WRITE.
Republished by special request.
Take thy pen and write, O man!Chronicle thy every thought;Hath thy life been full of joy?Hath this world all pleasure wrought?If, before thou cam’st to earth,Knowing what thou knowest now,Free to choose to be, or not,To life’s problems wouldst thou bow?Wouldst thou think thy life a boon?It with thankfulness accept,Or wouldst say O Lord, me spare!Imust weep, for man hath wept.Dost thou think that life is sweet?Dost thou think its joys are moreThan its griefs and misery?Hath thy bark ne’er touched bleak shore.Stranded hath it never been?Thy sweet hopes forever lost,Wrecked thy bark on shoals by storm,On rough sea of life been tossed?Is the wind and tide with thee?And is life without a tear?Manned is bark with happiness?Hath thy sky been ever clear?Dost thou bless thy natal day?Long’st thou not for day of death?Art thou willing to live onBlessing God that thou hast breath?Then, to thee, is life a joy,Blessed heritage of peaceWas bequeathed to thee by Love,Godgave unto thee thelease.I will write in book of life,Trace my thoughts with fadeless ink,With a pen of gold will write;Into hearts my words may sink.Born to earth I wished it not,Earth conditions knew not I,E’en though filled with misery;I will never question why.I am here; will do my work,Even though life stranded be,E’en though storms beset my way,Wrecked my ship on life’s rough sea.Sunshine, aye, I look not for,Wind and tide are often wrongFor my ship to leave its port;Sad, yea mournful, is life’s song.But I love, and I am loved,Hope is strong within my heart,Courage, too, I’ll stem life’s tide,In the world do well my part.Tears are shed. Then why should IE’er from care and grief be free?I must live, though oft I weep,Do my work, what e’er it be.Born of Love—O blessed thought!Earth conditions I can bear;God is Love, in Him I live,Utter plaint I will not dare.I will sail my ship of life,Steer it over shoals and rocks,Bring it safely into port,It will bear all storms and shocks.When, at last, Life’s dream is o’er,Time—true censor—takes his flight,Death, as Captain of my fleet,In his Log my life will write.
Take thy pen and write, O man!Chronicle thy every thought;Hath thy life been full of joy?Hath this world all pleasure wrought?If, before thou cam’st to earth,Knowing what thou knowest now,Free to choose to be, or not,To life’s problems wouldst thou bow?Wouldst thou think thy life a boon?It with thankfulness accept,Or wouldst say O Lord, me spare!Imust weep, for man hath wept.Dost thou think that life is sweet?Dost thou think its joys are moreThan its griefs and misery?Hath thy bark ne’er touched bleak shore.Stranded hath it never been?Thy sweet hopes forever lost,Wrecked thy bark on shoals by storm,On rough sea of life been tossed?Is the wind and tide with thee?And is life without a tear?Manned is bark with happiness?Hath thy sky been ever clear?Dost thou bless thy natal day?Long’st thou not for day of death?Art thou willing to live onBlessing God that thou hast breath?Then, to thee, is life a joy,Blessed heritage of peaceWas bequeathed to thee by Love,Godgave unto thee thelease.
I will write in book of life,Trace my thoughts with fadeless ink,With a pen of gold will write;Into hearts my words may sink.Born to earth I wished it not,Earth conditions knew not I,E’en though filled with misery;I will never question why.I am here; will do my work,Even though life stranded be,E’en though storms beset my way,Wrecked my ship on life’s rough sea.Sunshine, aye, I look not for,Wind and tide are often wrongFor my ship to leave its port;Sad, yea mournful, is life’s song.But I love, and I am loved,Hope is strong within my heart,Courage, too, I’ll stem life’s tide,In the world do well my part.Tears are shed. Then why should IE’er from care and grief be free?I must live, though oft I weep,Do my work, what e’er it be.Born of Love—O blessed thought!Earth conditions I can bear;God is Love, in Him I live,Utter plaint I will not dare.I will sail my ship of life,Steer it over shoals and rocks,Bring it safely into port,It will bear all storms and shocks.When, at last, Life’s dream is o’er,Time—true censor—takes his flight,Death, as Captain of my fleet,In his Log my life will write.