if it were broken Before the sacred presence of the Lord!

We would see Jesus! we would have him with us, Friend of our households and our children dear, Who still, should death and sorrow come among us, Would hasten to us, and would touch the bier.

We would see Jesus! not alone in sorrow, But we would have him with us in our mirth; He, at whose right hand are joys forever, Doth not disdain to bless the joys of earth.

We would see Jesus! but the wish is faithless; Thou still art with us, who hast loved us well; Thy blessed promise, "I am with you always," Is ever faithful, O Immanuel!

—Anna E. Hamilton.

"TELL JESUS"

When thou wakest in the morning, Ere thou tread the untried way Of the lot that lies before thee, Through the coming busy day, Whether sunbeams promise brightness, Whether dim forebodings fall, Be thy dawning glad or gloomy, Go to Jesus—tell him all!

In the calm of sweet communion Let thy daily work be done; In the peace of soul outpouring, Care be banished, patience won; And if earth, with its enchantments, Seek the spirit to enthrall, Ere thou listen, ere thou answer, Turn to Jesus—tell him all.

Then, as hour by hour glides by thee, Thou wilt blessed guidance know; Thine own burdens being lightened, Thou canst bear another's woe; Thou canst help the weak ones onward, Thou canst raise up those that fall; But remember, while thou servest, Still tell Jesus—tell him all!

And if weariness creep o'er thee As the day wears to its close, Or if sudden fierce temptation Brings thee face to face with foes, In thy weakness, in thy peril, Raise to heaven a trustful call; Strength and calm for every crisis Come—in telling Jesus all.

ANYWHERE WITH JESUS

Anywhere with Jesus, Says the Christian heart; Let him take me where he will, So we do not part. Always sitting at his feet There's no cause for fears; Anywhere with Jesus, In this vale of tears.

Anywhere with Jesus, Though he leadeth me Where the path is rough and long. Where the dangers be; Though he taketh from my heart All I love below, Anywhere with Jesus Will I gladly go.

Anywhere with Jesus— Though he please to bring Into floods or fiercest flames, Into suffering; Though he bid me work or wait, Only bear for him— Anywhere with Jesus, This shall be my hymn.

Anywhere with Jesus; For it cannot be Dreary, dark, or desolate When he is with me; He will love me to the end, Every need supply; Anywhere with Jesus, Should I live or die.

OUR ROCK

If life's pleasures cheer thee, Give them not thy heart, Lest the gifts ensnare thee From thy God to part; His praises speak, his favor seek, Fix there thy hope's foundation, Love him, and he shall ever be The Rock of thy salvation.

If sorrow e'er befall thee, Painful though it be, Let not fear appall thee: To thy Saviour flee; He, ever near, thy prayer will hear, And calm thy perturbation; The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow The Rock of thy salvation.

Death shall never harm thee, Shrink not from his blow, For thy God shall arm thee And victory bestow; For death shall bring to thee no sting, The grave no desolation; 'Tis gain to die with Jesus nigh— The Rock of thy salvation.

—Francis Scott Key.

The dearest thing on earth to me Is Jesus' will; Whate'er I do, where'er I be, To do his will. Worldly pleasures cannot charm me, Powers of evil cannot harm me, Death itself cannot alarm me, For 'tis his will.

SWEET PROMISES

O Jesus, I have promised, To serve thee to the end; Be thou forever near me, My Master and my Friend. I shall not fear the battle If thou art by my side, Nor wander from the pathway If thou wilt be my guide.

O let me feel thee near me; The world is ever near; I see the sights that dazzle, The tempting sounds I hear; My foes are ever near me, Around me and within; But, Jesus, draw thou nearer, And shield my soul from sin.

O Jesus, thou hast promised To all who follow thee, That where thou art in glory There shall thy servant be; And, Jesus, I have promised To serve thee to the end; O give me grace to follow My Master and my Friend.

—John E. Bode.

THE KING OF LOVE

The King of love my Shepherd is, Whose goodness faileth never; I nothing lack if I am his, And he is mine forever.

Where streams of living water flow My ransomed soul he leadeth, And where the verdant pastures grow With food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, But yet in love he sought me, And on his shoulder gently laid, And home rejoicing brought me.

In death's dark vale I fear no ill, With thee, dear Lord, beside me; Thy rod and staff my comfort still, Thy cross before to guide me.

And so, through all the length of day, Thy goodness faileth never; Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise Within thy house forever.

—Henry W. Baker.

WE WOULD SEE JESUS

We would see Jesus when our hopes are brightest And all that earth can grant is at its best; When not a drift of shadow, even the lightest, Blurs our clear atmosphere of perfect rest.

We would see Jesus when the joy of living Holds all our senses in a realm of bliss, That we may know he hath the power of giving Enduring rapture more supreme than this.

We would see Jesus when our pathway darkens, Beneath the dread of some impending ill; When the discouraged soul no longer harkens To hope, who beckons in the distance still.

We would see Jesus when the stress of sorrow Strains to their utmost tension heart and brain; That he may teach us how despair may borrow From faith the one sure antidote of pain.

We would see Jesus when our best are taken, And we must meet, unshared, all shocks of woe; Because he bore for us, alone, forsaken, Burdens whose weight no human heart could know.

We would see Jesus when our fading vision, Lost to the consciousness of earth and sky, Has only insight for the far elysian; We would see Jesus when we come to die!

—Margaret J. Preston.

ALL THINGS IN JESUS

Jesus, the calm that fills my breast, No other heart than thine can give; This peace unstirred, this joy of rest, None but thy loved ones can receive.

My weary soul has found a charm That turns to blessedness my woe; Within the shelter of thine arm I rest secure from storm and foe.

In desert wastes I feel no dread, Fearless I walk the trackless sea; I care not where my way is led, Since all my life is life with thee.

O Christ, through changeful years my Guide, My Comforter in sorrow's night, My Friend, when friendless—still abide, My Lord, my Counsellor, my Light.

My time, my powers, I give to thee; My inmost soul 'tis thine to move; I wait for thy eternity, I wait in peace, in praise, in love.

—Frank Mason North.

EVERYWHERE WITH JESUS

Everywhere with Jesus; O how sweet the thought! Filling all my soul with joy, Deep with comfort fraught. Never absent far from him, Always at his side; Everywhere with Jesus, Trusting him to guide.

Everywhere with Jesus; For no place can be Where I may not find him near, Very near to me; Closer than the flesh I wear— In my inmost heart— Everywhere with Jesus; We shall never part.

Everywhere with Jesus; Do whate'er I may, Work, or talk, or walk abroad, Study, preach, or pray, Still I find him, full of love, Ready ere I call. Everywhere with Jesus; He's my all in all.

Everywhere with Jesus; Let the world assail, Naught can shake my sure repose. He will never fail. I am weak, but he is strong, Mighty to defend; Everywhere with Jesus, Safe with such a friend.

Everywhere with Jesus; Careful should I be Lest some secret thought of guile His pure eye may see. Holy, harmless, undefiled, He no sin can know; Everywhere with Jesus Spotless I may go.

Everywhere with Jesus Would that all might say; Happy then beyond compare, Glad by night and day, All would taste of joy sublime, Perfect peace and rest: Everywhere with Jesus, Nothing could molest.

—James Mudge.

THE DEAREST FRIEND

Do not I love thee, O my Lord? Then let me nothing love; Dead be my heart to every joy, When Jesus cannot move.

Is not thy name melodious still To mine attentive ear? Doth not each pulse with pleasure bound My Saviour's voice to hear?

Hast thou a lamb in all thy flock I would disdain to feed? Hast thou a foe before whose face I fear thy cause to plead?

Would not mine ardent spirit vie With angels round the throne To execute thy sacred will, And make thy glory known?

Thou know'st I love thee, dearest Lord, But O I long to soar Far from the sphere of mortal joys, And learn to love thee more.

—Philip Doddridge.

As by the light of opening day The stars are all concealed, So earthly pleasures fade away When Jesus is revealed.

Creatures no more divide my choice; I bid them all depart: His name, his love, his gracious voice, Have fixed my roving heart.

—John Newton.

FAIREST LORD JESUS

Fairest Lord Jesus! Ruler of all nature! O thou of God and man the Son! Thee will I cherish, Thee will I honor, Thee, my soul's glory, joy, and crown.

Fair are the meadows, Fairer still the woodlands, Robed in the blooming garb of spring; Jesus is fairer, Jesus is purer, Who makes the woeful heart to sing.

Fair is the sunshine, Fairer still the moonlight, And all the twinkling starry host; Jesus shines brighter, Jesus shines purer Than all the angels heaven can boast.

—From the German.

THE CALL OF JESUS

Jesus calls us; o'er the tumult Of our life's wild, restless sea, Day by day his sweet voice soundeth, Saying, Christian, follow me!

Jesus calls us from the worship Of the vain world's golden store; From each idol that would keep us; Saying, Christian, love me more!

In our joys and in our sorrows, Days of toil and hours of ease, Still he calls, in cares and pleasures, Christian, love me more than these!

Jesus calls us! by thy mercies, Saviour, may we hear thy call; Give our hearts to thy obedience, Serve and love thee best of all.

—Cecil Frances Alexander.

If washed in Jesus' blood, Then bear his likeness too, And as you onward press Ask, What would Jesus do? Be brave to do the right, And scorn to be untrue; When fear would whisper, Yield, Ask, What would Jesus do?



LIFE

TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER

WITHOUT HASTE AND WITHOUT REST

Without haste and without rest; Bind the motto to thy breast. Bear it with thee as a spell, Storm or sunshine, guard it well! Heed not flowers that round thee bloom; Bear it onward to the tomb!

Haste not—let no thoughtless deed Mar the spirit's steady speed; Ponder well, and know the right, Onward, then, with all thy might; Haste not—years can ne'er atone For one reckless action done!

Rest not—life is sweeping by. Do and dare before you die; Something worthy and sublime Leave behind to conquer time; Glorious 'tis to live for aye, When these forms have passed away.

Haste not—rest not. Calm in strife Meekly bear the storms of life; Duty be thy polar guide; Do the right, whate'er betide; Haste not—rest not. Conflicts past, God shall crown thy work at last!

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

WHY DO I LIVE?

I live for those who love me; For those I know are true; For the heaven that smiles above me And awaits my spirit too; For all human ties that bind me, For the task my God assigned me, For the bright hope left behind me, And the good that I can do.

I live to learn their story Who suffered for my sake, To emulate their glory And follow in their wake; Bards, martyrs, patriots, sages, The nobles of all ages. Whose deeds crown History's pages And time's great volume make.

I live to hail the season— By gifted minds foretold— When man shall live by reason, And not alone for gold; When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was of old.

I live to hold communion With all that is divine, To feel that there is union 'Twixt nature's heart and mine; To profit by affliction, Reap truth from fields of fiction, Grow wiser from conviction, Fulfilling God's design.

I live for those who love me, For those who know me true, For the heaven that smiles above me And awaits my spirit too; For the wrongs that need resistance, For the cause that needs assistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do.

—George Linnaeus Banks.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Beautiful faces are those that wear— It matters little if dark or fair— Whole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show Like crystal panes where hearth fires glow, Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words Leap from the heart like songs of birds, Yet whose utterances prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do Work that is earnest, and brave, and true, Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go On kindly ministries to and fro— Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear Ceaseless burdens of homely care With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless— Silent rivers of happiness Whose hidden fountain but few may guess.

Beautiful twilight, at set of sun; Beautiful goal, with race well won; Beautiful rest, with work well done.

Beautiful graves, where grasses creep, Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep Over worn-out hands—O, beautiful sleep.

AT SUNSET

It isn't the thing you do, dear, It's the thing you've left undone Which gives you a bit of heartache At the setting of the sun. The tender word forgotten, The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts to-night.

The stone you might have lifted Out of a brother's way, The bit of heartsome counsel You were hurried too much to say, The loving touch of the hand, dear, The gentle and winsome tone That you had no time or thought for, With troubles enough of your own.

The little act of kindness, So easily out of mind; Those chances to be angels, Which every mortal finds— They come in night and silence— Each chill, reproachful wraith— When hope is faint and flagging, And a blight has dropped on faith.

For life is all too short, dear, And sorrow is all too great, To suffer our slow compassion That tarries until too late; And it's not the thing you do, dear, It's the thing you leave undone, Which gives you the bit of heartache At the setting of the sun.

—Margaret E. Sangster.

THE BUILDERS

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise Time is with material filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house where gods may dwell Beautiful, entire, and clean;

Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain To those turrets where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain And one boundless reach of sky.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.

—Joseph Addison.

RETROSPECTION

He was better to me than all my hopes, He was better than all my fears; He made a road of my broken works And a rainbow of my tears. The billows that guarded my sea girt path But carried my Lord on their crest; When I dwell on the days of my wilderness march I can lean on his love for the rest.

He emptied my hands of my treasured store And his covenant love revealed; There was not a wound in my aching heart But the balm of his breath hath healed. Oh! tender and true was the chastening sore, In wisdom, that taught and tried, Till the soul that he sought was trusting in him And in nothing on earth beside.

He guided by paths that I could not see, By ways that I have not known, The crooked was straight and the rough made plain, As I followed the Lord alone. I praise him still for the pleasant palms And the water springs by the way; For the glowing pillars of flame by night And the sheltering clouds by day.

There is light for me on the trackless wild As the wonders of old I trace, When the God of the whole earth went before To search me a resting place. Has he changed for me? Nay! He changes not. He will bring me by some new way, Through fire and flood and each crafty foe, As safely as yesterday.

And if to warfare he calls me forth, He buckles my armor on; He greets me with smiles and a word of cheer For battles his sword hath won; He wipes my brows as I droop and faint, He blesses my hand to toil; Faithful is he as he washes my feet, From the trace of each earthly soil.

Never a watch on the dreariest halt But some promise of love endears; I read from the past that my future shall be Far better than all my fears. Like the golden pot of the wilderness bread, Laid up with the blossoming rod, All safe in the ark, with the law of the Lord, Is the covenant care of my God.

—Anna Shipton.

ONE DAY'S SERVICE

O to serve God for a day! From jubilant morn to the peace and the calm of the night To tread no path but his happy and blossoming way, To seek no delight But the joy that is one with the joy at heaven's heart; Only to go where thou art, O God of all blessing and beauty! to love, to obey With obedience sweetened by love and love made strong by the right; Not once, not once to be drunken with self, Or to play the hypocrite's poisoned part, Or to bend the knee of my soul to the passion for pelf, Or the glittering gods of the mart; Through each glad hour to lay on the wings of its flight Some flower for the angels' sight; Some fragrant fashion of service, scarlet and white— White for the pure intent, and red where the pulses start. O, if thus I could serve him, could perfectly serve him one day, I think I could perfectly serve him forever—forever and aye!

—Amos R. Wells.

Life is a burden; bear it. Life is a duty; dare it. Life is a thorn crown; wear it. Though it break your heart in twain, Though the burden crush you down, Close your lips and hide the pain; First the cross and then the crown.

BETTER THINGS

Better to smell the violet cool than sip the glowing wine; Better to hark a hidden brook than watch a diamond shine.

Better the love of gentle heart than beauty's favors proud, Better the rose's living seed than roses in a crowd.

Better to love in loneliness than bask in love all day; Better the fountain in the heart than the fountain by the way.

Better be fed by a mother's hand than eat alone at will; Better to trust in God than say, My goods my storehouse fill.

Better to be a little wise than in knowledge to abound; Better to teach a child than toil to fill perfection's round.

Better sit at a master's feet than thrill a listening state; Better suspect that thou art proud than be sure that thou art great.

Better to walk in the realm unseen than watch the hour's event; Better the well done at the last than the air with shoutings rent.

Better to have a quiet grief than a hurrying delight; Better the twilight of the dawn than the noonday burning bright.

Better to sit at the water's birth than a sea of waves to win; To live in the love that floweth forth than the love that cometh in.

Better a death when work is done than earth's most favored birth; Better a child in God's great house than the king of all the earth.

—George Macdonald.

Time is indeed a precious boon, But with the boon a task is given: The heart must learn its duty well To man on earth and God in heaven.

—Eliza Cook.

THE LENGTH OF LIFE

Are your sorrows hard to bear? Life is short! Do you drag the chain of care? Life is short! Soon will come the glad release Into rest and joy and peace; Soon the weary thread be spun, And the final labor done. Keep your courage! Hold the fort! Life is short!

Are you faint with hope delayed? Life is long! Tarries that for which you prayed? Life is long! What delights may not abide— What ambitions satisfied— What possessions may not be In God's great eternity? Lift the heart! Be glad and strong! Life is long!

—Amos R. Wells.

IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As there is wrong to right, Wail of the weak against the strong, Or tyranny to fight; Long as there lingers gloom to chase, Or streaming tear to dry, One kindred woe, one sorrowing face, That smiles as we draw nigh; Long as a tale of anguish swells The heart and lids grow wet, And at the sound of Christmas bells We pardon and forget; So long as Faith with Freedom reigns And loyal Hope survives, And gracious Charity remains To leaven lowly lives; While there is one untrodden tract For Intellect or Will, And men are free to think and act, Life is worth living still.

—Alfred Austin.

The Moving Finger writes, and having writ Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.

—Omar Khayyam.

LENGTH OF DAYS

He liveth long who liveth well; All other life is short and vain; He liveth longest who can tell Of living most for heavenly gain.

He liveth long who liveth well; All else is being flung away; He liveth longest who can tell Of true things truly done each day.

Waste not thy being; back to him Who freely gave it, freely give; Else is that being but a dream; 'Tis but to be, and not to live.

Be wise, and use thy wisdom well; Who wisdom speaks must live it too; He is the wisest who can tell How first he lived, then spoke the true.

Be what thou seemest! live thy creed! Hold up to earth the torch divine; Be what thou prayest to be made; Let the great Master's steps be thine.

Fill up each hour with what will last; Buy up the moments as they go; The life above, when this is past, Is the ripe fruit of life below.

Sow truth if thou the true wouldst reap; Who sows the false shall reap the vain; Erect and sound thy conscience keep; From hollow words and deeds refrain.

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure; Sow peace and reap its harvest bright; Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor, And find a harvest-home of light.

—Horatius Bonar.

REDEEMING THE TIME

We would fill the hours with the sweetest things If we had but a day; We should drink alone at the purest springs In our upward way; We should love with a lifetime's love in an hour If the hours were few; We should rest not for dreams, but for fresher power To be and to do.

We should guide our wayward or wearied wills By the clearest light; We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills If they lay in sight; We should trample the pride and the discontent Beneath our feet; We should take whatever a good God sent, With a trust complete.

We should waste no moments in weak regret If the day were but one; If what we remember and what we forget Went out with the sun; We should be from our clamorous selves set free To work and to pray, And to be what the Father would have us to be, If we had but a day.

—Mary Lowe Dickinson.

MORAL COSMETICS

Ye who would have your features florid, Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead, From age's devastation horrid, Adopt this plan— 'Twill make, in climate cold or torrid, A hale old man:

Avoid in youth luxurious diet; Restrain the passion's lawless riot; Devoted to domestic quiet, Be wisely gay; So shall ye, spite of age's fiat, Resist decay.

Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure, But find your richest, dearest treasure In God, his word, his work; not leisure. The mind, not sense, Is the sole scale by which to measure Your opulence.

This is the solace, this the science, Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, That disappoints not man's reliance, Whate'er his state; But challenges, with calm defiance, Time, fortune, fate.

—Horace Smith.

STRENGTH FOR TO-DAY

Strength for to-day is all that we need, As there never will be a to-morrow; For to-morrow will prove but another to-day, With its measure of joy and sorrow.

Then why forecast the trials of life With such sad and grave persistence, And watch and wait for a crowd of ills That as yet have no existence?

Strength for to-day—what a precious boon For the earnest souls who labor, For the willing hands that minister To the needy friend and neighbor.

Strength for to-day—that the weary hearts In the battle for right may quail not, And the eyes bedimmed with bitter tears In their search for light may fail not.

Strength for to-day, on the down-hill track, For the travelers near the valley, That up, far up, the other side Ere long they may safely rally.

Strength for to-day—that our precious youth May happily shun temptation, And build, from the rise to the set of the sun, On a strong and sure foundation.

Strength for to-day, in house and home, To practice forbearance sweetly; To scatter kind deeds and loving words Still trusting in God completely.

FAITHFUL

Like the star That shines afar Without haste And without rest, Let each man wheel with steady sway Round the task that rules the day, And do his best!

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Who learns and learns, and acts not what he knows, Is one who plows and plows, but never sows.

MORNING

Lo here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think; wilt thou let it Slip useless away? Out of eternity This new day is born; Into eternity At night will return. Behold it aforetime No eye ever did; So soon it forever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think; wilt thou let it Slip useless away?

—Thomas Carlyle.

JUST FOR TO-DAY

Lord, for to-morrow and its needs I do not pray; Keep me, my God, from stain of sin Just for to-day. Help me to labor earnestly, And duly pray; Let me be kind in word and deed, Father, to-day.

Let me no wrong or idle word Unthinking say; Set thou a seal upon my lips Through all to-day. Let me in season, Lord, be grave, In season gay; Let me be faithful to thy grace, Dear Lord, to-day.

And if, to-day, this life of mine Should ebb away, Give me thy sacrament divine, Father, to-day. So for to-morrow and its needs I do not pray; Still keep me, guide me, love me, Lord, Through each to-day.

—Ernest R. Wilberforce.

That life is long which answers life's great end; The time that bears no fruit deserves no name; The man of wisdom is the man of years.

—Edward Young.

JUST ONE DAY

If I could live to God for just one day, One blessed day, from rosy dawn of light Till purple twilight deepened into night, A day of faith unfaltering, trust complete, Of love unfeigned and perfect charity, Of hope undimmed, of courage past dismay, Of heavenly peace, patient humility— No hint of duty to constrain my feet, No dream of ease to lull to listlessness, Within my heart no root of bitterness, No yielding to temptation's subtle sway, Methinks, in that one day would so expand My soul to meet such holy, high demand That never, never more could hold me bound This shriveling husk of self that wraps me round. So might I henceforth live to God alway.

—Susan E. Gammons.

NOW

Forget the past and live the present hour; Now is the time to work, the time to fill The soul with noblest thoughts, the time to will Heroic deeds, to use whatever dower Heaven has bestowed, to test our utmost power. Now is the time to live, and, better still, To serve our loved ones; over passing ill To rise triumphant; thus the perfect flower Of life shall come to fruitage; wealth amass For grandest giving ere the time be gone. Be glad to-day—to-morrow may bring tears; Be brave to-day; the darkest night will pass And golden days will usher in the dawn; Who conquers now shall rule the coming years.

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

THE HOURS

The hours are viewless angels, That still go gliding by, And bear each minute's record up To him who sits on high; And we who walk among them, As one by one departs, See not that they are hovering Forever round our hearts.

Like summer bees that hover Around the idle flowers, They gather every act and thought, Those viewless angel-hours; The poison or the nectar The heart's deep flower cups yield, A sample still they gather swift, And leave us in the field.

And some flit by on pinions Of joyous gold and blue, And some flag on with drooping wing Of sorrow's darker hue; But still they steal the record And bear it far away; Their mission-flight, by day and night, No magic power can stay.

And as we spend each minute That God to us has given, The deeds are known before his throne, The tale is told in heaven. Those bee-like hours we see not, Nor hear their noiseless wings; We often feel—too oft—when flown That they have left their stings.

So teach me, heavenly Father, To meet each flying hour, That as they go they may not show My heart a poison flower! So, when death brings its shadows, The hours that linger last Shall bear my hopes on angels' wings, Unfettered by the past.

—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

TO-DAY

The hours of rest are over, The hours of toil begin; The stars above have faded, The moon has ceased to shine. The earth puts on her beauty Beneath the sun's red ray; And I must rise to labor. What is my work to-day?

To search for truth and wisdom, To live for Christ alone, To run my race unburdened, The goal my Father's throne; To view by faith the promise, While earthly hopes decay; To serve the Lord with gladness— This is my work to-day.

To shun the world's allurements, To bear my cross therein, To turn from all temptation, To conquer every sin; To linger, calm and patient, Where duty bids me stay, To go where God may lead me— This is my work to-day.

To keep my troth unshaken, Though others may deceive; To give with willing pleasure, Or still with joy receive; To bring the mourner comfort, To wipe sad tears away; To help the timid doubter— This is my work to-day.

To bear another's weakness, To soothe another's pain; To cheer the heart repentant, And to forgive again; To commune with the thoughtful, To guide the young and gay; To profit all in season— This is my work to-day.

I think not of to-morrow, Its trial or its task; But still, with childlike spirit, For present mercies ask. With each returning morning I cast old things away; Life's journey lies before me; My prayer is for TO-DAY.

LIFE'S MIRROR

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave, There are souls that are pure and true; Then give to the world the best you have. And the best will come back to you.

Give love, and love to your life will flow, And strength in your inmost needs; Have faith, and a score of hearts will show Their faith in your work and deeds.

Give truth, and your gifts will be paid in kind, And song a song will meet; And the smile which is sweet will surely find A smile that is just as sweet.

Give pity and sorrow to those who mourn; You will gather in flowers again The scattered seeds from your thought outborne, Though the sowing seemed in vain.

For life is the mirror of king and slave, 'Tis just what we are and do; Then give to the world the best you have And the best will come back to you.

—Madeline S. Bridges.

WHEN I HAVE TIME

When I have time so many things I'll do To make life happier and more fair For those whose lives are crowded now with care; I'll help to lift them from their low despair When I have time.

When I have time the friend I love so well Shall know no more these weary, toiling days; I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always And cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise, When I have time.

When you have time! The friend you hold so dear May be beyond the reach of all your sweet intent; May never know that you so kindly meant To fill her life with sweet content When you had time.

Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer wait To scatter loving smiles and words of cheer To those around whose lives are now so drear; They may not need you in the coming year— Now is the time!

SOME RULES OF LIFE

Have Faith in God

What though the dark close round, the storm increase, Though friends depart, all earthly comforts cease; Hath He not said, I give my children peace? Believe his word.

Complain of Naught

To murmur, fret, repine, lament, bemoan— How sinful, stupid, wrong! God's on the throne, Does all in wisdom, ne'er forgets his own. Be filled with praise.

Watch Unto Prayer

Think much of God, 'twill save thy soul from sin; Without his presence let no act begin; Look up, keep vigil, fear not; thou shalt win. See him in all.

Go Armed with Christ

He said, "I come, O God, to do thy will." Shall we not, likewise, all his word fulfill, And find a weapon firm 'gainst every ill? Put on the Lord.

Be True, Be Sweet

Let not the conflict make thee sour or sad; Swerve not from battle: faithful, loyal, glad— The likeness of our Saviour may be had. Aim high, press on!

—James Mudge.

Forenoon and afternoon and night,—Forenoon, And afternoon, and night,—Forenoon, and—what? The empty song repeats itself. No more? Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

—Edward Rowland Sill.

I PACK MY TRUNK

What shall I pack up to carry From the old year to the new? I'll leave out the frets that harry, Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.

Angry words—ah, how I rue them! Selfish deeds and choices blind; Any one is welcome to them! I shall leave them all behind.

Plans? the trunk would need be double. Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid. Sharp ambitions? last year's stubble! Take them, old year! Keep them hid!

All my fears shall be forsaken, All my failures manifold; Nothing gloomy shall be taken To the new year from the old.

But I'll pack the sweet remembrance Of dear Friendship's least delight; All my jokes—I'll carry them hence; All my store of fancies bright;

My contentment—would 'twere greater! All the courage I possess; All my trust—there's not much weight there! All my faith, or more, or less;

All my tasks; I'll not abandon One of these—nay pride, my health; Every trivial or grand one Is a noble mine of wealth.

And I'll pack my choicest treasures: Smiles I've seen and praises heard, Memories of unselfish pleasures, Cheery looks, the kindly word.

Ah, my riches silence cavil! To my rags I bid adieu! Like a Croesus I shall travel From the old year to the new!

—Amos R. Wells.

The stars shine over the earth, The stars shine over the sea; The stars look up to the mighty God, The stars look down on me. The stars have lived for a million years A million years and a day; But God and I shall love and live When the stars have passed away.

OPPORTUNITY RENEWED

They do me wrong who say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door And bid you wake and ride to fight and win. Wail not for precious chances passed away, Weep not for golden ages on the wane! Each night I burn the records of the day; At sunrise every soul is born again. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend my arm to all who say "I can!" No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep But yet might rise and be again a man. Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow. Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell! Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven! Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell, Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

—Walter Malone.

Though life is made up of mere bubbles 'Tis better than many aver, For while we've a whole lot of troubles The most of them never occur.

—Nixon Waterman.

A happy lot must sure be his— The lord, not slave, of things— Who values life by what it is And not by what it brings.

—John Sterling.

A BUILDER'S LESSON

"How shall I a habit break?" As you did that habit make. As you gathered you must lose; As you yielded, now refuse.

Thread by thread the strands we twist Till they bind us neck and wrist; Thread by thread the patient hand Must untwine ere free we stand. As we builded, stone by stone, We must toil—unhelped, alone— Till the wall is overthrown.

But remember: as we try, Lighter every test goes by; Wading in, the stream grows deep Toward the center's downward sweep; Backward turn—each step ashore Shallower is than that before.

Ah, the precious years we waste Leveling what we raised in haste; Doing what must be undone Ere content or love be won! First across the gulf we cast Kite-borne threads, till lives are passed, And habit builds the bridge at last!

BUILDING

We are building every day In a good or evil way, And the structure, as it grows, Will our inmost self disclose,

Till in every arch and line All our faults and failings shine; It may grow a castle grand, Or a wreck upon the sand.

Do you ask what building this That can show both pain and bliss, That can be both dark and fair? Lo, its name is character!

Build it well, whate'er you do; Build it straight and strong and true; Build it clear and high and broad; Build it for the eye of God.

—I. E. Dickenga.

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest Live well, how long or short permit to heaven.

—John Milton.

HOLY HABITS

Slowly fashioned, link by link, Slowly waxing strong, Till the spirit never shrink, Save from touch of wrong.

Holy habits are thy wealth, Golden, pleasant chains; Passing earth's prime blessing—health, Endless, priceless gains.

Holy habits give thee place With the noblest, best, All most godlike of thy race, And with seraphs blest.

Holy habits are thy joy, Wisdom's pleasant ways, Yielding good without alloy, Lengthening, too, thy days.

Seek them, Christian, night and morn; Seek them noon and even; Seek them till thy soul be born Without stains—in heaven.

—Thomas Davis.

MAKE HASTE, O MAN! TO LIVE

Make haste, O man! to live, For thou so soon must die; Time hurries past thee like the breeze; How swift its moments fly. Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to do Whatever must be done, Thou hast no time to lose in sloth, Thy day will soon be gone. Make haste, O man! to live.

To breathe, and wake, and sleep, To smile, to sigh, to grieve, To move in idleness through earth, This, this is not to live. Make haste, O man! to live.

The useful, not the great; The thing that never dies, The silent toil that is not lost, Set these before thine eyes. Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to live. Thy time is almost o'er; Oh! sleep not, dream not, but arise, The Judge is at the door. Make haste, O man! to live.

—Horatius Bonar.

TEACH ME TO LIVE

Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die— Gently and silently pass away— On earth's long night to close the heavy eye And waken in the glorious realms of day.

Teach me that harder lesson—how to live; To serve thee in the darkest paths of life; Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor give, And make me more than conqueror in the strife.

Teach me to live thy purpose to fulfill; Bright for thy glory let my taper shine; Each day renew, remold this stubborn will; Closer round thee my heart's affections twine.

Teach me to live for self and sin no more; But use the time remaining to me yet; Not mine own pleasure seeking as before, Wasting no precious hours in vain regret.

Teach me to live; no idler let me be, But in thy service hand and heart employ. Prepared to do thy bidding cheerfully— Be this my highest and my holiest joy.

Teach me to live—my daily cross to bear, Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load. Only be with me, let me feel thee near, Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road.

Teach me to live and find my life in thee, Looking from earth and earthly things away. Let me not falter, but untiringly Press on, and gain new strength and power each day.

Teach me to live with kindly words for all, Wearing no cold repulsive brow of gloom, Waiting with cheerful patience till thy call Summons my spirit to her heavenly home.

OPPORTUNITY

Master of human destinies am I, Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock, unbidden, once at every gate! If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise—before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt, or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore; I answer not, and I return no more.

—John James Ingalls.

THREE DAYS

So much to do; so little done! Ah! yesternight I saw the sun Sink beamless down the vaulted gray— The ghastly ghost of yesterday.

So little done; so much to do! Each morning breaks on conflicts new; But eager, brave, I'll join the fray, And fight the battle of to-day.

So much to do; so little done! But when it's o'er—the victory won— O then, my soul, this strife and sorrow Will end in that great, glad to-morrow!

—James Roberts Gilmore.

JUSTICE

Three men went out one summer night; No care had they or aim. They dined and drank. Ere we go home We'll have, they said, a game.

Three girls began that summer night A life of endless shame, And went through drink, disease, and death As swift as racing flame.

Lawless, homeless, foul, they died; Rich, loved, and praised, the men. But when they all shall meet with God, And Justice speaks, what then?

—Stopford Augustus Brooke.

OPPORTUNITY IMPROVED

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel— That blue blade that the king's son bears—but this Blunt thing——!" he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it and, with battle-shout Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day.

—Edward Rowland Sill.

DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS

Live while you live, the epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the passing day! Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies! Lord, in my views let both united be; I live in pleasure when I live to thee.

—Philip Doddridge.

It is bad to have an empty purse, But an empty head is a whole lot worse.

—Nixon Waterman.

Shut your mouth, and open your eyes, And you're sure to learn something to make you wise.

—Nixon Waterman.

THE COMMON LOT

Once, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man, and who was he? Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, That man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth; The land in which he died unknown; His name has perished from the earth; This truth survives alone:

That joy and grief and hope and fear, Alternate triumphed in his breast; His bliss and woe—a smile, a tear! Oblivion hides the rest.

He suffered—but his pangs are o'er; Enjoyed—but his delights are fled; Had friends—his friends are now no more; And foes—his foes are dead.

He saw whatever thou hast seen; Encountered all that troubles thee; He was—whatever thou hast been; He is—what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and man, Erewhile his portion, life, and light, To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race, Their ruins, since the world began, Of him afford no other trace Than this—there lived a man.

—James Montgomery.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own; He who, secure within, can say, "To-morrow, do thy worst; for I have lived to-day. Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power, But what has been has been, and I have had my hour."

—Horace, tr. by John Dryden.

PROEM

If this little world to-night Suddenly should fall through space In a hissing, headlong flight, Shriveling from off its face, As it falls into the sun, In an instant every trace Of the little crawling things— Ants, philosophers, and lice, Cattle, cockroaches, and kings, Beggars, millionaires, and mice, Men and maggots—all as one As it falls into the sun— Who can say but at the same Instant, from some planet far, A child may watch us and exclaim, "See the pretty shooting star!"

—Oliver Herford.

DOING AND BEING

Think not alone to do right, and fulfill Life's due perfection by the simple worth Of lawful actions called by justice forth, And thus condone a world confused with ill! But fix the high condition of thy will To be right, that its good's spontaneous birth May spread like flowers springing from the earth On which the natural dews of heaven distill; For these require no honors, take no care For gratitude from men—but more are blessed In the sweet ignorance that they are fair; And through their proper functions live and rest, Breathing their fragrance out with joyous air, Content with praise of bettering what is best.

—William Davies.

And, since we needs must hunger, better for man's love Than God's truth! better for companions sweet Than great convictions! let us bear our weights Preferring dreary hearths to desert souls.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

RICHES

Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshiped the devil If I thanked my God for worldly things.

—William Blake.

Trust to the Lord to hide thee, Wait on the Lord to guide thee, So shall no ill betide thee Day by day. Rise with his fear before thee, Tell of the love he bore thee, Sleep with his shadow o'er thee, Day by day.

Four things a man must learn to do If he would make his record true: To think without confusion clearly; To love his fellow-men sincerely; To act from honest motives purely; To trust in God and heaven securely.

—Henry van Dyke.

Each moment holy is, for out from God Each moment flashes forth a human soul. Holy each moment is, for back to him Some wandering soul each moment home returns.

—Richard Watson Gilder.

At thirty man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

—Edward Young.

Abundance is the blessing of the wise; The use of riches in discretion lies; Learn this, ye men of wealth: a heavy purse In a fool's pocket is a heavy curse.

—From the Greek.

FRIEND AND FOE

Dear is my friend, but my foe too Is friendly to my good; My friend the thing shows I can do, My foe the thing I should.

—Johann C. F. von Schiller.

How does the soul grow? Not all in a minute; Now it may lose ground, and now it may win it; Now it resolves, and again the will faileth; Now it rejoiceth, and now it bewaileth; Now its hopes fructify, then they are blighted; Now it walks sunnily, now gropes benighted; Fed by discouragements, taught by disaster, So it goes forward, now slower, now faster; Till, all the pain past and failure made whole, It is full grown, and the Lord rules the soul.

—Susan Coolidge.

Life is too short to waste In critic peep or cynic bark, Quarrel, or reprimand. 'Twill soon be dark; Up! mind thine own aim, and God speed the mark!

—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm.

—Robert Burns.

I saw a farmer plow his land who never came to sow; I saw a student filled with truth to practice never go; In land or mind I never saw the ripened harvest grow.

—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

CARES AND DAYS

To those who prattle of despair Some friend, methinks, might wisely say: Each day, no question, has its care, But also every care its day.

—John Sterling.

What imports Fasting or feasting? Do thy day's work; dare Refuse no help thereto; since help refused Is hindrance sought and found.

—Robert Browning.

I go to prove my soul! I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first, I ask not; but unless God send his hail Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.

—Robert Browning.

Art thou in misery, brother? Then, I pray, Be comforted; thy grief shall pass away.

Art thou elated? Ah! be not too gay; Temper thy joy; this, too, shall pass away.

Whate'er thou art, where'er thy footsteps stray, Heed the wise words: "This, too, shall pass away."

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths, In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. Life's but a means unto an end; that end Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.

—Philip James Bailey.

WE DEFER THINGS

We say, and we say, and we say, We promise, engage, and declare, Till a year from to-morrow is yesterday And yesterday is—where?

—James Whitcomb Riley.

To be sincere. To look life in the eyes With calm, undrooping gaze. Always to mean The high and truthful thing. Never to screen Behind the unmeant word the sharp surprise Of cunning; never tell the little lies Of look or thought. Always to choose between The true and small, the true and large, serene And high above Life's cheap dishonesties.

The soul that steers by this unfading star Needs never other compass. All the far, Wide waste shall blaze with guiding light, though rocks And sirens meet and mock its straining gaze. Secure from storms and all Life's battle-shocks It shall not veer from any righteous ways.

—Maurice Smiley.

The lily's lips are pure and white without a touch of fire; The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened with desire. In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the gladdest lives are those Whose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is like the rose.

—Nixon Waterman.

We shape ourselves the joy or fear Of which the coming life is made, And fill our future's atmosphere With sunshine or with shade.

The tissue of the life to be We weave with colors all our own, And in the field of destiny We reap as we have sown.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE ROUND OF THE WHEEL

The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller; So death feeds life, and life, too, feeds its killer.

—John Sterling.

If I were dead I think that you would come And look upon me, cold and white, and say, "Poor child! I'm sorry you have gone away."

But just because my body has to live Through hopeless years, you do not come and say, "Dear child, I'm glad that you are here to-day."

Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell him The scope of our mind can but trifles achieve; The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him— The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

A pious friend one day of Rabia asked How she had learned the truth of Allah wholly; By what instructions was her memory tasked? How was her heart estranged from the world's folly?

She answered, "Thou who knowest God in parts Thy spirit's moods and processes canst tell: I only know that in my heart of hearts I have despised myself and loved him well."

There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

—William Shakespeare.

THE DESERT'S USE

Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone? To show what all would be if she were gone.

—John Sterling.

So live that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry slave at night Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.

—William Cullen Bryant.

The time is short. If thou wouldst work for God it must be now. If thou wouldst win the garlands for thy brow, Redeem the time.

I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender; And soon with me the labor will be wrought; Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender; The time is short.

The man who idly sits and thinks May sow a nobler crop than corn; For thoughts are seeds of future deeds, And when God thought, the world was born.

—George John Romanes.

Thought is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought; Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught.

—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

That thou mayst injure no man dovelike be, And serpentlike that none may injure thee.

The poem hangs on the berry bush When comes the poet's eye. The street begins to masquerade When Shakespeare passes by.

—William C. Gannett.

Be thou a poor man and a just And thou mayest live without alarm; For leave the good man Satan must, The poor the Sultan will not harm.

—From the Persian.

Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea, Blame not the ocean; the fault is in thee!

—From the Persian.

All habits gather by unseen degrees; As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

—John Dryden.

Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive To strip them off 'tis being flayed alive.

—William Cowper.

So live that when the mighty caravan, Which halts one night-time in the Vale of Death, Shall strike its white tents for the morning march, Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills, Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed Like the strong eagle's for the upward flight.

And see all sights from pole to pole, And glance and nod and bustle by, And never once possess our soul Before we die.

—Matthew Arnold.

Catch, then, O catch the transient hour; Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a short summer—man a flower.

—Dr. Samuel Johnson.

This world's no blot for us Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink.

—Robert Browning.

What is life? 'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air, Or gaze upon the sun. 'Tis to be free.

—Joseph Addison.

I see the right, and I approve it too, Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.

—Ovid.

God asks not "To what sect did he belong?" But, "Did he do the right, or love the wrong?"

—From the Persian.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

One wept all night beside a sick man's bed: At dawn the sick was well, the mourner dead.

—From the Persian.

'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant, O life, not death, for which we pant; More life and fuller that I want.

—Alfred Tennyson.



AGE AND DEATH

MATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN

A DEFIANCE TO OLD AGE

Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time, Of all my blessings or my joy; I have some jewels in my heart Which thou art powerless to destroy.

Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength, And leave my temples seamed and bare; Deprive mine eyes of passion's light, And scatter silver o'er my hair.

But never, while a book remains, And breathes a woman or a child, Shalt thou deprive me whilst I live Of feelings fresh and undefiled.

No, never while the earth is fair, And Reason keeps its dial bright, Whate'er thy robberies, O Time, Shall I be bankrupt of delight.

Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame, Thou canst not cheat me of this truth: That, though the limbs may faint and fail, The spirit can renew its youth.

So, thievish Time, I fear thee not; Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine; My precious jewels are my own, 'Tis but the settings that are thine.

—Charles Mackay.

SIMPLE FAITH

You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tell And still go on. If but the way be straight I cannot go amiss! Before me lies Dawn and the Day! the Night behind me; that Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see, And nothing more; believe, and nothing less. My future is not one of my concerns.

A MORNING THOUGHT

What if some morning, when the stars were paling, And the dawn whitened, and the East was clear, Strange peace and rest fell on me from the presence Of a benignant Spirit standing near,

And I should tell him, as he stood beside me, "This is our Earth—most friendly Earth, and fair; Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadow Faithful it turns, robed in its azure air;

"There is blest living here, loving and serving, And quest of truth, and serene friendships dear; But stay not, Spirit! Earth has one destroyer— His name is Death; flee, lest he find thee here!"

And what if then, while the still morning brightened, And freshened in the elm the summer's breath, Should gravely smile on me the gentle angel, And take my hand and say, "My name is Death."

—Edward Rowland Sill.

On parent knees, a naked, new-born child, Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled: So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep, Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.

—From the Persian.

EMMAUS

Abide with us, O wondrous guest! A stranger still, though long possessed; Our hearts thy love unknown desire, And marvel how the sacred fire Should burn within us while we stray From that sad spot where Jesus lay.

So when our youth, through bitter loss Or hopes deferred, draws near the cross, We lose the Lord our childhood knew And God's own word may seem untrue; Yet Christ himself shall soothe the way Towards the evening of our day.

And though we travel towards the west 'Tis still for toil, and not for rest; No fate except that life is done; At Emmaus is our work begun; Then let us watch lest tears should hide The Lord who journeys by our side.

NOT NOW BUT THEN

Take the joys and bear the sorrows—neither with extreme concern! Living here means nescience simply; 'tis next life that helps to learn. Shut those eyes next life will open—stop those ears next life will teach Hearing's office; close those lips next life will give the power of speech! Or, if action more amuse thee than the passive attitude, Bravely bustle through thy being, busy thee for ill or good, Reap this life's success or failure! Soon shall things be unperplexed, And the right or wrong, now tangled, lie unraveled in the next.

—Robert Browning.

CHEERFUL OLD AGE

Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling, And don't be sorrowful, pray; For taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more night than day.

'Tis rainy weather, my darling; Time's waves they heavily run; But taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more cloud than sun.

We are old folks now, my darling, Our heads are growing gray; And taking the year together, my dear, You will always find the May.

We have had our May, my darling, And our roses long ago; And the time of year is coming, my dear, For the silent night and snow.

And God is God, my darling, Of night as well as day, And we feel and know that we can go Wherever he leads the way.

Ay, God of night, my darling; Of the night of death so grim; The gate that leads out of life, good wife, Is the gate that leads to him.

For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars invisible by day.

At sixty-two life has begun; At seventy-three begin once more; Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun, And brighter shine at eighty-four. At ninety-five Shouldst thou arrive, Still wait on God, and work and thrive.

—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

For what is age but youth's full bloom, A riper, more transcendent youth? A weight of gold is never old.

Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave; But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.

—William Wordsworth.

Fill, brief or long, my granted years Of life with love to thee and man; Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, But let my last days be my best.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

An age so blest that, by its side, Youth seems the waste instead.

—Robert Browning.

ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE

At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time, When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned— Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you love so, —Pity me?

O to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! What had I on earth to do With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly? Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel —Being—who?

One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday, in the bustle of man's work-time, Greet the unseen with a cheer! Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, "Strive and thrive!" cry, "Speed,—fight on, fare ever There as here!"

—Robert Browning.

Let no one till his death Be called unhappy. Measure not the work Until the day's out and the labor done; Then bring your gauges.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I WOULD LIVE LONGER

Phil. i. 23.

O I would live longer, I gladly would stay, Though "storm after storm rises dark o'er the way"; Temptations and trials beset me, 'tis true, Yet gladly I'd stay where there's so much to do.

O I would live longer—not "away from my Lord"— For ever he's with me, fulfilling his word; In sorrow I lean on his arm, for he's near, In darkness he speaks, and my spirit doth cheer.

Yes, I would live longer some trophy to win, Some soul to lead back from the dark paths of sin; Some weak one to strengthen, some faint one to cheer, And heaven will be sweeter for laboring here.

But—would I live longer? How can I decide, With Jesus in glory, still here to abide? O Lord, leave not the decision to me, Where best I can serve thee, Lord, there let me be.

—L. Kinney.

THERE IS NO DEATH

There is no death! the stars go down To rise upon some fairer shore, And bright in heaven's jeweled crown They shine forever more.

There is no death! the dust we tread Shall change, beneath the summer showers, To golden grain, or mellow fruit, Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

There is no death! the leaves may fall, The flowers may fade and pass away— They only wait, through wintry hours, The warm sweet breath of May.

There is no death! the choicest gifts That Heaven hath kindly lent to earth Are ever first to seek again The country of their birth;

And all things that, for grief or joy, Are worthy of thy love and care, Whose loss has left us desolate, Are safely garnered there.

* * * * *

They are not dead! they have but passed Beyond the mists that blind us here, Into the new and larger life Of that serener sphere.

They have but dropped their robe of clay To put their shining raiment on; They have not wandered far away— They are not "lost" or "gone."

Though disenthralled and glorified, They still are here and love us yet; The dear ones they have left behind They never can forget.

—J. C. McCreery.

PROSPICE (LOOK FORWARD)

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face; When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form? Yet the strong man must go; For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall— Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

—Robert Browning.

OUR HOME ABOVE

We thank thee, gracious Father, For many a pleasant day, For bird and flower, and joyous hour, For friends, and work, and play. Of blessing and of mercy Our life has had its share; This world is not a wilderness, Thou hast made all things fair.

But fairer still, and sweeter, The things that are above; We look and long to join the song In the land of light and love. We trust the Word which tells us Of that divine abode; By faith we bring its glories nigh, While hope illumes the road.

So death has lost its terrors; How can we fear it now? Its face, once grim, now leads to him At whose command we bow. His presence makes us happy, His service is delight, The many mansions gleam and glow, The saints our souls invite.

We welcome that departure Which brings us to our Lord; We hail with joy the blest employ Those wondrous realms afford. We call it home up yonder; Down here we toil and strain As in some mine's dark, danksome depths; There sunshine bright we gain.

To God, then, sound the timbrel! There's naught can do us harm; Our greatest foe has been laid low; What else can cause alarm? For freedom and for victory Our hearts give loud acclaim; Whate'er befall, on him we call; North, South, East, West, in him we rest; All glory to his name!

—James Mudge.

AT LAST

When on my day of life the night is falling, And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown;

Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, Be thou my strength and stay!

Be near me when all else is from me drifting: Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, And kindly faces to my own uplifting The love which answers mine.

I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spirit Be with me then to comfort and uphold; No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of shining gold.

Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiven through thy abounding grace— I find myself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place.

Some humble door among thy many mansions, Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, And flows forever through heaven's green expansions The river of thy peace.

There, from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing, The life for which I long.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

READY

I would be ready, Lord, My house in order set, None of the work thou gavest me To do unfinished yet.

I would be watching, Lord, With lamp well trimmed and clear, Quick to throw open wide the door, What time thou drawest near.

I would be waiting, Lord, Because I cannot know If in the night or morning watch I may be called to go.

I would be waking, Lord, Each day, each hour for thee; Assured that thus I wait thee well, Whene'er thy coming be.

I would be living, Lord, As ever in thine eye; For whoso lives the nearest thee The fittest is to die.

—Margaret J. Preston.

THALASSA! THALASSA!

I stand upon the summit of my life, Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove, The battle and the burden; vast, afar Beyond these weary ways, behold the Sea! The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves; By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breath Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.

Palter no question of the horizon dim— Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest; Majestic motion, unimpeded scope, A widening heaven, a current without care, Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course, Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.

—Brownlee Brown.

AT END

At end of love, at end of life, At end of hope, at end of strife, At end of all we cling to so, The sun is setting—must we go?

At dawn of love, at dawn of life, At dawn of peace that follows strife, At dawn of all we long for so, The sun is rising—let us go!

—Louise Chandler Moulton.

WHAT IS DEATH

It is not death to die— To leave this weary road, And, 'mid the brotherhood on high, To be at home with God.

It is not death to close The eye long dimmed by tears, And wake in glorious repose To spend eternal years.

It is not death to bear The wrench that sets us free From dungeon chain, to breathe the air Of boundless liberty.

It is not death to fling Aside this sinful dust, And rise on strong exulting wing To live among the just.

Jesus, thou Prince of life, Thy chosen cannot die! Like thee they conquer in the strife To reign with thee on high.

—Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Washington Bethune.

UPHILL

Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss the inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at the door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yes, beds for all who come.