Chapter 3

SILVER TONES

A stately church by pious hands erected long ago,Was found to lack a vesper bell, by which the poor might knowThe hour of prayer, the hour of mass, and who had lately died,The hour when gent and bonny lass, so timid at his side,Would stand before the surpliced priest, and twain would pledge their troth,The hour in which the priest would vent on heretic his wrath.The faithful then were called upon to bring from home and mineThe metal for the holy bell, which must be strong and fine.In smelting pot of massive size they placed the needed ore;A molten mass it soon became, but ere in mould they pour,And thus provide a bell for God to grace His temple fair,In crowds the people came, to see the metal glowing there.Then as they passed, with hearts devout, each took a silver coinAnd dropped it in the glowing mass—no priest did this enjoin.They wished to show their grateful love to Him who bore their sin;A simple form which love took on, not done God's grace to win.Nor did they hope to win applause from priest and saintly friar;If God were pleased they asked no more, nor more did they desire;Nor did they deem their silver lost, though little dreamed they thenThe grand result of their small gifts, which now is known to men.Their coins were for a moment seen, like flakes of snow on sward,And then they melted out of sight, yet, seen by their blest Lord,They mingled with the glowing mass, and when in high church towerThe bell was hung and daily rung, all people felt its power.Its booming tones were soft and sweet, and echoed o'er their hillsIn a grand symphony of praise, subduing all their wills,And calling forth from old and young a burst of rapturous praise.Their gifts, though small, were not despised; God turned them into lays.This world is one great smelting pot in which life's ore is cast,And from it God will some day bring a bell, destined to lastAnd ring aloud in thunder tones wherever man is found.Oh, may we, by kind words and deeds, give it a silver sound!Each word though short, each deed though small, if for the Master's sakeAre said and done, like silver coin, our blessed Lord will take,And skillfully will blend them with the coarser ore of earth,And grander music none have heard e'er since time had its birth.Then from this bell of silver tone will sound o'er hill and vale:"The work men do in Jesus' name is never known to fail."

A stately church by pious hands erected long ago,

Was found to lack a vesper bell, by which the poor might know

The hour of prayer, the hour of mass, and who had lately died,

The hour when gent and bonny lass, so timid at his side,

Would stand before the surpliced priest, and twain would pledge their troth,

The hour in which the priest would vent on heretic his wrath.

The faithful then were called upon to bring from home and mine

The metal for the holy bell, which must be strong and fine.

In smelting pot of massive size they placed the needed ore;

A molten mass it soon became, but ere in mould they pour,

And thus provide a bell for God to grace His temple fair,

In crowds the people came, to see the metal glowing there.

Then as they passed, with hearts devout, each took a silver coin

And dropped it in the glowing mass—no priest did this enjoin.

They wished to show their grateful love to Him who bore their sin;

A simple form which love took on, not done God's grace to win.

Nor did they hope to win applause from priest and saintly friar;

If God were pleased they asked no more, nor more did they desire;

Nor did they deem their silver lost, though little dreamed they then

The grand result of their small gifts, which now is known to men.

Their coins were for a moment seen, like flakes of snow on sward,

And then they melted out of sight, yet, seen by their blest Lord,

They mingled with the glowing mass, and when in high church tower

The bell was hung and daily rung, all people felt its power.

Its booming tones were soft and sweet, and echoed o'er their hills

In a grand symphony of praise, subduing all their wills,

And calling forth from old and young a burst of rapturous praise.

Their gifts, though small, were not despised; God turned them into lays.

This world is one great smelting pot in which life's ore is cast,

And from it God will some day bring a bell, destined to last

And ring aloud in thunder tones wherever man is found.

Oh, may we, by kind words and deeds, give it a silver sound!

Each word though short, each deed though small, if for the Master's sake

Are said and done, like silver coin, our blessed Lord will take,

And skillfully will blend them with the coarser ore of earth,

And grander music none have heard e'er since time had its birth.

Then from this bell of silver tone will sound o'er hill and vale:

"The work men do in Jesus' name is never known to fail."

GOD'S ORDER

Every flower that decks the way,Whether it be dun or gay,Fills a place in God's great plan,Serving Him, while pleasing man.Every star that gilds the nightWith its beams of silver lightHas its mission to fulfil,As assigned it by God's will.Feathered songsters all declareAs they cleave the ambient air,"He who made us made our lays,Giving each a note of praise;Each one's note, unique and sweet,Helps to make the song complete;Various tones, yet all agree,Forming one grand symphony."So, also, does God's own handFix in place each grain of sand,Tiny though that grain may beHangs on it the destinyOf a world, yea, systems whole,As they in their orbits roll;Should it from its globe remove,Worlds would clash and chaos prove.When we reach the world of mindLaw and order still we find;In God's purpose is a planFor the life of every man.Free, he may his own course choose,Help divine through pride refuse,But disorder will ensue—Life a wreck! Yet God is true.

Every flower that decks the way,

Whether it be dun or gay,

Fills a place in God's great plan,

Serving Him, while pleasing man.

Every star that gilds the night

With its beams of silver light

Has its mission to fulfil,

As assigned it by God's will.

Feathered songsters all declareAs they cleave the ambient air,"He who made us made our lays,Giving each a note of praise;Each one's note, unique and sweet,Helps to make the song complete;Various tones, yet all agree,Forming one grand symphony."

Feathered songsters all declare

As they cleave the ambient air,

"He who made us made our lays,

Giving each a note of praise;

Each one's note, unique and sweet,

Helps to make the song complete;

Various tones, yet all agree,

Forming one grand symphony."

So, also, does God's own handFix in place each grain of sand,Tiny though that grain may beHangs on it the destinyOf a world, yea, systems whole,As they in their orbits roll;Should it from its globe remove,Worlds would clash and chaos prove.

So, also, does God's own hand

Fix in place each grain of sand,

Tiny though that grain may be

Hangs on it the destiny

Of a world, yea, systems whole,

As they in their orbits roll;

Should it from its globe remove,

Worlds would clash and chaos prove.

When we reach the world of mindLaw and order still we find;In God's purpose is a planFor the life of every man.Free, he may his own course choose,Help divine through pride refuse,But disorder will ensue—Life a wreck! Yet God is true.

When we reach the world of mind

Law and order still we find;

In God's purpose is a plan

For the life of every man.

Free, he may his own course choose,

Help divine through pride refuse,

But disorder will ensue—

Life a wreck! Yet God is true.

INFLUENCE

In gentle showers the rain descends,And softly falls the dew.The dewdrop with the raindrop blends;The tiny stream they form then wendsIts way the grasses through.And kindred streams with it combineAnd form a rivulet;Then on it runs like trailing vine,Lays bare the roots of oak and pine,And other brooks are met.The swelling stream meanders on,Gives power to busy mills,And bears huge ships its breast upon,Gives drink to kine and lovely fawn,And drinks up other rills.A lady's foot had changed its course,And drank it dry a lamb,Had they but sought it at its source;But now it rushes on with forceAnd leaps the mighty dam.Thus is it with our influence here;Each look, each word, each deed,Is like the rain, or dewdrop clear—Though tiny things they now appear,They to the ocean lead.As grains of sand make up the hillWhich towers above the plain,And drops combine to swell the rillWhich helps the mighty sea to fill,So does our influence gain.

In gentle showers the rain descends,And softly falls the dew.The dewdrop with the raindrop blends;The tiny stream they form then wendsIts way the grasses through.

In gentle showers the rain descends,

And softly falls the dew.

The dewdrop with the raindrop blends;

The tiny stream they form then wends

Its way the grasses through.

And kindred streams with it combineAnd form a rivulet;Then on it runs like trailing vine,Lays bare the roots of oak and pine,And other brooks are met.

And kindred streams with it combine

And form a rivulet;

Then on it runs like trailing vine,

Lays bare the roots of oak and pine,

And other brooks are met.

The swelling stream meanders on,Gives power to busy mills,And bears huge ships its breast upon,Gives drink to kine and lovely fawn,And drinks up other rills.

The swelling stream meanders on,

Gives power to busy mills,

And bears huge ships its breast upon,

Gives drink to kine and lovely fawn,

And drinks up other rills.

A lady's foot had changed its course,And drank it dry a lamb,Had they but sought it at its source;But now it rushes on with forceAnd leaps the mighty dam.

A lady's foot had changed its course,

And drank it dry a lamb,

Had they but sought it at its source;

But now it rushes on with force

And leaps the mighty dam.

Thus is it with our influence here;Each look, each word, each deed,Is like the rain, or dewdrop clear—Though tiny things they now appear,They to the ocean lead.

Thus is it with our influence here;

Each look, each word, each deed,

Is like the rain, or dewdrop clear—

Though tiny things they now appear,

They to the ocean lead.

As grains of sand make up the hillWhich towers above the plain,And drops combine to swell the rillWhich helps the mighty sea to fill,So does our influence gain.

As grains of sand make up the hill

Which towers above the plain,

And drops combine to swell the rill

Which helps the mighty sea to fill,

So does our influence gain.

UNDECAYING FRUIT

Doomed to decay are all things here;Whate'er their form or worth,Color and beauty disappear,Or turn to mother earth.The luscious fruits which please the tasteAnd please the eye as well,Sometimes reduced to rot and waste,Ere from the tree they fell—Some gathered with a gentle hand,And stored away with care,To serve a place in banquet grand,Some favorite peach or pear,Is found diseased in skin and core,And loathsome to the sight,When 'tis too late to gather more,And comes the festal night.So is it with all earthly joy—It pleases for a time,As toy may please a growing boy,Though costing but a dime;But soon he tires and asks for more,Appropriate to his age;So, though a man may higher soarAnd greater aims engageHis active mind, he, like the child,Soon looks for something new.Too oft are men by this beguiledAnd fail to find the true.But he who goes to Christ for rest,Finds fruit that ne'er decays.He sups with Christ as welcome guest,And glory crowns his days.

Doomed to decay are all things here;Whate'er their form or worth,Color and beauty disappear,Or turn to mother earth.

Doomed to decay are all things here;

Whate'er their form or worth,

Color and beauty disappear,

Or turn to mother earth.

The luscious fruits which please the tasteAnd please the eye as well,Sometimes reduced to rot and waste,Ere from the tree they fell—

The luscious fruits which please the taste

And please the eye as well,

Sometimes reduced to rot and waste,

Ere from the tree they fell—

Some gathered with a gentle hand,And stored away with care,To serve a place in banquet grand,Some favorite peach or pear,

Some gathered with a gentle hand,

And stored away with care,

To serve a place in banquet grand,

Some favorite peach or pear,

Is found diseased in skin and core,And loathsome to the sight,When 'tis too late to gather more,And comes the festal night.

Is found diseased in skin and core,

And loathsome to the sight,

When 'tis too late to gather more,

And comes the festal night.

So is it with all earthly joy—It pleases for a time,As toy may please a growing boy,Though costing but a dime;

So is it with all earthly joy—

It pleases for a time,

As toy may please a growing boy,

Though costing but a dime;

But soon he tires and asks for more,Appropriate to his age;So, though a man may higher soarAnd greater aims engage

But soon he tires and asks for more,

Appropriate to his age;

So, though a man may higher soar

And greater aims engage

His active mind, he, like the child,Soon looks for something new.Too oft are men by this beguiledAnd fail to find the true.

His active mind, he, like the child,

Soon looks for something new.

Too oft are men by this beguiled

And fail to find the true.

But he who goes to Christ for rest,Finds fruit that ne'er decays.He sups with Christ as welcome guest,And glory crowns his days.

But he who goes to Christ for rest,

Finds fruit that ne'er decays.

He sups with Christ as welcome guest,

And glory crowns his days.

THE HEROES OF OUR DAY

Heroic deeds in every ageCommand the world's esteem;Each finds a place in history's page,'Midst gloom a glory beam.And we full oft revert to this,To show man's true descentFrom Him who is the source of bliss,Tho' now by passions rent.But we need not consult the past;The present bears this fruit:The hero race will ever last;The tree is sound at root.And never has the world excelledThe present in this line;Our loving Lord has not withheldFrom us this trait divine.And we should not from them withholdThe praise we feel is dueFor deeds of love, and actions bold,For spirit kind and true.Their worth we now should recognize,Not chant it o'er their graves;The hero of the past we prize,No less the man who bravesThe dangers of the present hour,The sneers which now are rife,Not for the sake of earthly power,Nor yet to save his life.But for the good of fellow man,And for his Master's sake,He shuns no cross, and fears no ban;'Tis these a hero make.

Heroic deeds in every ageCommand the world's esteem;Each finds a place in history's page,'Midst gloom a glory beam.

Heroic deeds in every age

Command the world's esteem;

Each finds a place in history's page,

'Midst gloom a glory beam.

And we full oft revert to this,To show man's true descentFrom Him who is the source of bliss,Tho' now by passions rent.

And we full oft revert to this,

To show man's true descent

From Him who is the source of bliss,

Tho' now by passions rent.

But we need not consult the past;The present bears this fruit:The hero race will ever last;The tree is sound at root.

But we need not consult the past;

The present bears this fruit:

The hero race will ever last;

The tree is sound at root.

And never has the world excelledThe present in this line;Our loving Lord has not withheldFrom us this trait divine.

And never has the world excelled

The present in this line;

Our loving Lord has not withheld

From us this trait divine.

And we should not from them withholdThe praise we feel is dueFor deeds of love, and actions bold,For spirit kind and true.

And we should not from them withhold

The praise we feel is due

For deeds of love, and actions bold,

For spirit kind and true.

Their worth we now should recognize,Not chant it o'er their graves;The hero of the past we prize,No less the man who braves

Their worth we now should recognize,

Not chant it o'er their graves;

The hero of the past we prize,

No less the man who braves

The dangers of the present hour,The sneers which now are rife,Not for the sake of earthly power,Nor yet to save his life.

The dangers of the present hour,

The sneers which now are rife,

Not for the sake of earthly power,

Nor yet to save his life.

But for the good of fellow man,And for his Master's sake,He shuns no cross, and fears no ban;'Tis these a hero make.

But for the good of fellow man,

And for his Master's sake,

He shuns no cross, and fears no ban;

'Tis these a hero make.

THE BIG BEAR CREEK

The waters of the Big Bear creekGlide slowly on their way;The western lakes they surely seek,Which they will reach some day;But sluggishly they seek their end—They scarcely seem to move;Yet through the fields and round each bendTheir progress daily prove.By debris borne upon their breast,And strewn along each shore,They slowly move, but never rest,Yet turbid evermore.But when they reach the Johnson bendAnd the Sni Chartna meet,The turbid and the sky-blue blend—The union is complete.And soon is lost all trace of mud;Of azure tint the whole;With heaven's own hue the rolling floodHas gained the long-sought goal.So is it with the soul renewedWhile on its heaven-bound way,With grace divine it is embued,Yet shows the trace of clay.And though to rest it never halts,Its progress is so slow;Alas, it has too many faults,Nor much of heavenly glow.But when God's sanctifying graceShall meet it from above,You seek in vain for sinful trace—It now is full of love.A new impulse it then receivesWhich speeds it on its way;To it no stain of sin now cleaves—It seeks its perfect day.And as the azure stream has foundIts home in brimming lake,So shall the soul thus heavenward boundOf God's own joy partake.

The waters of the Big Bear creekGlide slowly on their way;The western lakes they surely seek,Which they will reach some day;

The waters of the Big Bear creek

Glide slowly on their way;

The western lakes they surely seek,

Which they will reach some day;

But sluggishly they seek their end—They scarcely seem to move;Yet through the fields and round each bendTheir progress daily prove.

But sluggishly they seek their end—

They scarcely seem to move;

Yet through the fields and round each bend

Their progress daily prove.

By debris borne upon their breast,And strewn along each shore,They slowly move, but never rest,Yet turbid evermore.

By debris borne upon their breast,

And strewn along each shore,

They slowly move, but never rest,

Yet turbid evermore.

But when they reach the Johnson bendAnd the Sni Chartna meet,The turbid and the sky-blue blend—The union is complete.

But when they reach the Johnson bend

And the Sni Chartna meet,

The turbid and the sky-blue blend—

The union is complete.

And soon is lost all trace of mud;Of azure tint the whole;With heaven's own hue the rolling floodHas gained the long-sought goal.

And soon is lost all trace of mud;

Of azure tint the whole;

With heaven's own hue the rolling flood

Has gained the long-sought goal.

So is it with the soul renewedWhile on its heaven-bound way,With grace divine it is embued,Yet shows the trace of clay.

So is it with the soul renewed

While on its heaven-bound way,

With grace divine it is embued,

Yet shows the trace of clay.

And though to rest it never halts,Its progress is so slow;Alas, it has too many faults,Nor much of heavenly glow.

And though to rest it never halts,

Its progress is so slow;

Alas, it has too many faults,

Nor much of heavenly glow.

But when God's sanctifying graceShall meet it from above,You seek in vain for sinful trace—It now is full of love.

But when God's sanctifying grace

Shall meet it from above,

You seek in vain for sinful trace—

It now is full of love.

A new impulse it then receivesWhich speeds it on its way;To it no stain of sin now cleaves—It seeks its perfect day.

A new impulse it then receives

Which speeds it on its way;

To it no stain of sin now cleaves—

It seeks its perfect day.

And as the azure stream has foundIts home in brimming lake,So shall the soul thus heavenward boundOf God's own joy partake.

And as the azure stream has found

Its home in brimming lake,

So shall the soul thus heavenward bound

Of God's own joy partake.

THE FROST ON THE WINDOW

Feathery frost on the window-pane,Who placed you there? "I cannot explain,"Each little feather at once replied;"But this I know, I'm the children's pride,As they think I fell from an angel's wing,And coming to earth must rich blessings bring."I once formed part of a lovely bay;The sun shone out, and I turned to spray,And rose aloft on the ambient air,To the regions high where all is rare;Then I mingled with my old friends again,Who were my neighbors in the haunts of men."On the blustering wind, I rode along,Sometimes hard tossed by the tempest strong,And then at rest, as when in the bay,Though much enlarged, the wise savants say;Though I cannot tell you how long my sleep,With a chill I woke and began to weep."And my ample form much smaller grew,By the cold compressed to a drop of dew;Then down I fell, swift as bounding deer,And knew no more till I fell right here;But how I became so like a featherIs problem I can unravel never."But, oh, how the sun begins to burn!I think I must to the clouds return.Farewell, my boy! but you must not fret;We meet again, as we now have met,If not as a feather, perhaps a tree,Or whatever the Wise One may make of me."

Feathery frost on the window-pane,

Who placed you there? "I cannot explain,"

Each little feather at once replied;

"But this I know, I'm the children's pride,

As they think I fell from an angel's wing,

And coming to earth must rich blessings bring.

"I once formed part of a lovely bay;The sun shone out, and I turned to spray,And rose aloft on the ambient air,To the regions high where all is rare;Then I mingled with my old friends again,Who were my neighbors in the haunts of men.

"I once formed part of a lovely bay;

The sun shone out, and I turned to spray,

And rose aloft on the ambient air,

To the regions high where all is rare;

Then I mingled with my old friends again,

Who were my neighbors in the haunts of men.

"On the blustering wind, I rode along,Sometimes hard tossed by the tempest strong,And then at rest, as when in the bay,Though much enlarged, the wise savants say;Though I cannot tell you how long my sleep,With a chill I woke and began to weep.

"On the blustering wind, I rode along,

Sometimes hard tossed by the tempest strong,

And then at rest, as when in the bay,

Though much enlarged, the wise savants say;

Though I cannot tell you how long my sleep,

With a chill I woke and began to weep.

"And my ample form much smaller grew,By the cold compressed to a drop of dew;Then down I fell, swift as bounding deer,And knew no more till I fell right here;But how I became so like a featherIs problem I can unravel never.

"And my ample form much smaller grew,

By the cold compressed to a drop of dew;

Then down I fell, swift as bounding deer,

And knew no more till I fell right here;

But how I became so like a feather

Is problem I can unravel never.

"But, oh, how the sun begins to burn!I think I must to the clouds return.Farewell, my boy! but you must not fret;We meet again, as we now have met,If not as a feather, perhaps a tree,Or whatever the Wise One may make of me."

"But, oh, how the sun begins to burn!

I think I must to the clouds return.

Farewell, my boy! but you must not fret;

We meet again, as we now have met,

If not as a feather, perhaps a tree,

Or whatever the Wise One may make of me."

"WILT THOU HARASS A DRIVEN LEAF?"

O harass not a driven leaf,Nor stubble dry in wrath pursue;A life so brief load not with grief,Nor with thine arrow pierce me through.The fragile leaf, by tempest tost,Is scarcely worth a passing thought;The brook is crossed, and then is lost;There let it lie, a thing of naught.The stubble dry ne'er grows again;To golden grain it gave its sap.It died, and then 'twas left by menTo rot betimes, or some mishap.Am I not like the stubble dryAnd fragile leaf by tempest strewed?Must I not die, then tell me whyA thing so frail is thus pursued?A voice replies: "Thy life is frail,Much like the leaf and stubble dry;Thy strength must fail, and as the galeBears them away, so must thou die;"But live again, in bliss, or pain;For death to man does not end all;Life is not vain, if thou but gainAhome in heaven, when I shall call!"To fit thy soul for endless rest,I harass now the driven leaf,But though sore pressed and grief distressed,The life of sorrow will be brief."And when released from suffering clay,Thy blood-bought spirit shall ariseTo endless day. Then thou shalt say,The ways of God are good and wise."

O harass not a driven leaf,Nor stubble dry in wrath pursue;A life so brief load not with grief,Nor with thine arrow pierce me through.

O harass not a driven leaf,

Nor stubble dry in wrath pursue;

A life so brief load not with grief,

Nor with thine arrow pierce me through.

The fragile leaf, by tempest tost,Is scarcely worth a passing thought;The brook is crossed, and then is lost;There let it lie, a thing of naught.

The fragile leaf, by tempest tost,

Is scarcely worth a passing thought;

The brook is crossed, and then is lost;

There let it lie, a thing of naught.

The stubble dry ne'er grows again;To golden grain it gave its sap.It died, and then 'twas left by menTo rot betimes, or some mishap.

The stubble dry ne'er grows again;

To golden grain it gave its sap.

It died, and then 'twas left by men

To rot betimes, or some mishap.

Am I not like the stubble dryAnd fragile leaf by tempest strewed?Must I not die, then tell me whyA thing so frail is thus pursued?

Am I not like the stubble dry

And fragile leaf by tempest strewed?

Must I not die, then tell me why

A thing so frail is thus pursued?

A voice replies: "Thy life is frail,Much like the leaf and stubble dry;Thy strength must fail, and as the galeBears them away, so must thou die;

A voice replies: "Thy life is frail,

Much like the leaf and stubble dry;

Thy strength must fail, and as the gale

Bears them away, so must thou die;

"But live again, in bliss, or pain;For death to man does not end all;Life is not vain, if thou but gainAhome in heaven, when I shall call!

"But live again, in bliss, or pain;

For death to man does not end all;

Life is not vain, if thou but gain

Ahome in heaven, when I shall call!

"To fit thy soul for endless rest,I harass now the driven leaf,But though sore pressed and grief distressed,The life of sorrow will be brief.

"To fit thy soul for endless rest,

I harass now the driven leaf,

But though sore pressed and grief distressed,

The life of sorrow will be brief.

"And when released from suffering clay,Thy blood-bought spirit shall ariseTo endless day. Then thou shalt say,The ways of God are good and wise."

"And when released from suffering clay,

Thy blood-bought spirit shall arise

To endless day. Then thou shalt say,

The ways of God are good and wise."

A GEM

The gem is not this ode itself;Hardly can it aspire so high.Earth has its gems; but all its wealth,Increased by thousands, cannot buyMan'ssoul, the gem of priceless worth,Made in God's image at its birth;Ordained to live for evermore;Redeemed by blood from sin and hell;Transformed by grace, God's love to tell;And at His feet its homage pour.Lordly are its endowments, too;Superb its destiny, if true;Only below, said one who knew,Unfallen angels round God's throne.Lord, may this gem be Thine alone.

The gem is not this ode itself;Hardly can it aspire so high.Earth has its gems; but all its wealth,

The gem is not this ode itself;

Hardly can it aspire so high.

Earth has its gems; but all its wealth,

Increased by thousands, cannot buyMan'ssoul, the gem of priceless worth,Made in God's image at its birth;Ordained to live for evermore;Redeemed by blood from sin and hell;Transformed by grace, God's love to tell;And at His feet its homage pour.Lordly are its endowments, too;

Increased by thousands, cannot buy

Man'ssoul, the gem of priceless worth,

Made in God's image at its birth;

Ordained to live for evermore;

Redeemed by blood from sin and hell;

Transformed by grace, God's love to tell;

And at His feet its homage pour.

Lordly are its endowments, too;

Superb its destiny, if true;Only below, said one who knew,Unfallen angels round God's throne.Lord, may this gem be Thine alone.

Superb its destiny, if true;

Only below, said one who knew,

Unfallen angels round God's throne.

Lord, may this gem be Thine alone.

THE CLOUDS

A grand stairway do these clouds appearAs they heavenward rise, tier upon tier,With clearly-marked space of blue between,Compared with which human art looks mean.Do the angels tread this grand staircase,When they come to earth to bless our race,And lend their aid to each struggling soulAs he ascends toward the heavenly goal?Was this the ladder by Jacob seen,That reached from heaven to the mattress greenOn which he lay all the lonely nightTill God afforded the blessed sight,And made him feel, tho' an exile here,His father's God would be ever near—The servant's cry would to heaven arise,And blessings fall from the bending skies?But no staircase do the angels need;They come to earth at a greater speed,Not step by step, nor on eagle's wing,Nor beams of light do their message bring.Though heaven be far beyond mortal ken,Assisted by all the arts of men,A moment's time and the space is passed,And heaven's best gifts at our feet are cast.Not a cloud stairway, nor ladder long,Connects this earth with the land of song;The Saviour bends from the opening skies—He smiles in love, and our souls arise.As flakes of steel to the magnet fly,And mists ascend to the sun on high,So we are drawn by the cords of loveFrom the earth below to thrones above.O lift me up from my bed of clay,To dwell with Thee in the realms of day.If 'tis Thy will I should tarry still,Prepare me, Lord, for Thy Holy Hill.

A grand stairway do these clouds appearAs they heavenward rise, tier upon tier,With clearly-marked space of blue between,Compared with which human art looks mean.

A grand stairway do these clouds appear

As they heavenward rise, tier upon tier,

With clearly-marked space of blue between,

Compared with which human art looks mean.

Do the angels tread this grand staircase,When they come to earth to bless our race,And lend their aid to each struggling soulAs he ascends toward the heavenly goal?

Do the angels tread this grand staircase,

When they come to earth to bless our race,

And lend their aid to each struggling soul

As he ascends toward the heavenly goal?

Was this the ladder by Jacob seen,That reached from heaven to the mattress greenOn which he lay all the lonely nightTill God afforded the blessed sight,

Was this the ladder by Jacob seen,

That reached from heaven to the mattress green

On which he lay all the lonely night

Till God afforded the blessed sight,

And made him feel, tho' an exile here,His father's God would be ever near—The servant's cry would to heaven arise,And blessings fall from the bending skies?

And made him feel, tho' an exile here,

His father's God would be ever near—

The servant's cry would to heaven arise,

And blessings fall from the bending skies?

But no staircase do the angels need;They come to earth at a greater speed,Not step by step, nor on eagle's wing,Nor beams of light do their message bring.

But no staircase do the angels need;

They come to earth at a greater speed,

Not step by step, nor on eagle's wing,

Nor beams of light do their message bring.

Though heaven be far beyond mortal ken,Assisted by all the arts of men,A moment's time and the space is passed,And heaven's best gifts at our feet are cast.

Though heaven be far beyond mortal ken,

Assisted by all the arts of men,

A moment's time and the space is passed,

And heaven's best gifts at our feet are cast.

Not a cloud stairway, nor ladder long,Connects this earth with the land of song;The Saviour bends from the opening skies—He smiles in love, and our souls arise.

Not a cloud stairway, nor ladder long,

Connects this earth with the land of song;

The Saviour bends from the opening skies—

He smiles in love, and our souls arise.

As flakes of steel to the magnet fly,And mists ascend to the sun on high,So we are drawn by the cords of loveFrom the earth below to thrones above.

As flakes of steel to the magnet fly,

And mists ascend to the sun on high,

So we are drawn by the cords of love

From the earth below to thrones above.

O lift me up from my bed of clay,To dwell with Thee in the realms of day.If 'tis Thy will I should tarry still,Prepare me, Lord, for Thy Holy Hill.

O lift me up from my bed of clay,

To dwell with Thee in the realms of day.

If 'tis Thy will I should tarry still,

Prepare me, Lord, for Thy Holy Hill.

THE MOSSES

Exquisite mosses, so lovely and green,Covering the rocks with emerald sheen;Hiding the scars which convulsions have made;Blessing the mound where our angel was laid;Forming a carpet on which we may tread;Clothing with beauty the rotten and dead;Sheathing from storm-blasts the young forest tree—Beautiful mosses, examples for me.Trod under foot by all kinds of men;Gracing the mountain or hid in the fen;Never adorning the brow of the fair;Seldom deemed worthy some corner to shareIn the bouquets that are cast in the wayPrincely feet tread on reception's proud day;The glory of roses do not attain;Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.Answer the end by your Maker designed.Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.Those will most prize you who knew you the best.Cover me o'er when I lie down to rest;Cover, likewise, in the marble my name,Hiding forever that index of shame;But tell to the world, "as life he passed through,He covered some scars and aimed to be true."

Exquisite mosses, so lovely and green,

Covering the rocks with emerald sheen;

Hiding the scars which convulsions have made;

Blessing the mound where our angel was laid;

Forming a carpet on which we may tread;

Clothing with beauty the rotten and dead;

Sheathing from storm-blasts the young forest tree—

Beautiful mosses, examples for me.

Trod under foot by all kinds of men;Gracing the mountain or hid in the fen;Never adorning the brow of the fair;Seldom deemed worthy some corner to shareIn the bouquets that are cast in the wayPrincely feet tread on reception's proud day;The glory of roses do not attain;Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.

Trod under foot by all kinds of men;

Gracing the mountain or hid in the fen;

Never adorning the brow of the fair;

Seldom deemed worthy some corner to share

In the bouquets that are cast in the way

Princely feet tread on reception's proud day;

The glory of roses do not attain;

Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.

Answer the end by your Maker designed.Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.Those will most prize you who knew you the best.Cover me o'er when I lie down to rest;Cover, likewise, in the marble my name,Hiding forever that index of shame;But tell to the world, "as life he passed through,He covered some scars and aimed to be true."

Answer the end by your Maker designed.

Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.

Those will most prize you who knew you the best.

Cover me o'er when I lie down to rest;

Cover, likewise, in the marble my name,

Hiding forever that index of shame;

But tell to the world, "as life he passed through,

He covered some scars and aimed to be true."

THE GRANDEST THEME

The grandest theme for tongue, or pen,Is not the heavens supernal;Nor mighty deeds of God-like men,Though they may be eternal;Nor Alpine heights, nor lovely vale,With brooks and grazing cattle;Nor awful roar of rushing gale,Beyond the noise of battle;Nor clashing arms, nor trembling earth;Nor heaving waves of ocean;Nor record of a nation's birth;Nor heaven's cloud-cars in motion.The grandest theme, for tongue, or pen,Above all else in glory;Which suits alike, all sinful men,Is the sweet Gospel story,Which tells me of my Saviour's loveAnd infinite compassion,Which brought Him from His throne aboveTo Calvary's cross and passion.And now the holy angels sing,With blood-washed souls in glory,A song which makes heaven's arches ringAbout this Gospel story.

The grandest theme for tongue, or pen,Is not the heavens supernal;Nor mighty deeds of God-like men,Though they may be eternal;

The grandest theme for tongue, or pen,

Is not the heavens supernal;

Nor mighty deeds of God-like men,

Though they may be eternal;

Nor Alpine heights, nor lovely vale,With brooks and grazing cattle;Nor awful roar of rushing gale,Beyond the noise of battle;

Nor Alpine heights, nor lovely vale,

With brooks and grazing cattle;

Nor awful roar of rushing gale,

Beyond the noise of battle;

Nor clashing arms, nor trembling earth;Nor heaving waves of ocean;Nor record of a nation's birth;Nor heaven's cloud-cars in motion.

Nor clashing arms, nor trembling earth;

Nor heaving waves of ocean;

Nor record of a nation's birth;

Nor heaven's cloud-cars in motion.

The grandest theme, for tongue, or pen,Above all else in glory;Which suits alike, all sinful men,Is the sweet Gospel story,

The grandest theme, for tongue, or pen,

Above all else in glory;

Which suits alike, all sinful men,

Is the sweet Gospel story,

Which tells me of my Saviour's loveAnd infinite compassion,Which brought Him from His throne aboveTo Calvary's cross and passion.

Which tells me of my Saviour's love

And infinite compassion,

Which brought Him from His throne above

To Calvary's cross and passion.

And now the holy angels sing,With blood-washed souls in glory,A song which makes heaven's arches ringAbout this Gospel story.

And now the holy angels sing,

With blood-washed souls in glory,

A song which makes heaven's arches ring

About this Gospel story.

SEPTEMBER

The hills are clad in purple and in gold,The ripened maize is gathered in the shock,The frost has kissed the nuts, their shells unfold,And fallen leaves are floating on the lock.The flowers their many-colored petals drop;But seed-pods full and ripe they leave behind,A prophecy of more abundant crop,And proof that nature in decay is kind.But still the dahlia blooms, and pansies, too;The golden-rod still rears its yellow crest.The sumach bobs are now of crimson hue,The luscious grape has donned its purple vest.The forest trees, so long arrayed in green,Wear now a robe like Joseph's coat of old,Brighter than that on eastern satrap seen,Tho' clad was he in purple and fine gold.The woodbine twined about the giant oakBlends with its purple-red a brighter shade.Co-mingled thus our praises they evoke,Tho' we know well this glory soon must fade.The fields are green with grass and new-sown wheat,Tho' here and there a brown stalk may appear,A dying rag-weed, ripened by the heat,To reproduce an hundred-fold next year.The melon yellows in the kindly sun,The peach puts on its blush like virtuous maid,The gourd its snow-white band like brow of nun,While flower and gum the air with fragrance lade.The swallows gather on the fence and wire,Chatter a loud farewell to barn and nest,And then on wings which never seem to tireThey fly away in southern bowers to rest.The thrush no longer sings its tender songIn osage thicket, or in locust hedge,But pipes its notes the negro boys among,On cotton plant, or Alabama sedge.The blackbird lingers by the flowing brook,Or perches proudly on the shock of corn;The lark still hovers round its meadow nook,And soars and sings as on a vernal morn.The robin, too, is loth to quit the lawnAnd visits yet his nest beneath the eaves;I hear his cheering notes at early dawn—To part with these old friends my spirit grieves.But soon these feathered songsters must away,Ere winter's frosts shall chill them thro' and thro';In other lands they find the summer day,The opening flower, and the refreshing dew.The air, tho' chill, is not surcharged with death,But health-inspiring germs it bears along.We drink in vigor with our every breath,And life appears like spring, each day a song.God spreads a carpet for our weary feet,Richer than those which grace the palace floor;The rainbow hues are in it all complete,And tints, I think, of full a thousand more.God with His hands of wind for woof collectsThe forest leaves, and weaves them with the grass,With nap of richest hues the fabric decks,And spreads it out for feet of every class.A haze at times may veil the smiling sky,The sun his golden locks exchange for gray;But soon a western blast comes sweeping by—The mists depart, and glory crowns the day.The lowing cattle roam from field to field;No more content in narrow bounds to stay;The ozone in the autumn air has healedTheir every ill, and lo, the dull beasts play.This season has its lesson each should learn—The fading leaf reminds us of our doom;But whether like the stately tree, or fern,In hope we travel onward to the tomb.We look not for the Winter, but the Spring,When we shall glow in beauty from the skies;Each now his tribute sheaf of praise should bring,Then hear his Lord's "Well done!" O glorious prize.

The hills are clad in purple and in gold,The ripened maize is gathered in the shock,The frost has kissed the nuts, their shells unfold,And fallen leaves are floating on the lock.

The hills are clad in purple and in gold,

The ripened maize is gathered in the shock,

The frost has kissed the nuts, their shells unfold,

And fallen leaves are floating on the lock.

The flowers their many-colored petals drop;But seed-pods full and ripe they leave behind,A prophecy of more abundant crop,And proof that nature in decay is kind.

The flowers their many-colored petals drop;

But seed-pods full and ripe they leave behind,

A prophecy of more abundant crop,

And proof that nature in decay is kind.

But still the dahlia blooms, and pansies, too;The golden-rod still rears its yellow crest.The sumach bobs are now of crimson hue,The luscious grape has donned its purple vest.

But still the dahlia blooms, and pansies, too;

The golden-rod still rears its yellow crest.

The sumach bobs are now of crimson hue,

The luscious grape has donned its purple vest.

The forest trees, so long arrayed in green,Wear now a robe like Joseph's coat of old,Brighter than that on eastern satrap seen,Tho' clad was he in purple and fine gold.

The forest trees, so long arrayed in green,

Wear now a robe like Joseph's coat of old,

Brighter than that on eastern satrap seen,

Tho' clad was he in purple and fine gold.

The woodbine twined about the giant oakBlends with its purple-red a brighter shade.Co-mingled thus our praises they evoke,Tho' we know well this glory soon must fade.

The woodbine twined about the giant oak

Blends with its purple-red a brighter shade.

Co-mingled thus our praises they evoke,

Tho' we know well this glory soon must fade.

The fields are green with grass and new-sown wheat,Tho' here and there a brown stalk may appear,A dying rag-weed, ripened by the heat,To reproduce an hundred-fold next year.

The fields are green with grass and new-sown wheat,

Tho' here and there a brown stalk may appear,

A dying rag-weed, ripened by the heat,

To reproduce an hundred-fold next year.

The melon yellows in the kindly sun,The peach puts on its blush like virtuous maid,The gourd its snow-white band like brow of nun,While flower and gum the air with fragrance lade.

The melon yellows in the kindly sun,

The peach puts on its blush like virtuous maid,

The gourd its snow-white band like brow of nun,

While flower and gum the air with fragrance lade.

The swallows gather on the fence and wire,Chatter a loud farewell to barn and nest,And then on wings which never seem to tireThey fly away in southern bowers to rest.

The swallows gather on the fence and wire,

Chatter a loud farewell to barn and nest,

And then on wings which never seem to tire

They fly away in southern bowers to rest.

The thrush no longer sings its tender songIn osage thicket, or in locust hedge,But pipes its notes the negro boys among,On cotton plant, or Alabama sedge.

The thrush no longer sings its tender song

In osage thicket, or in locust hedge,

But pipes its notes the negro boys among,

On cotton plant, or Alabama sedge.

The blackbird lingers by the flowing brook,Or perches proudly on the shock of corn;The lark still hovers round its meadow nook,And soars and sings as on a vernal morn.

The blackbird lingers by the flowing brook,

Or perches proudly on the shock of corn;

The lark still hovers round its meadow nook,

And soars and sings as on a vernal morn.

The robin, too, is loth to quit the lawnAnd visits yet his nest beneath the eaves;I hear his cheering notes at early dawn—To part with these old friends my spirit grieves.

The robin, too, is loth to quit the lawn

And visits yet his nest beneath the eaves;

I hear his cheering notes at early dawn—

To part with these old friends my spirit grieves.

But soon these feathered songsters must away,Ere winter's frosts shall chill them thro' and thro';In other lands they find the summer day,The opening flower, and the refreshing dew.

But soon these feathered songsters must away,

Ere winter's frosts shall chill them thro' and thro';

In other lands they find the summer day,

The opening flower, and the refreshing dew.

The air, tho' chill, is not surcharged with death,But health-inspiring germs it bears along.We drink in vigor with our every breath,And life appears like spring, each day a song.

The air, tho' chill, is not surcharged with death,

But health-inspiring germs it bears along.

We drink in vigor with our every breath,

And life appears like spring, each day a song.

God spreads a carpet for our weary feet,Richer than those which grace the palace floor;The rainbow hues are in it all complete,And tints, I think, of full a thousand more.

God spreads a carpet for our weary feet,

Richer than those which grace the palace floor;

The rainbow hues are in it all complete,

And tints, I think, of full a thousand more.

God with His hands of wind for woof collectsThe forest leaves, and weaves them with the grass,With nap of richest hues the fabric decks,And spreads it out for feet of every class.

God with His hands of wind for woof collects

The forest leaves, and weaves them with the grass,

With nap of richest hues the fabric decks,

And spreads it out for feet of every class.

A haze at times may veil the smiling sky,The sun his golden locks exchange for gray;But soon a western blast comes sweeping by—The mists depart, and glory crowns the day.

A haze at times may veil the smiling sky,

The sun his golden locks exchange for gray;

But soon a western blast comes sweeping by—

The mists depart, and glory crowns the day.

The lowing cattle roam from field to field;No more content in narrow bounds to stay;The ozone in the autumn air has healedTheir every ill, and lo, the dull beasts play.

The lowing cattle roam from field to field;

No more content in narrow bounds to stay;

The ozone in the autumn air has healed

Their every ill, and lo, the dull beasts play.

This season has its lesson each should learn—The fading leaf reminds us of our doom;But whether like the stately tree, or fern,In hope we travel onward to the tomb.

This season has its lesson each should learn—

The fading leaf reminds us of our doom;

But whether like the stately tree, or fern,

In hope we travel onward to the tomb.

We look not for the Winter, but the Spring,When we shall glow in beauty from the skies;Each now his tribute sheaf of praise should bring,Then hear his Lord's "Well done!" O glorious prize.

We look not for the Winter, but the Spring,

When we shall glow in beauty from the skies;

Each now his tribute sheaf of praise should bring,

Then hear his Lord's "Well done!" O glorious prize.

THE FLOWERS

Some flowers are brighter far in hueThan others by their side,But God baptizes all with dew,And spreads His mantle wideTo cover all for half the day,From rays of scorching sun,Though some may shine in colors gay,And some in sober dun.And I account each one my friend,The stately and the plain.Diverse their hue, but not their end;For me none bloom in vain;For all proclaim their Maker's skill,And point to bloom above;In God's great plan their part fulfil,And whisper "God islove."The fragrance lades the summer airWith health-inspiring germs,Ascend on high as nature's prayer,Suggesting well the termsOf God-accepted prayer from man,Odors of grateful praise;For though in penitence began,It ends in joyful lays.

Some flowers are brighter far in hue

Than others by their side,

But God baptizes all with dew,

And spreads His mantle wide

To cover all for half the day,

From rays of scorching sun,

Though some may shine in colors gay,

And some in sober dun.

And I account each one my friend,The stately and the plain.Diverse their hue, but not their end;For me none bloom in vain;For all proclaim their Maker's skill,And point to bloom above;In God's great plan their part fulfil,And whisper "God islove."

And I account each one my friend,

The stately and the plain.

Diverse their hue, but not their end;

For me none bloom in vain;

For all proclaim their Maker's skill,

And point to bloom above;

In God's great plan their part fulfil,

And whisper "God islove."

The fragrance lades the summer airWith health-inspiring germs,Ascend on high as nature's prayer,Suggesting well the termsOf God-accepted prayer from man,Odors of grateful praise;For though in penitence began,It ends in joyful lays.

The fragrance lades the summer air

With health-inspiring germs,

Ascend on high as nature's prayer,

Suggesting well the terms

Of God-accepted prayer from man,

Odors of grateful praise;

For though in penitence began,

It ends in joyful lays.

THE BUD

The winter through I lay asleep,Unconscious and unseen;The howling winds disturbed me not,Nor felt the frost tho' keen.Thick blankets covered me about,And kept me dry and warm,And weeks and months passed quickly byAnd I received no harm.At last I felt uneasy inMy cosy little cot,Tho' it was lined with softest down.The cause I knew not what.I struggled hard to free myself,But struggled all in vain;My blankets felt the strain, 'tis true,And opened to the rain,But just enough for me to seeThe frowning sky o'erhead;I closed my eyes, in sad affright,And wished that I was dead.But soon a change came o'er my frame,Much like electric shock;Oh, how I longed for some rare keyWith which I might unlockMy prison door, for I now feltThe breath of coming Spring,And heard, likewise, her merry laugh,Like silver bells its ring.My lips were close to blanket rent,I ceased my useless strife,And she bent over me in love,And kissed me into life.

The winter through I lay asleep,

Unconscious and unseen;

The howling winds disturbed me not,

Nor felt the frost tho' keen.

Thick blankets covered me about,

And kept me dry and warm,

And weeks and months passed quickly by

And I received no harm.

At last I felt uneasy in

My cosy little cot,

Tho' it was lined with softest down.

The cause I knew not what.

I struggled hard to free myself,

But struggled all in vain;

My blankets felt the strain, 'tis true,

And opened to the rain,

But just enough for me to see

The frowning sky o'erhead;

I closed my eyes, in sad affright,

And wished that I was dead.

But soon a change came o'er my frame,Much like electric shock;Oh, how I longed for some rare keyWith which I might unlockMy prison door, for I now feltThe breath of coming Spring,And heard, likewise, her merry laugh,Like silver bells its ring.My lips were close to blanket rent,I ceased my useless strife,And she bent over me in love,And kissed me into life.

But soon a change came o'er my frame,

Much like electric shock;

Oh, how I longed for some rare key

With which I might unlock

My prison door, for I now felt

The breath of coming Spring,

And heard, likewise, her merry laugh,

Like silver bells its ring.

My lips were close to blanket rent,

I ceased my useless strife,

And she bent over me in love,

And kissed me into life.

BEAUTIFUL SKY

O beautiful sky of every hue;Golden and purple, crimson and blue,With some sombre lines thrown in between,And some bright spots of emerald green.The earth is wed to the sun it seems,And to grace the robe of his royal brideNo pains are spared, nor a tint untried,And thus complete it with glory gleams.He wields his brush as an artist now;Lo beauty glows on the earth's fair brow!And the lovely flowers at once ariseTo match the glow of the radiant skies,The sparkling dewdrops at morn are seen,Close nestling among the petals rare,Like crystal studs in a maiden's hair,Brighter then gems which adorn a queen.

O beautiful sky of every hue;

Golden and purple, crimson and blue,

With some sombre lines thrown in between,

And some bright spots of emerald green.

The earth is wed to the sun it seems,

And to grace the robe of his royal bride

No pains are spared, nor a tint untried,

And thus complete it with glory gleams.

He wields his brush as an artist now;Lo beauty glows on the earth's fair brow!And the lovely flowers at once ariseTo match the glow of the radiant skies,The sparkling dewdrops at morn are seen,Close nestling among the petals rare,Like crystal studs in a maiden's hair,Brighter then gems which adorn a queen.

He wields his brush as an artist now;

Lo beauty glows on the earth's fair brow!

And the lovely flowers at once arise

To match the glow of the radiant skies,

The sparkling dewdrops at morn are seen,

Close nestling among the petals rare,

Like crystal studs in a maiden's hair,

Brighter then gems which adorn a queen.

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES

Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere,In the field of clover, on the hillside fair,And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care.Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes,Drawing off the nurture from the grain they prize,And their great luxuriance sore their patience tries.But the dews of heaven give them richest bloom,And their smiling beauty drives away our gloom;For such little beauties surely there is room.In this world of sorrow flowers ne'er bloom in vain,Though they in their blooming sap the golden grain,And drink in the moisture of the latter rain;For our Heavenly Father deemed it wise and goodTo diffuse this beauty with the grain for food.And this wise arrangement He has never rued.Teaching us this lesson we are slow to learn;Man lives not for eating, nor for duties stern,But to serve God's pleasure, then to Him return.Room for joy is given and for purest bliss,And we may all find them in a world like this,If our aims are sordid all this gold we miss;But if we are faithful and to God inclined,Seeing Him in nature, and of heavenly mind,Aiming to be like Him, and by grace refined,We shall live forever where there is no gloom;Though the path to glory leadeth through the tomb;But a moment's darkness—flowers that ever bloom.

Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere,In the field of clover, on the hillside fair,And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care.

Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere,

In the field of clover, on the hillside fair,

And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care.

Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes,Drawing off the nurture from the grain they prize,And their great luxuriance sore their patience tries.

Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes,

Drawing off the nurture from the grain they prize,

And their great luxuriance sore their patience tries.

But the dews of heaven give them richest bloom,And their smiling beauty drives away our gloom;For such little beauties surely there is room.

But the dews of heaven give them richest bloom,

And their smiling beauty drives away our gloom;

For such little beauties surely there is room.

In this world of sorrow flowers ne'er bloom in vain,Though they in their blooming sap the golden grain,And drink in the moisture of the latter rain;

In this world of sorrow flowers ne'er bloom in vain,

Though they in their blooming sap the golden grain,

And drink in the moisture of the latter rain;

For our Heavenly Father deemed it wise and goodTo diffuse this beauty with the grain for food.And this wise arrangement He has never rued.

For our Heavenly Father deemed it wise and good

To diffuse this beauty with the grain for food.

And this wise arrangement He has never rued.

Teaching us this lesson we are slow to learn;Man lives not for eating, nor for duties stern,But to serve God's pleasure, then to Him return.

Teaching us this lesson we are slow to learn;

Man lives not for eating, nor for duties stern,

But to serve God's pleasure, then to Him return.

Room for joy is given and for purest bliss,And we may all find them in a world like this,If our aims are sordid all this gold we miss;

Room for joy is given and for purest bliss,

And we may all find them in a world like this,

If our aims are sordid all this gold we miss;

But if we are faithful and to God inclined,Seeing Him in nature, and of heavenly mind,Aiming to be like Him, and by grace refined,

But if we are faithful and to God inclined,

Seeing Him in nature, and of heavenly mind,

Aiming to be like Him, and by grace refined,

We shall live forever where there is no gloom;Though the path to glory leadeth through the tomb;But a moment's darkness—flowers that ever bloom.

We shall live forever where there is no gloom;

Though the path to glory leadeth through the tomb;

But a moment's darkness—flowers that ever bloom.

THE MOSS ROSE

'Tis said, long since an angel came to earth,Sent by his Lord, to help with loving handA suffering one, afflicted from his birth.The limb was healed as by divine command,But He felt weak, for strength from Him had gone,A sacrifice which love could not withhold;So he sought shelter till the morning dawn,But none received—they prized not love, but gold.Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie,And rested well until the break of day,When much refreshed he sought his home on high,But ere he started on his upward way,He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice,"What man refused thou hast afforded me.What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice;The God of love and power will grant it thee!""I ask no brighter hue," the rose replied,"Both old and young smile on me as they pass,My buds adorn the bosom of the bride,And hide among the locks of lovely lass;With fragrance, too, I own myself content,For naught on earth surpasses me in this;But if, indeed, my Maker thee has sentI ask but this, to consummate my bliss:"I feel the cold, both in my bark and bud,When Autumn winds sweep o'er the western hill,And frozen dewdrops oft my branches stud,Which mar my beauty and my juices chill.Give me an extra garb, 'tis all I lack.""Thou hast thy wish, I shelter found in thee,I take delight in kind to pay thee back.Let softest moss thy extra garment be."Then touched the angel bark, and bud, and leaf,And soft green moss suffused it o'er and o'er.He lingered near it for a moment brief,Plucked off a bud, which he to heaven bore;And now the rose smiles at the raging storm,Defies the wind and nipping frost as well;Its fragrance still retains, and lovely form,While nestling budlets this old story tell.

'Tis said, long since an angel came to earth,

Sent by his Lord, to help with loving hand

A suffering one, afflicted from his birth.

The limb was healed as by divine command,

But He felt weak, for strength from Him had gone,

A sacrifice which love could not withhold;

So he sought shelter till the morning dawn,

But none received—they prized not love, but gold.

Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie,And rested well until the break of day,When much refreshed he sought his home on high,But ere he started on his upward way,He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice,"What man refused thou hast afforded me.What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice;The God of love and power will grant it thee!"

Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie,

And rested well until the break of day,

When much refreshed he sought his home on high,

But ere he started on his upward way,

He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice,

"What man refused thou hast afforded me.

What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice;

The God of love and power will grant it thee!"

"I ask no brighter hue," the rose replied,"Both old and young smile on me as they pass,My buds adorn the bosom of the bride,And hide among the locks of lovely lass;With fragrance, too, I own myself content,For naught on earth surpasses me in this;But if, indeed, my Maker thee has sentI ask but this, to consummate my bliss:

"I ask no brighter hue," the rose replied,

"Both old and young smile on me as they pass,

My buds adorn the bosom of the bride,

And hide among the locks of lovely lass;

With fragrance, too, I own myself content,

For naught on earth surpasses me in this;

But if, indeed, my Maker thee has sent

I ask but this, to consummate my bliss:

"I feel the cold, both in my bark and bud,When Autumn winds sweep o'er the western hill,And frozen dewdrops oft my branches stud,Which mar my beauty and my juices chill.Give me an extra garb, 'tis all I lack.""Thou hast thy wish, I shelter found in thee,I take delight in kind to pay thee back.Let softest moss thy extra garment be."

"I feel the cold, both in my bark and bud,

When Autumn winds sweep o'er the western hill,

And frozen dewdrops oft my branches stud,

Which mar my beauty and my juices chill.

Give me an extra garb, 'tis all I lack."

"Thou hast thy wish, I shelter found in thee,

I take delight in kind to pay thee back.

Let softest moss thy extra garment be."

Then touched the angel bark, and bud, and leaf,And soft green moss suffused it o'er and o'er.He lingered near it for a moment brief,Plucked off a bud, which he to heaven bore;And now the rose smiles at the raging storm,Defies the wind and nipping frost as well;Its fragrance still retains, and lovely form,While nestling budlets this old story tell.

Then touched the angel bark, and bud, and leaf,

And soft green moss suffused it o'er and o'er.

He lingered near it for a moment brief,

Plucked off a bud, which he to heaven bore;

And now the rose smiles at the raging storm,

Defies the wind and nipping frost as well;

Its fragrance still retains, and lovely form,

While nestling budlets this old story tell.

GOD'S CARE

I fear not, my Father, the tempest's loud roar,Nor dread the huge breakers on the rock-girded shore;Thy presence is with me, my refuge is near,With help all-sufficient; oh, why should I fear?Tho' billows of sorrow should roll o'er my head,My sun sink in darkness, and joys be all dead,Thy presence will cheer me, and spectres will flee,For who can molest me while trusting in thee?

I fear not, my Father, the tempest's loud roar,

Nor dread the huge breakers on the rock-girded shore;

Thy presence is with me, my refuge is near,

With help all-sufficient; oh, why should I fear?

Tho' billows of sorrow should roll o'er my head,

My sun sink in darkness, and joys be all dead,

Thy presence will cheer me, and spectres will flee,

For who can molest me while trusting in thee?

MY LOT

My lot on earth is not all mirth,Nor is it constant gloom;Some joys decay and fall away,But leave much lasting bloom.My wishes are not always met,And cares press hard at times;Yet joyous strains ne'er sink to fret,Tho' dollars shrink to dimes.My earthly lot boasts not a cot,No foot of land I own,No bank account nor phosphate mount,Nor credit for a loan;But I can read my title clearTo mansion, robe, and crown;I couple these with lot down here,And sing, tho' foes may frown.

My lot on earth is not all mirth,

Nor is it constant gloom;

Some joys decay and fall away,

But leave much lasting bloom.

My wishes are not always met,

And cares press hard at times;

Yet joyous strains ne'er sink to fret,

Tho' dollars shrink to dimes.

My earthly lot boasts not a cot,No foot of land I own,No bank account nor phosphate mount,Nor credit for a loan;But I can read my title clearTo mansion, robe, and crown;I couple these with lot down here,And sing, tho' foes may frown.

My earthly lot boasts not a cot,

No foot of land I own,

No bank account nor phosphate mount,

Nor credit for a loan;

But I can read my title clear

To mansion, robe, and crown;

I couple these with lot down here,

And sing, tho' foes may frown.

GOD'S FOOT ON THE CRADLE

The air is chill with the frost of doubt,And men's hearts are sadly failing;They do not hear the great Victor's shout;But indulge in bitter wailing."The old gives place to the new," they say,"And fond hopes are daily buried;Our cherished views are oft borne away,As if by the tempest hurried."The world is stirred to its very heart,And the Church shares the commotion;With systems old, we are loathe to part,To sail on an unknown ocean.The world now heaves like the great sea's breast,And rocks like an infant's cradle;And looking up, by sore grief oppressed,We find the sky draped in sable."I will not fear, though the earth should rock,If God's foot be on the cradle;But rest in peace midst the tempest's shock,Rejoicing that God is ableTo still the world with His mighty hand,If His timid child should waken;Or, if it rock, He will by me stand;And my heart shall not be shaken.

The air is chill with the frost of doubt,

And men's hearts are sadly failing;

They do not hear the great Victor's shout;

But indulge in bitter wailing.

"The old gives place to the new," they say,

"And fond hopes are daily buried;

Our cherished views are oft borne away,

As if by the tempest hurried.

"The world is stirred to its very heart,And the Church shares the commotion;With systems old, we are loathe to part,To sail on an unknown ocean.The world now heaves like the great sea's breast,And rocks like an infant's cradle;And looking up, by sore grief oppressed,We find the sky draped in sable."

"The world is stirred to its very heart,

And the Church shares the commotion;

With systems old, we are loathe to part,

To sail on an unknown ocean.

The world now heaves like the great sea's breast,

And rocks like an infant's cradle;

And looking up, by sore grief oppressed,

We find the sky draped in sable."

I will not fear, though the earth should rock,If God's foot be on the cradle;But rest in peace midst the tempest's shock,Rejoicing that God is ableTo still the world with His mighty hand,If His timid child should waken;Or, if it rock, He will by me stand;And my heart shall not be shaken.

I will not fear, though the earth should rock,

If God's foot be on the cradle;

But rest in peace midst the tempest's shock,

Rejoicing that God is able

To still the world with His mighty hand,

If His timid child should waken;

Or, if it rock, He will by me stand;

And my heart shall not be shaken.

GOD'S GIFTS TO BE ENJOYED

From God's all bounteous hand descendRare gifts in rich effusion,And with those gifts no poisons blend,Nor is their end delusion;So do not spurn if He bestowThose forms arrayed in beauty;If thus His gifts with radiance glow,Enjoyment is a duty.Come, deck your brows with leaves and flowers,Ye fair ones, nothing fearing;Adorn your homes and train your bowersNor deem this sin's appearing;We do not fit ourselves for blissBy scorning all adorning;We may enjoy the good of thisAnd share heaven's brighter morning.A garment plain may have its stain,And saintly brows lack sweetness;But he who would heaven's glory gainMust here acquire a meetness;So eat and drink, rejoice and sing,But don't forget the ending;The bells of earth more sweetly ringIf we are heavenward tending.The world we use, but not abuse,If we enjoy its beauty;And they who all its joys refuseMiss privilege and duty.Then prize earth's joys, but prize much moreThe bloom beyond the river;God's gifts enjoy, but e'er adoreThe ever blessed Giver.

From God's all bounteous hand descend

Rare gifts in rich effusion,

And with those gifts no poisons blend,

Nor is their end delusion;

So do not spurn if He bestow

Those forms arrayed in beauty;

If thus His gifts with radiance glow,

Enjoyment is a duty.

Come, deck your brows with leaves and flowers,Ye fair ones, nothing fearing;Adorn your homes and train your bowersNor deem this sin's appearing;We do not fit ourselves for blissBy scorning all adorning;We may enjoy the good of thisAnd share heaven's brighter morning.

Come, deck your brows with leaves and flowers,

Ye fair ones, nothing fearing;

Adorn your homes and train your bowers

Nor deem this sin's appearing;

We do not fit ourselves for bliss

By scorning all adorning;

We may enjoy the good of this

And share heaven's brighter morning.

A garment plain may have its stain,And saintly brows lack sweetness;But he who would heaven's glory gainMust here acquire a meetness;So eat and drink, rejoice and sing,But don't forget the ending;The bells of earth more sweetly ringIf we are heavenward tending.

A garment plain may have its stain,

And saintly brows lack sweetness;

But he who would heaven's glory gain

Must here acquire a meetness;

So eat and drink, rejoice and sing,

But don't forget the ending;

The bells of earth more sweetly ring

If we are heavenward tending.

The world we use, but not abuse,If we enjoy its beauty;And they who all its joys refuseMiss privilege and duty.Then prize earth's joys, but prize much moreThe bloom beyond the river;God's gifts enjoy, but e'er adoreThe ever blessed Giver.

The world we use, but not abuse,

If we enjoy its beauty;

And they who all its joys refuse

Miss privilege and duty.

Then prize earth's joys, but prize much more

The bloom beyond the river;

God's gifts enjoy, but e'er adore

The ever blessed Giver.

THE HIGHEST GOAL

The highest goal is not success,If that be made the aim;But faithfulness, tho' counted less,Is what God promises to bless:These goals are not the same.And if I am to do my bestIn every line of life,My effort will be surely blest,And I will find in toil sweet rest,Tho' in a world of strife.And when before the throne I standTo answer for the useOf gifts received from God's own hand,He will not then, in wrath, demandFrom me some strong excuse,To show why I had not attainedThe goal of grand success,Such as some noted men have gained,For if my work is not sin-stainedGod will my failures bless.And I will hear Him say, "My son,A throne thou hast attained;Without applause thy race was run,'Midst failures oft thy work was done,Life's highest goal is gained."

The highest goal is not success,If that be made the aim;But faithfulness, tho' counted less,Is what God promises to bless:These goals are not the same.

The highest goal is not success,

If that be made the aim;

But faithfulness, tho' counted less,

Is what God promises to bless:

These goals are not the same.

And if I am to do my bestIn every line of life,My effort will be surely blest,And I will find in toil sweet rest,Tho' in a world of strife.

And if I am to do my best

In every line of life,

My effort will be surely blest,

And I will find in toil sweet rest,

Tho' in a world of strife.

And when before the throne I standTo answer for the useOf gifts received from God's own hand,He will not then, in wrath, demandFrom me some strong excuse,

And when before the throne I stand

To answer for the use

Of gifts received from God's own hand,

He will not then, in wrath, demand

From me some strong excuse,

To show why I had not attainedThe goal of grand success,Such as some noted men have gained,For if my work is not sin-stainedGod will my failures bless.

To show why I had not attained

The goal of grand success,

Such as some noted men have gained,

For if my work is not sin-stained

God will my failures bless.

And I will hear Him say, "My son,A throne thou hast attained;Without applause thy race was run,'Midst failures oft thy work was done,Life's highest goal is gained."

And I will hear Him say, "My son,

A throne thou hast attained;

Without applause thy race was run,

'Midst failures oft thy work was done,

Life's highest goal is gained."

JOY IN THE MORNING

The night of affliction, with its long hours of sadness,Will soon pass away to be remembered no more;And the weeping will end in a morning of gladness;For no sorrow is known on the evergreen shore.In this world we shall have tribulation and sorrow;'Tis enough for the subject to be as his king;But if we are faithful, joy will come with the morrow,And with the blood-washed a new song shall we sing.

The night of affliction, with its long hours of sadness,Will soon pass away to be remembered no more;And the weeping will end in a morning of gladness;For no sorrow is known on the evergreen shore.

The night of affliction, with its long hours of sadness,

Will soon pass away to be remembered no more;

And the weeping will end in a morning of gladness;

For no sorrow is known on the evergreen shore.

In this world we shall have tribulation and sorrow;'Tis enough for the subject to be as his king;But if we are faithful, joy will come with the morrow,And with the blood-washed a new song shall we sing.

In this world we shall have tribulation and sorrow;

'Tis enough for the subject to be as his king;

But if we are faithful, joy will come with the morrow,

And with the blood-washed a new song shall we sing.

"HE SHALL DWELL ON HIGH"

(Isaiah 33:16)

Tossed about in strange commotionLike the surface of the oceanWhen the wind, its waters lashing,Sends great billows, roaring, dashingO'er the breakers, which for agesHave withstood the storms it wages,See those clouds, so like this ocean,How they whirl in strange commotion.Dust and vapor now are meeting,Each the other wildly greeting;As one hand another grasping,So are these each other clasping;Now they whirl in form fantasticAnd great trees with boughs elasticWith loud moans are lowly bending,Leaves and fruit to earth descending.Eyes 'most blinded, nerves all shaken,By this fearful storm o'ertaken,As it swept on toward the sunrise;Yet, I chanced to lift my dim eyesUpward, when, O sight entrancing,I beheld, to west advancing,Other clouds, in higher current,Unlike earth's, so wild and errant.Far above the wild commotion,Like great ships on peaceful ocean,Floating westward, grand and steady,Were those clouds, as if made ready,As great cars, with grand pavilions,To convey the ransomed millionsFrom this earth where storms are ragingTo that land of charms engaging.Life on earth is a probation;Storms fit well in this relation;Yet, above, are peaceful regions,Where ne'er come hell's dreaded legions.Looking toward the things eternal,We may rise to realms supernal,Where earth's dust will not defile usNor the cunning foe beguile us.To this higher plain, O lift me,Gracious Lord! ere Satan sift me,Far above this noisy Babel;Far above earth's clouds, all sable;Up so far no darts can reach me,Where the Holy Ghost will teach me;And, in perfect peace abiding,I will sing while heavenward riding!

Tossed about in strange commotion

Like the surface of the ocean

When the wind, its waters lashing,

Sends great billows, roaring, dashing

O'er the breakers, which for ages

Have withstood the storms it wages,

See those clouds, so like this ocean,

How they whirl in strange commotion.

Dust and vapor now are meeting,Each the other wildly greeting;As one hand another grasping,So are these each other clasping;Now they whirl in form fantasticAnd great trees with boughs elasticWith loud moans are lowly bending,Leaves and fruit to earth descending.

Dust and vapor now are meeting,

Each the other wildly greeting;

As one hand another grasping,

So are these each other clasping;

Now they whirl in form fantastic

And great trees with boughs elastic

With loud moans are lowly bending,

Leaves and fruit to earth descending.

Eyes 'most blinded, nerves all shaken,By this fearful storm o'ertaken,As it swept on toward the sunrise;Yet, I chanced to lift my dim eyesUpward, when, O sight entrancing,I beheld, to west advancing,Other clouds, in higher current,Unlike earth's, so wild and errant.

Eyes 'most blinded, nerves all shaken,

By this fearful storm o'ertaken,

As it swept on toward the sunrise;

Yet, I chanced to lift my dim eyes

Upward, when, O sight entrancing,

I beheld, to west advancing,

Other clouds, in higher current,

Unlike earth's, so wild and errant.

Far above the wild commotion,Like great ships on peaceful ocean,Floating westward, grand and steady,Were those clouds, as if made ready,As great cars, with grand pavilions,To convey the ransomed millionsFrom this earth where storms are ragingTo that land of charms engaging.

Far above the wild commotion,

Like great ships on peaceful ocean,

Floating westward, grand and steady,

Were those clouds, as if made ready,

As great cars, with grand pavilions,

To convey the ransomed millions

From this earth where storms are raging

To that land of charms engaging.

Life on earth is a probation;Storms fit well in this relation;Yet, above, are peaceful regions,Where ne'er come hell's dreaded legions.Looking toward the things eternal,We may rise to realms supernal,Where earth's dust will not defile usNor the cunning foe beguile us.

Life on earth is a probation;

Storms fit well in this relation;

Yet, above, are peaceful regions,

Where ne'er come hell's dreaded legions.

Looking toward the things eternal,

We may rise to realms supernal,

Where earth's dust will not defile us

Nor the cunning foe beguile us.

To this higher plain, O lift me,Gracious Lord! ere Satan sift me,Far above this noisy Babel;Far above earth's clouds, all sable;Up so far no darts can reach me,Where the Holy Ghost will teach me;And, in perfect peace abiding,I will sing while heavenward riding!

To this higher plain, O lift me,

Gracious Lord! ere Satan sift me,

Far above this noisy Babel;

Far above earth's clouds, all sable;

Up so far no darts can reach me,

Where the Holy Ghost will teach me;

And, in perfect peace abiding,

I will sing while heavenward riding!

BAG YOUR GAME

Two men, well versed in use of arms,Set out, 'tis said, in search of game.Each felt that hunting had its charms,Yet widely differed they in aim.Both felt their need of wholesome foodFor present use and winter's store;But one was of a careless mood—Than the day's sport he asked no more.No game he bagged from morn till night,Content to show his master skillIn hitting every bird at sight,And shooting down the deer at will.Grand sport he deemed it, day by day,As in the tangled forest brakeHe brought the bounding stag to bay,Or shot the wood-duck in the lake.As he each night to home returnedHe sang the pleasure of the chase;But had not yet the lesson learnedThat he was loser in the race.Yet, when sat in the winter's coldAnd game had fled to warmer clime,He had no stock to sell for gold,Nor food: and past his harvest time.The chase the other prized as well;But bagged his game as best he could,And thus had lots of pelts to sell—For self and wife the choicest food.In the pursuit of game a thrillOf keenest joy shot through his heart;But joy complete he knew not tillHe went his way joy to impart.While he with wife and children sharedThe roasted duck and venison,He felt he as a king had fared;And though of earth a denizen,Such food would give both strength and cheerTo meet lifes daily toil aright,And winter months he did not fear,His larder filled, and prospect bright.The search for Truth with pleasure thrills;To find it, we our end attain—Possessed, new joy the spirit fills,And to retain is highest gain.The pleasure of pursuit is lostIf truth itself is not secured.O buy the truth at any cost,And from your aim be not allured!

Two men, well versed in use of arms,

Set out, 'tis said, in search of game.

Each felt that hunting had its charms,

Yet widely differed they in aim.

Both felt their need of wholesome food

For present use and winter's store;

But one was of a careless mood—

Than the day's sport he asked no more.

No game he bagged from morn till night,Content to show his master skillIn hitting every bird at sight,And shooting down the deer at will.Grand sport he deemed it, day by day,As in the tangled forest brakeHe brought the bounding stag to bay,Or shot the wood-duck in the lake.

No game he bagged from morn till night,

Content to show his master skill

In hitting every bird at sight,

And shooting down the deer at will.

Grand sport he deemed it, day by day,

As in the tangled forest brake

He brought the bounding stag to bay,

Or shot the wood-duck in the lake.

As he each night to home returnedHe sang the pleasure of the chase;But had not yet the lesson learnedThat he was loser in the race.Yet, when sat in the winter's coldAnd game had fled to warmer clime,He had no stock to sell for gold,Nor food: and past his harvest time.

As he each night to home returned

He sang the pleasure of the chase;

But had not yet the lesson learned

That he was loser in the race.

Yet, when sat in the winter's cold

And game had fled to warmer clime,

He had no stock to sell for gold,

Nor food: and past his harvest time.

The chase the other prized as well;But bagged his game as best he could,And thus had lots of pelts to sell—For self and wife the choicest food.In the pursuit of game a thrillOf keenest joy shot through his heart;But joy complete he knew not tillHe went his way joy to impart.

The chase the other prized as well;

But bagged his game as best he could,

And thus had lots of pelts to sell—

For self and wife the choicest food.

In the pursuit of game a thrill

Of keenest joy shot through his heart;

But joy complete he knew not till

He went his way joy to impart.

While he with wife and children sharedThe roasted duck and venison,He felt he as a king had fared;And though of earth a denizen,Such food would give both strength and cheerTo meet lifes daily toil aright,And winter months he did not fear,His larder filled, and prospect bright.

While he with wife and children shared

The roasted duck and venison,

He felt he as a king had fared;

And though of earth a denizen,

Such food would give both strength and cheer

To meet lifes daily toil aright,

And winter months he did not fear,

His larder filled, and prospect bright.

The search for Truth with pleasure thrills;To find it, we our end attain—Possessed, new joy the spirit fills,And to retain is highest gain.The pleasure of pursuit is lostIf truth itself is not secured.O buy the truth at any cost,And from your aim be not allured!

The search for Truth with pleasure thrills;

To find it, we our end attain—

Possessed, new joy the spirit fills,

And to retain is highest gain.

The pleasure of pursuit is lost

If truth itself is not secured.

O buy the truth at any cost,

And from your aim be not allured!

OTHERS' BURDENS

My greatest grief is not my own;That often proves a blessing,For in my grief God's care is shown,And as I am not left alone,It never proves distressing;But when my brother's grief I bearThe weight then seems excessive;His heavy load I inly share,And loaded down by double care,My burden feels oppressive.Yet I remember Him who boreThe world's great load of sorrow,And know that He on me will pourThe needed grace to bear the more,To-day and on the morrow.

My greatest grief is not my own;That often proves a blessing,For in my grief God's care is shown,And as I am not left alone,It never proves distressing;

My greatest grief is not my own;

That often proves a blessing,

For in my grief God's care is shown,

And as I am not left alone,

It never proves distressing;

But when my brother's grief I bearThe weight then seems excessive;His heavy load I inly share,And loaded down by double care,My burden feels oppressive.

But when my brother's grief I bear

The weight then seems excessive;

His heavy load I inly share,

And loaded down by double care,

My burden feels oppressive.

Yet I remember Him who boreThe world's great load of sorrow,And know that He on me will pourThe needed grace to bear the more,To-day and on the morrow.

Yet I remember Him who bore

The world's great load of sorrow,

And know that He on me will pour

The needed grace to bear the more,

To-day and on the morrow.

MEMORY

Remembrance of the past will joy impartIf in that past the conscience was supreme;But if the soul be made an auction mart,And thoughts and deeds be sold for what you deemThe price of virtue, then the called-up pastWill be like hooks of steel to hold thee fast.Or like the stings those nettles left behindWhich I so fondly handled in my play;I deemed the friend who warned me true and kind,And in great haste I threw the weeds away,But soon the burning flesh reminded me'Twere safer far from all such weeds to flee.The cloud that flitted o'er the saintly browWhich now a crown of life so well adorns,When you by ways and means you know not now,Did what your soul with holy horror scorns,Will stay with you long as you live on earth,And be like gall to spoil your cup of mirth.The smiles of those we bless are lasting, too;We feel their cheering glow each cloudy day.As falls on wilted flower the healing dew,So they refresh, and chase our gloom away;We feel though weak we have not lived in vain,And know God smiles tho' we cannot explain.The footprints on the rock time wears away;The rock itself soon crumbles into dust;But memories of the past have come to stay,Nor flood, nor fire, nor the consuming rust,Can ever from the soul the past erase.Guard thou thy life, O man, with heavenly grace.

Remembrance of the past will joy impart

If in that past the conscience was supreme;

But if the soul be made an auction mart,

And thoughts and deeds be sold for what you deem

The price of virtue, then the called-up past

Will be like hooks of steel to hold thee fast.

Or like the stings those nettles left behindWhich I so fondly handled in my play;I deemed the friend who warned me true and kind,And in great haste I threw the weeds away,But soon the burning flesh reminded me'Twere safer far from all such weeds to flee.

Or like the stings those nettles left behind

Which I so fondly handled in my play;

I deemed the friend who warned me true and kind,

And in great haste I threw the weeds away,

But soon the burning flesh reminded me

'Twere safer far from all such weeds to flee.

The cloud that flitted o'er the saintly browWhich now a crown of life so well adorns,When you by ways and means you know not now,Did what your soul with holy horror scorns,Will stay with you long as you live on earth,And be like gall to spoil your cup of mirth.

The cloud that flitted o'er the saintly brow

Which now a crown of life so well adorns,

When you by ways and means you know not now,

Did what your soul with holy horror scorns,

Will stay with you long as you live on earth,

And be like gall to spoil your cup of mirth.

The smiles of those we bless are lasting, too;We feel their cheering glow each cloudy day.As falls on wilted flower the healing dew,So they refresh, and chase our gloom away;We feel though weak we have not lived in vain,And know God smiles tho' we cannot explain.

The smiles of those we bless are lasting, too;

We feel their cheering glow each cloudy day.

As falls on wilted flower the healing dew,

So they refresh, and chase our gloom away;

We feel though weak we have not lived in vain,

And know God smiles tho' we cannot explain.

The footprints on the rock time wears away;The rock itself soon crumbles into dust;But memories of the past have come to stay,Nor flood, nor fire, nor the consuming rust,Can ever from the soul the past erase.Guard thou thy life, O man, with heavenly grace.

The footprints on the rock time wears away;

The rock itself soon crumbles into dust;

But memories of the past have come to stay,

Nor flood, nor fire, nor the consuming rust,

Can ever from the soul the past erase.

Guard thou thy life, O man, with heavenly grace.

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