Bury thy sorrow,The world has its share;Bury it deeply,Hide it with care.Think of it calmlyWhen curtained by night;Tell it to Jesus,And all will be right.Tell it to Jesus,He knoweth thy grief;Tell it to Jesus,He'll send thee relief.Gather the sunlightAglow on thy way;Gather the moonbeams,Each soft silver ray.Hearts grown awearyWith heavier woe,Droop 'mid the darkness—Go comfort them, go!Bury thy sorrow,Let others be blest;Give them the sunshine,Tell Jesus the rest.
Bury thy sorrow,The world has its share;Bury it deeply,Hide it with care.
Bury thy sorrow,
The world has its share;
Bury it deeply,
Hide it with care.
Think of it calmlyWhen curtained by night;Tell it to Jesus,And all will be right.
Think of it calmly
When curtained by night;
Tell it to Jesus,
And all will be right.
Tell it to Jesus,He knoweth thy grief;Tell it to Jesus,He'll send thee relief.
Tell it to Jesus,
He knoweth thy grief;
Tell it to Jesus,
He'll send thee relief.
Gather the sunlightAglow on thy way;Gather the moonbeams,Each soft silver ray.
Gather the sunlight
Aglow on thy way;
Gather the moonbeams,
Each soft silver ray.
Hearts grown awearyWith heavier woe,Droop 'mid the darkness—Go comfort them, go!
Hearts grown aweary
With heavier woe,
Droop 'mid the darkness—
Go comfort them, go!
Bury thy sorrow,Let others be blest;Give them the sunshine,Tell Jesus the rest.
Bury thy sorrow,
Let others be blest;
Give them the sunshine,
Tell Jesus the rest.
———
Great Jehovah! we will praise thee,Earth and heaven thy will obey;Suns and systems move obedientTo thy universal sway.Deep and awful are thy counsels;High and glorious is thy throne;Reigning o'er thy vast dominion,Thou art God and thou alone.In thy wondrous condescensionThou hast stooped to raise our race;Thou hast given to us a Saviour,Full of goodness and of grace.By his blood we are forgiven,By his intercession free,By his love we rise to gloryThere to reign eternally.God of Power—we bow before thee;God of Wisdom—thee we praise;God of Love—so kind and tender,We would praise thee all our days.Praise to thee—our loving Father;Praise to thee—redeeming Son;Praise to thee—Almighty Spirit;Praise to thee—Thou Holy One.—John White.
Great Jehovah! we will praise thee,Earth and heaven thy will obey;Suns and systems move obedientTo thy universal sway.
Great Jehovah! we will praise thee,
Earth and heaven thy will obey;
Suns and systems move obedient
To thy universal sway.
Deep and awful are thy counsels;High and glorious is thy throne;Reigning o'er thy vast dominion,Thou art God and thou alone.
Deep and awful are thy counsels;
High and glorious is thy throne;
Reigning o'er thy vast dominion,
Thou art God and thou alone.
In thy wondrous condescensionThou hast stooped to raise our race;Thou hast given to us a Saviour,Full of goodness and of grace.
In thy wondrous condescension
Thou hast stooped to raise our race;
Thou hast given to us a Saviour,
Full of goodness and of grace.
By his blood we are forgiven,By his intercession free,By his love we rise to gloryThere to reign eternally.
By his blood we are forgiven,
By his intercession free,
By his love we rise to glory
There to reign eternally.
God of Power—we bow before thee;God of Wisdom—thee we praise;God of Love—so kind and tender,We would praise thee all our days.
God of Power—we bow before thee;
God of Wisdom—thee we praise;
God of Love—so kind and tender,
We would praise thee all our days.
Praise to thee—our loving Father;Praise to thee—redeeming Son;Praise to thee—Almighty Spirit;Praise to thee—Thou Holy One.
Praise to thee—our loving Father;
Praise to thee—redeeming Son;
Praise to thee—Almighty Spirit;
Praise to thee—Thou Holy One.
—John White.
—John White.
———
We take our share of fretting,Of grieving and forgetting;The paths are often rough and steep, and heedless feet may fall;But yet the days are cheery,And night brings rest when wearyAnd somehow this old planet is a good world after all.Though sharp may be our trouble,The joys are more than double,The brave surpass the cowards and the leal are like a wallTo guard their dearest ever,To fail the feeblest never;And somehow this old earth remains a bright world after all.There's always love that's caring,And shielding and forbearing,Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep our hearts in thrall.There's home to share togetherIn calm or stormy weather,And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good world after all.The lisp of children's voices,The chance of happy choices,The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through fogs and mists that call;The heaven that stretches o'er us,The better days before us,They all combine to make this earth a good world after all.—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
We take our share of fretting,Of grieving and forgetting;The paths are often rough and steep, and heedless feet may fall;But yet the days are cheery,And night brings rest when wearyAnd somehow this old planet is a good world after all.
We take our share of fretting,
Of grieving and forgetting;
The paths are often rough and steep, and heedless feet may fall;
But yet the days are cheery,
And night brings rest when weary
And somehow this old planet is a good world after all.
Though sharp may be our trouble,The joys are more than double,The brave surpass the cowards and the leal are like a wallTo guard their dearest ever,To fail the feeblest never;And somehow this old earth remains a bright world after all.
Though sharp may be our trouble,
The joys are more than double,
The brave surpass the cowards and the leal are like a wall
To guard their dearest ever,
To fail the feeblest never;
And somehow this old earth remains a bright world after all.
There's always love that's caring,And shielding and forbearing,Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep our hearts in thrall.There's home to share togetherIn calm or stormy weather,And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good world after all.
There's always love that's caring,
And shielding and forbearing,
Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep our hearts in thrall.
There's home to share together
In calm or stormy weather,
And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good world after all.
The lisp of children's voices,The chance of happy choices,The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through fogs and mists that call;The heaven that stretches o'er us,The better days before us,They all combine to make this earth a good world after all.
The lisp of children's voices,
The chance of happy choices,
The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through fogs and mists that call;
The heaven that stretches o'er us,
The better days before us,
They all combine to make this earth a good world after all.
—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
———
Sound an anthem in your sorrows,Build a fortress of your fears;Throw a halo round your trials,Weave a rainbow of your tears.Never mind if shadows darken,Never fear though foes be strong;Lift your heads and shout hosannah!Praise the Lord, it won't be long.
Sound an anthem in your sorrows,Build a fortress of your fears;Throw a halo round your trials,Weave a rainbow of your tears.
Sound an anthem in your sorrows,
Build a fortress of your fears;
Throw a halo round your trials,
Weave a rainbow of your tears.
Never mind if shadows darken,Never fear though foes be strong;Lift your heads and shout hosannah!Praise the Lord, it won't be long.
Never mind if shadows darken,
Never fear though foes be strong;
Lift your heads and shout hosannah!
Praise the Lord, it won't be long.
———
God is near thee, Christian; cheer thee,Rest in him, sad soul;He will keep thee when around theeBillows roll.Calm thy sadness, look in gladnessTo thy Friend on high;Faint and weary pilgrim, cheer thee;Help is nigh.Mark the sea-bird wildly wheelingThrough the stormy skies;God defends him, God attends himWhen he cries.Fare thee onward through the sunshineOr through wintry blast;Fear forsake thee; God will take theeHome at last.
God is near thee, Christian; cheer thee,Rest in him, sad soul;He will keep thee when around theeBillows roll.
God is near thee, Christian; cheer thee,
Rest in him, sad soul;
He will keep thee when around thee
Billows roll.
Calm thy sadness, look in gladnessTo thy Friend on high;Faint and weary pilgrim, cheer thee;Help is nigh.
Calm thy sadness, look in gladness
To thy Friend on high;
Faint and weary pilgrim, cheer thee;
Help is nigh.
Mark the sea-bird wildly wheelingThrough the stormy skies;God defends him, God attends himWhen he cries.
Mark the sea-bird wildly wheeling
Through the stormy skies;
God defends him, God attends him
When he cries.
Fare thee onward through the sunshineOr through wintry blast;Fear forsake thee; God will take theeHome at last.
Fare thee onward through the sunshine
Or through wintry blast;
Fear forsake thee; God will take thee
Home at last.
———
This one sits shivering in Fortune's smile,Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath.This one, gnawed by hunger, all the whileLaughs in the teeth of death.—Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
This one sits shivering in Fortune's smile,Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath.This one, gnawed by hunger, all the whileLaughs in the teeth of death.
This one sits shivering in Fortune's smile,
Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath.
This one, gnawed by hunger, all the while
Laughs in the teeth of death.
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
———
They stand, the regal mountains, with crowns of spotless snow,Forever changeless, grand, sublime, while ages come and go!Each day the morning cometh in through the eastern gate,With trailing robes of pink and gold; yet still they watch and waitFor that more glorious morning, till that glad message sounds—"Lift up your heads, ye gates of God! the King of glory comes!"And so they stand o'erlooking earth's trouble, pain and sin,And wait the call to lift their gates and let the King come in.O calm, majestic mountains! O everlasting hills!Beside your patient watch how small seem all life's joys and ills!Beyond, the restless ocean, mysterious, vast, and dim,Whose changeful waves forever chant their grand triumphal hymn.Now tempest-lashed and raging, with deep and hungry roar,The foam-capped billows dash themselves in anger on the shore,Now wavelets ripple gently along the quiet strand,While summer's sunshine broodeth soft o'er all the sea and land.O mighty waves! as chainless, as free, as birds that skim!There's One who rules the stormy sea—thy song is all of him.And so in the shadowy forest the birds sing loud and sweetFrom swaying boughs where breezes rock their little broods to sleep.The golden cups of the cowslip spring from the mossy sod,And the sweet blue violet blooms alone—just for itself and God.It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea,The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me—Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand;Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land."The groves are God's own temples"; the wild birds sing his praise;And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays;For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small;His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all.
They stand, the regal mountains, with crowns of spotless snow,Forever changeless, grand, sublime, while ages come and go!Each day the morning cometh in through the eastern gate,With trailing robes of pink and gold; yet still they watch and waitFor that more glorious morning, till that glad message sounds—"Lift up your heads, ye gates of God! the King of glory comes!"
They stand, the regal mountains, with crowns of spotless snow,
Forever changeless, grand, sublime, while ages come and go!
Each day the morning cometh in through the eastern gate,
With trailing robes of pink and gold; yet still they watch and wait
For that more glorious morning, till that glad message sounds—
"Lift up your heads, ye gates of God! the King of glory comes!"
And so they stand o'erlooking earth's trouble, pain and sin,And wait the call to lift their gates and let the King come in.O calm, majestic mountains! O everlasting hills!Beside your patient watch how small seem all life's joys and ills!
And so they stand o'erlooking earth's trouble, pain and sin,
And wait the call to lift their gates and let the King come in.
O calm, majestic mountains! O everlasting hills!
Beside your patient watch how small seem all life's joys and ills!
Beyond, the restless ocean, mysterious, vast, and dim,Whose changeful waves forever chant their grand triumphal hymn.Now tempest-lashed and raging, with deep and hungry roar,The foam-capped billows dash themselves in anger on the shore,
Beyond, the restless ocean, mysterious, vast, and dim,
Whose changeful waves forever chant their grand triumphal hymn.
Now tempest-lashed and raging, with deep and hungry roar,
The foam-capped billows dash themselves in anger on the shore,
Now wavelets ripple gently along the quiet strand,While summer's sunshine broodeth soft o'er all the sea and land.O mighty waves! as chainless, as free, as birds that skim!There's One who rules the stormy sea—thy song is all of him.
Now wavelets ripple gently along the quiet strand,
While summer's sunshine broodeth soft o'er all the sea and land.
O mighty waves! as chainless, as free, as birds that skim!
There's One who rules the stormy sea—thy song is all of him.
And so in the shadowy forest the birds sing loud and sweetFrom swaying boughs where breezes rock their little broods to sleep.The golden cups of the cowslip spring from the mossy sod,And the sweet blue violet blooms alone—just for itself and God.
And so in the shadowy forest the birds sing loud and sweet
From swaying boughs where breezes rock their little broods to sleep.
The golden cups of the cowslip spring from the mossy sod,
And the sweet blue violet blooms alone—just for itself and God.
It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea,The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me—Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand;Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land.
It is aye the same old lesson, from mountain, wood, and sea,
The old, old story, ever new, and wondrous grand to me—
Of One who holds the waters in the hollow of his hand;
Whose presence shone from mountain top in that far eastern land.
"The groves are God's own temples"; the wild birds sing his praise;And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays;For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small;His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all.
"The groves are God's own temples"; the wild birds sing his praise;
And every flower in the forest dim its humble tribute pays;
For God loves all his creatures, however weak and small;
His grandest works give praise to him, for he is Lord of all.
———
We cannot make bargains for blisses,Nor catch them like fishes in nets;And sometimes the thing our life missesHelps more than the thing which it gets.For good lieth not in pursuing,Nor gaining of great nor of small,But just in the doing, and doingAs we would be done by is all.—Alice Cary.
We cannot make bargains for blisses,Nor catch them like fishes in nets;And sometimes the thing our life missesHelps more than the thing which it gets.For good lieth not in pursuing,Nor gaining of great nor of small,But just in the doing, and doingAs we would be done by is all.
We cannot make bargains for blisses,
Nor catch them like fishes in nets;
And sometimes the thing our life misses
Helps more than the thing which it gets.
For good lieth not in pursuing,
Nor gaining of great nor of small,
But just in the doing, and doing
As we would be done by is all.
—Alice Cary.
—Alice Cary.
———
There's many a troubleWould break like a bubble,And into the waters of Lethe depart,Did we not rehearse it,And tenderly nurse it,And give it a permanent place in the heart.There's many a sorrowWould vanish to-morrowWere we but willing to furnish the wings;So sadly intruding,And quietly brooding,It hatches out all sorts of horrible things.How welcome the seemingOf looks that are beamingWhether one's wealthy or whether one's poor;Eyes bright as a berry,Cheeks red as a cherry,The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.Resolve to be merry,All worry to ferryAcross the famed waters which bid us forget,And no longer fearful,But happy and cheerful,We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.
There's many a troubleWould break like a bubble,And into the waters of Lethe depart,Did we not rehearse it,And tenderly nurse it,And give it a permanent place in the heart.
There's many a trouble
Would break like a bubble,
And into the waters of Lethe depart,
Did we not rehearse it,
And tenderly nurse it,
And give it a permanent place in the heart.
There's many a sorrowWould vanish to-morrowWere we but willing to furnish the wings;So sadly intruding,And quietly brooding,It hatches out all sorts of horrible things.
There's many a sorrow
Would vanish to-morrow
Were we but willing to furnish the wings;
So sadly intruding,
And quietly brooding,
It hatches out all sorts of horrible things.
How welcome the seemingOf looks that are beamingWhether one's wealthy or whether one's poor;Eyes bright as a berry,Cheeks red as a cherry,The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.
How welcome the seeming
Of looks that are beaming
Whether one's wealthy or whether one's poor;
Eyes bright as a berry,
Cheeks red as a cherry,
The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.
Resolve to be merry,All worry to ferryAcross the famed waters which bid us forget,And no longer fearful,But happy and cheerful,We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.
Resolve to be merry,
All worry to ferry
Across the famed waters which bid us forget,
And no longer fearful,
But happy and cheerful,
We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.
———
Away! my unbelieving fear!Fear shall in me no more have place;My Saviour doth not yet appear,He hides the brightness of his face,But shall I therefore let him go,And basely to the tempter yield?No, in the strength of Jesus, no;I never will give up my shield.Although the vine its fruit deny,Although the olive yield no oil,The withering fig-trees droop and die,The fields elude the tiller's toil.The empty stall no herd afford,And perish all the bleating race,Yet will I triumph in the Lord—The God of my salvation praise.—Charles Wesley.
Away! my unbelieving fear!Fear shall in me no more have place;My Saviour doth not yet appear,He hides the brightness of his face,But shall I therefore let him go,And basely to the tempter yield?No, in the strength of Jesus, no;I never will give up my shield.
Away! my unbelieving fear!
Fear shall in me no more have place;
My Saviour doth not yet appear,
He hides the brightness of his face,
But shall I therefore let him go,
And basely to the tempter yield?
No, in the strength of Jesus, no;
I never will give up my shield.
Although the vine its fruit deny,Although the olive yield no oil,The withering fig-trees droop and die,The fields elude the tiller's toil.The empty stall no herd afford,And perish all the bleating race,Yet will I triumph in the Lord—The God of my salvation praise.
Although the vine its fruit deny,
Although the olive yield no oil,
The withering fig-trees droop and die,
The fields elude the tiller's toil.
The empty stall no herd afford,
And perish all the bleating race,
Yet will I triumph in the Lord—
The God of my salvation praise.
—Charles Wesley.
—Charles Wesley.
———
'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.—Edward Young.
'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.
'Tis impious in a good man to be sad.
—Edward Young.
—Edward Young.
———
As a bird in meadows fairOr in lovely forest sings,Till it fills the summer airAnd the green wood sweetly rings,So my heart to thee would raise,O my God, its song of praiseThat the gloom of night is o'erAnd I see the sun once more.If thou, Sun of love, arise,All my heart with joy is stirred,And to greet thee upward flies,Gladsome as yon tiny bird.Shine thou in me, clear and bright,Till I learn to praise thee right;Guide me in the narrow way,Let me ne'er in darkness stray.Bless to-day whate'er I do;Bless whate'er I have and love;From the paths of virtue trueLet me never, never rove;By thy spirit strengthen meIn the faith that leads to Thee,Then, an heir of life on high,Fearless I may live and die.
As a bird in meadows fairOr in lovely forest sings,Till it fills the summer airAnd the green wood sweetly rings,So my heart to thee would raise,O my God, its song of praiseThat the gloom of night is o'erAnd I see the sun once more.
As a bird in meadows fair
Or in lovely forest sings,
Till it fills the summer air
And the green wood sweetly rings,
So my heart to thee would raise,
O my God, its song of praise
That the gloom of night is o'er
And I see the sun once more.
If thou, Sun of love, arise,All my heart with joy is stirred,And to greet thee upward flies,Gladsome as yon tiny bird.Shine thou in me, clear and bright,Till I learn to praise thee right;Guide me in the narrow way,Let me ne'er in darkness stray.
If thou, Sun of love, arise,
All my heart with joy is stirred,
And to greet thee upward flies,
Gladsome as yon tiny bird.
Shine thou in me, clear and bright,
Till I learn to praise thee right;
Guide me in the narrow way,
Let me ne'er in darkness stray.
Bless to-day whate'er I do;Bless whate'er I have and love;From the paths of virtue trueLet me never, never rove;By thy spirit strengthen meIn the faith that leads to Thee,Then, an heir of life on high,Fearless I may live and die.
Bless to-day whate'er I do;
Bless whate'er I have and love;
From the paths of virtue true
Let me never, never rove;
By thy spirit strengthen me
In the faith that leads to Thee,
Then, an heir of life on high,
Fearless I may live and die.
———
Pleased in the sunshine, pleased in the blast,Pleased when the heavens are all overcast,Pleased when I can or cannot seeGod's loving hand is dealing with me.Pleased, for Christ's promises never can fail;Pleased in the calm and also the gale;Knowing Omniscience at midnight can see,Since he was Pilot on dark Galilee.Pleased when in health or when I am ill,Pleased, since I know I'm in the Lord's will,Pleased with whatever my lot may beKnowing Omnipotence careth for me.
Pleased in the sunshine, pleased in the blast,Pleased when the heavens are all overcast,Pleased when I can or cannot seeGod's loving hand is dealing with me.
Pleased in the sunshine, pleased in the blast,
Pleased when the heavens are all overcast,
Pleased when I can or cannot see
God's loving hand is dealing with me.
Pleased, for Christ's promises never can fail;Pleased in the calm and also the gale;Knowing Omniscience at midnight can see,Since he was Pilot on dark Galilee.
Pleased, for Christ's promises never can fail;
Pleased in the calm and also the gale;
Knowing Omniscience at midnight can see,
Since he was Pilot on dark Galilee.
Pleased when in health or when I am ill,Pleased, since I know I'm in the Lord's will,Pleased with whatever my lot may beKnowing Omnipotence careth for me.
Pleased when in health or when I am ill,
Pleased, since I know I'm in the Lord's will,
Pleased with whatever my lot may be
Knowing Omnipotence careth for me.
———
Beneath the tiger's jaw I heard a victim cry,"Thanks, God, that, though in pain, yet not in guilt I die."—From the Persian.
Beneath the tiger's jaw I heard a victim cry,"Thanks, God, that, though in pain, yet not in guilt I die."
Beneath the tiger's jaw I heard a victim cry,
"Thanks, God, that, though in pain, yet not in guilt I die."
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
I'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way,Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!Whenever you're blue find something to doFor somebody else who is sadder than you.Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!
I'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way,Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!Whenever you're blue find something to doFor somebody else who is sadder than you.Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!
I'll sing you a lay ere I wing on my way,
Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!
Whenever you're blue find something to do
For somebody else who is sadder than you.
Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!
———
He growled at morning, noon, and night,And trouble sought to borrow;Although to-day the sky were brightHe knew 'twould storm to-morrow;A thought of joy he could not stand,And struggled to resist it;Though sunshine dappled all the landThis sorry pessimistit.—Nixon Waterman.
He growled at morning, noon, and night,And trouble sought to borrow;Although to-day the sky were brightHe knew 'twould storm to-morrow;A thought of joy he could not stand,And struggled to resist it;Though sunshine dappled all the landThis sorry pessimistit.
He growled at morning, noon, and night,
And trouble sought to borrow;
Although to-day the sky were bright
He knew 'twould storm to-morrow;
A thought of joy he could not stand,
And struggled to resist it;
Though sunshine dappled all the land
This sorry pessimistit.
—Nixon Waterman.
—Nixon Waterman.
———
Oh, be in God's clear world no dark and troubled sprite!To Christ, thy Master mild, do no such foul despite;But show in look, word, mien, that thou belongst to him,Who says, "My yoke is easy, and my burden light."—Friedrich Rückert.
Oh, be in God's clear world no dark and troubled sprite!To Christ, thy Master mild, do no such foul despite;But show in look, word, mien, that thou belongst to him,Who says, "My yoke is easy, and my burden light."
Oh, be in God's clear world no dark and troubled sprite!
To Christ, thy Master mild, do no such foul despite;
But show in look, word, mien, that thou belongst to him,
Who says, "My yoke is easy, and my burden light."
—Friedrich Rückert.
—Friedrich Rückert.
———
Let us gather up the sunbeamsLying all around our path;Let us keep the wheat and roses,Casting out the thorns and chaff;Let us find our sweetest comfortIn the blessings of to-day,With a patient hand removingAll the briars from our way.
Let us gather up the sunbeamsLying all around our path;Let us keep the wheat and roses,Casting out the thorns and chaff;Let us find our sweetest comfortIn the blessings of to-day,With a patient hand removingAll the briars from our way.
Let us gather up the sunbeams
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day,
With a patient hand removing
All the briars from our way.
———
O give me the joy of livingAnd some glorious work to do!A spirit of thanksgiving,With loyal heart and true;Some pathway to make brighter,Where tired feet now stray;Some burden to make lighter,While 'tis day.
O give me the joy of livingAnd some glorious work to do!A spirit of thanksgiving,With loyal heart and true;Some pathway to make brighter,Where tired feet now stray;Some burden to make lighter,While 'tis day.
O give me the joy of living
And some glorious work to do!
A spirit of thanksgiving,
With loyal heart and true;
Some pathway to make brighter,
Where tired feet now stray;
Some burden to make lighter,
While 'tis day.
———
True happiness (if understood)Consists alone in doing good.
True happiness (if understood)Consists alone in doing good.
True happiness (if understood)
Consists alone in doing good.
———
Talk happiness each chance you get—and talk it good and strong!Look for it in the byways as you grimly pass along;Perhaps it is a stranger now whose visit never comes,But talk it! Soon you'll find that you and happiness are chums.
Talk happiness each chance you get—and talk it good and strong!Look for it in the byways as you grimly pass along;Perhaps it is a stranger now whose visit never comes,But talk it! Soon you'll find that you and happiness are chums.
Talk happiness each chance you get—and talk it good and strong!
Look for it in the byways as you grimly pass along;
Perhaps it is a stranger now whose visit never comes,
But talk it! Soon you'll find that you and happiness are chums.
———
'Tis Being and Doing and Having that makeAll the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake.To Be what God pleases, to Do a man's best,And to Have a good heart, is the way to be blest.
'Tis Being and Doing and Having that makeAll the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake.To Be what God pleases, to Do a man's best,And to Have a good heart, is the way to be blest.
'Tis Being and Doing and Having that make
All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake.
To Be what God pleases, to Do a man's best,
And to Have a good heart, is the way to be blest.
———
If the weather is cold don't scold,If the weather is wet don't fret,If the weather is warm don't storm,If the weather is dry don't cry;But be cheerful together, whatever the weather.
If the weather is cold don't scold,If the weather is wet don't fret,If the weather is warm don't storm,If the weather is dry don't cry;But be cheerful together, whatever the weather.
If the weather is cold don't scold,
If the weather is wet don't fret,
If the weather is warm don't storm,
If the weather is dry don't cry;
But be cheerful together, whatever the weather.
———
The inner side of every cloudIs bright and shining;Therefore I turn my clouds about,And always wear them inside out,To show the lining.—Ellen Thornycroft Fowler Felkin.
The inner side of every cloudIs bright and shining;Therefore I turn my clouds about,And always wear them inside out,To show the lining.
The inner side of every cloud
Is bright and shining;
Therefore I turn my clouds about,
And always wear them inside out,
To show the lining.
—Ellen Thornycroft Fowler Felkin.
—Ellen Thornycroft Fowler Felkin.
———
Let him that loves his ease, his ease,Keep close and house him fair;He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of dangerAnd the joy of the open air.—Richard Hovey.
Let him that loves his ease, his ease,Keep close and house him fair;He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of dangerAnd the joy of the open air.
Let him that loves his ease, his ease,
Keep close and house him fair;
He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger
And the joy of the open air.
—Richard Hovey.
—Richard Hovey.
———
There is no human beingWith so wholly dark a lot,But the heart, by turning the picture,May find some sunny spot.
There is no human beingWith so wholly dark a lot,But the heart, by turning the picture,May find some sunny spot.
There is no human being
With so wholly dark a lot,
But the heart, by turning the picture,
May find some sunny spot.
———
Let us cry, All good thingsAre ours, nor soul helps flesh more nowThan flesh helps soul.—Robert Browning.
Let us cry, All good thingsAre ours, nor soul helps flesh more nowThan flesh helps soul.
Let us cry, All good things
Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more now
Than flesh helps soul.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
There is no flock, however watched and tended,But one dead lamb is there!There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,But has one vacant chair.The air is full of farewells to the dyingAnd mourning for the dead;The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,Will not be comforted!Let us be patient! These severe afflictionsNot from the ground arise,But oftentimes celestial benedictionsAssume this dark disguise.We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;Amid these earthly dampsWhat seem to us but sad, funereal tapersMay be heaven's distant lamps.There is no Death! What seems so is transition;This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysian,Whose portal we call death.She is not dead—the child of our affection—But gone unto that schoolWhere she no longer needs our poor protection,And Christ himself doth rule.In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,By guardian angels led,Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,She lives, whom we call dead.Day after day we think what she is doingIn those bright realms of air;Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,Behold her grown more fair.Thus do we walk with her and keep unbrokenThe bond which nature gives,Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,May reach her where she lives.* * * * * * *We will be patient, and assuage the feelingWe may not wholly stay;By silence sanctifying, not concealing,The grief that must have way.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
There is no flock, however watched and tended,But one dead lamb is there!There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,But has one vacant chair.
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair.
The air is full of farewells to the dyingAnd mourning for the dead;The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,Will not be comforted!
The air is full of farewells to the dying
And mourning for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictionsNot from the ground arise,But oftentimes celestial benedictionsAssume this dark disguise.
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;Amid these earthly dampsWhat seem to us but sad, funereal tapersMay be heaven's distant lamps.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition;This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysian,Whose portal we call death.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call death.
She is not dead—the child of our affection—But gone unto that schoolWhere she no longer needs our poor protection,And Christ himself doth rule.
She is not dead—the child of our affection—
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,By guardian angels led,Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,She lives, whom we call dead.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doingIn those bright realms of air;Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,Behold her grown more fair.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her and keep unbrokenThe bond which nature gives,Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,May reach her where she lives.
Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
We will be patient, and assuage the feelingWe may not wholly stay;By silence sanctifying, not concealing,The grief that must have way.
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sentTo break my dream of human power;For now, my shallow cistern spent,I find thy founts, and thirst no more.I take Thy hand, and fears grow still;Behold thy face, and doubts remove;Who would not yield his wavering willTo perfect Truth and boundless Love?That Love this restless soul doth teachThe strength of thine eternal calm;And tune its sad but broken speechTo join on earth the angel's psalm.Oh, be it patient in thy hands,And drawn, through each mysterious hour,To service of thy pure commands,The narrow way of Love and Power.—Samuel Johnson.
I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sentTo break my dream of human power;For now, my shallow cistern spent,I find thy founts, and thirst no more.
I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent
To break my dream of human power;
For now, my shallow cistern spent,
I find thy founts, and thirst no more.
I take Thy hand, and fears grow still;Behold thy face, and doubts remove;Who would not yield his wavering willTo perfect Truth and boundless Love?
I take Thy hand, and fears grow still;
Behold thy face, and doubts remove;
Who would not yield his wavering will
To perfect Truth and boundless Love?
That Love this restless soul doth teachThe strength of thine eternal calm;And tune its sad but broken speechTo join on earth the angel's psalm.
That Love this restless soul doth teach
The strength of thine eternal calm;
And tune its sad but broken speech
To join on earth the angel's psalm.
Oh, be it patient in thy hands,And drawn, through each mysterious hour,To service of thy pure commands,The narrow way of Love and Power.
Oh, be it patient in thy hands,
And drawn, through each mysterious hour,
To service of thy pure commands,
The narrow way of Love and Power.
—Samuel Johnson.
—Samuel Johnson.
———
Go not far from me, O my strength,Whom all my times obey:Take from me any thing Thou wilt,But go not thou away—And let the storm that does thy workDeal with me as it may.On thy compassion I repose,In weakness and distress;I will not ask for greater ease,Lest I should love Thee less.Oh 'tis a blessed thing for meTo need thy tenderness.While many sympathizing heartsFor my deliverance care,Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love,Art teaching me to bear—By the sweet voice of thankful song,And calm, confiding prayer.Thy love has many a lighted path,No outward eye can trace,And my heart sees thee in the deep,With darkness on its face.And communes with thee, 'mid the storm,As in a secret place.O Comforter of God's redeemed,Whom the world does not see,What hand should pluck me from the floodThat casts my soul on thee?Who would not suffer pain like mineTo be consoled like me?When I am feeble as a child,And flesh and heart give way,Then on thy everlasting strengthWith passive trust I stay.And the rough wind becomes a song,The darkness shines like day.O blessed are the eyes that see—Though silent anguish show—The love that in their hours of sleepUnthanked may come and go.And blessed are the ears that hear,Though kept awake by woe.Happy are they that learn, in thee—Though patient suffering teach—The secret of enduring strengthAnd praise too deep for speech:Peace that no pressure from without,No strife within, can reach.There is no death for me to fear,For Christ, my Lord, hath died;There is no curse in this my pain,For he was crucified.And it is fellowship with himThat keeps me near his side.My heart is fixed—O God, my strength—My heart is strong to bear;I will be joyful in thy love,And peaceful in thy care.Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake,According to his prayer.No suffering while it lasts is joy,How blest soe'er it be,Yet may the chastened child be gladHis Father's face to see;And oh, it is not hard to bearWhat must be borne in thee.It is not hard to bear by faith,In thine own bosom laid,The trial of a soul redeemed,For thy rejoicing made.Well may the heart in patience restThat none can make afraid.Safe in thy sanctifying grace—Almighty to restore—Borne onward, sin and death behind,And love and life before,O let my soul abound in hope,And praise thee more and more.Deep unto deep may call, but IWith peaceful heart will say—Thy loving-kindness hath a chargeNo waves can take away;And let the storm that speeds me homeDeal with me as it may.—Anna Letitia Waring.
Go not far from me, O my strength,Whom all my times obey:Take from me any thing Thou wilt,But go not thou away—And let the storm that does thy workDeal with me as it may.
Go not far from me, O my strength,
Whom all my times obey:
Take from me any thing Thou wilt,
But go not thou away—
And let the storm that does thy work
Deal with me as it may.
On thy compassion I repose,In weakness and distress;I will not ask for greater ease,Lest I should love Thee less.Oh 'tis a blessed thing for meTo need thy tenderness.
On thy compassion I repose,
In weakness and distress;
I will not ask for greater ease,
Lest I should love Thee less.
Oh 'tis a blessed thing for me
To need thy tenderness.
While many sympathizing heartsFor my deliverance care,Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love,Art teaching me to bear—By the sweet voice of thankful song,And calm, confiding prayer.
While many sympathizing hearts
For my deliverance care,
Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love,
Art teaching me to bear—
By the sweet voice of thankful song,
And calm, confiding prayer.
Thy love has many a lighted path,No outward eye can trace,And my heart sees thee in the deep,With darkness on its face.And communes with thee, 'mid the storm,As in a secret place.
Thy love has many a lighted path,
No outward eye can trace,
And my heart sees thee in the deep,
With darkness on its face.
And communes with thee, 'mid the storm,
As in a secret place.
O Comforter of God's redeemed,Whom the world does not see,What hand should pluck me from the floodThat casts my soul on thee?Who would not suffer pain like mineTo be consoled like me?
O Comforter of God's redeemed,
Whom the world does not see,
What hand should pluck me from the flood
That casts my soul on thee?
Who would not suffer pain like mine
To be consoled like me?
When I am feeble as a child,And flesh and heart give way,Then on thy everlasting strengthWith passive trust I stay.And the rough wind becomes a song,The darkness shines like day.
When I am feeble as a child,
And flesh and heart give way,
Then on thy everlasting strength
With passive trust I stay.
And the rough wind becomes a song,
The darkness shines like day.
O blessed are the eyes that see—Though silent anguish show—The love that in their hours of sleepUnthanked may come and go.And blessed are the ears that hear,Though kept awake by woe.
O blessed are the eyes that see—
Though silent anguish show—
The love that in their hours of sleep
Unthanked may come and go.
And blessed are the ears that hear,
Though kept awake by woe.
Happy are they that learn, in thee—Though patient suffering teach—The secret of enduring strengthAnd praise too deep for speech:Peace that no pressure from without,No strife within, can reach.
Happy are they that learn, in thee—
Though patient suffering teach—
The secret of enduring strength
And praise too deep for speech:
Peace that no pressure from without,
No strife within, can reach.
There is no death for me to fear,For Christ, my Lord, hath died;There is no curse in this my pain,For he was crucified.And it is fellowship with himThat keeps me near his side.
There is no death for me to fear,
For Christ, my Lord, hath died;
There is no curse in this my pain,
For he was crucified.
And it is fellowship with him
That keeps me near his side.
My heart is fixed—O God, my strength—My heart is strong to bear;I will be joyful in thy love,And peaceful in thy care.Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake,According to his prayer.
My heart is fixed—O God, my strength—
My heart is strong to bear;
I will be joyful in thy love,
And peaceful in thy care.
Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake,
According to his prayer.
No suffering while it lasts is joy,How blest soe'er it be,Yet may the chastened child be gladHis Father's face to see;And oh, it is not hard to bearWhat must be borne in thee.
No suffering while it lasts is joy,
How blest soe'er it be,
Yet may the chastened child be glad
His Father's face to see;
And oh, it is not hard to bear
What must be borne in thee.
It is not hard to bear by faith,In thine own bosom laid,The trial of a soul redeemed,For thy rejoicing made.Well may the heart in patience restThat none can make afraid.
It is not hard to bear by faith,
In thine own bosom laid,
The trial of a soul redeemed,
For thy rejoicing made.
Well may the heart in patience rest
That none can make afraid.
Safe in thy sanctifying grace—Almighty to restore—Borne onward, sin and death behind,And love and life before,O let my soul abound in hope,And praise thee more and more.
Safe in thy sanctifying grace—
Almighty to restore—
Borne onward, sin and death behind,
And love and life before,
O let my soul abound in hope,
And praise thee more and more.
Deep unto deep may call, but IWith peaceful heart will say—Thy loving-kindness hath a chargeNo waves can take away;And let the storm that speeds me homeDeal with me as it may.
Deep unto deep may call, but I
With peaceful heart will say—
Thy loving-kindness hath a charge
No waves can take away;
And let the storm that speeds me home
Deal with me as it may.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
———
Walking along the shore one morn,A holy man by chance I foundWho by a tiger had been tornAnd had no salve to heal his wound.Long time he suffered grievous pain,But not the less to the Most HighHe offered thanks. They asked him,Why?For answer he thanked God again;And then to them: "That I am inNo greater peril than you see:That what has overtaken meIs but misfortune—and not sin."—Richard Henry Stoddard.
Walking along the shore one morn,A holy man by chance I foundWho by a tiger had been tornAnd had no salve to heal his wound.Long time he suffered grievous pain,But not the less to the Most HighHe offered thanks. They asked him,Why?For answer he thanked God again;And then to them: "That I am inNo greater peril than you see:That what has overtaken meIs but misfortune—and not sin."
Walking along the shore one morn,
A holy man by chance I found
Who by a tiger had been torn
And had no salve to heal his wound.
Long time he suffered grievous pain,
But not the less to the Most High
He offered thanks. They asked him,
Why?
For answer he thanked God again;
And then to them: "That I am in
No greater peril than you see:
That what has overtaken me
Is but misfortune—and not sin."
—Richard Henry Stoddard.
—Richard Henry Stoddard.
———
If I have faltered more or lessIn my great task of happiness;If I have moved among my raceAnd shown no glorious morning face;If beams from happy human eyesHave moved me not; if morning skies,Books, and my food, and summer rainKnocked on my sullen heart in vain;Lord, thy most pointed pleasure takeAnd stab my spirit broad awake;Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,Choose thou, before that spirit die,A piercing pain, a killing sin,And to my dead heart run them in.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
If I have faltered more or lessIn my great task of happiness;If I have moved among my raceAnd shown no glorious morning face;If beams from happy human eyesHave moved me not; if morning skies,Books, and my food, and summer rainKnocked on my sullen heart in vain;Lord, thy most pointed pleasure takeAnd stab my spirit broad awake;Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,Choose thou, before that spirit die,A piercing pain, a killing sin,And to my dead heart run them in.
If I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no glorious morning face;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not; if morning skies,
Books, and my food, and summer rain
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain;
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take
And stab my spirit broad awake;
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,
Choose thou, before that spirit die,
A piercing pain, a killing sin,
And to my dead heart run them in.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
———
I asked the Lord that I might growIn faith and love and every grace;Might more of his salvation know,And seek more earnestly his face.'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,And he, I trust, has answer'd prayer;But it has been in such a wayAs almost drove me to despair.I hop'd that in some favor'd hourAt once he'd answer my request,And by his love's constraining powerSubdue my sins and give me rest.Instead of this he made me feelThe hidden evils of my heart,And let the angry powers of hellAssault my soul in ev'ry part.Yes, more: with his own hand he seem'dIntent to aggravate my woe,Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed,Blasted my gourds and laid them low."Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried;"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?""'Tis in this way," the Lord replied,"I answer prayer for grace and faith."These inward trials I employFrom self and pride to set thee free,And break thy schemes of earthly joyThat thou mayest set thine all in me!"—John Newton.
I asked the Lord that I might growIn faith and love and every grace;Might more of his salvation know,And seek more earnestly his face.
I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith and love and every grace;
Might more of his salvation know,
And seek more earnestly his face.
'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,And he, I trust, has answer'd prayer;But it has been in such a wayAs almost drove me to despair.
'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And he, I trust, has answer'd prayer;
But it has been in such a way
As almost drove me to despair.
I hop'd that in some favor'd hourAt once he'd answer my request,And by his love's constraining powerSubdue my sins and give me rest.
I hop'd that in some favor'd hour
At once he'd answer my request,
And by his love's constraining power
Subdue my sins and give me rest.
Instead of this he made me feelThe hidden evils of my heart,And let the angry powers of hellAssault my soul in ev'ry part.
Instead of this he made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart,
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in ev'ry part.
Yes, more: with his own hand he seem'dIntent to aggravate my woe,Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed,Blasted my gourds and laid them low.
Yes, more: with his own hand he seem'd
Intent to aggravate my woe,
Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds and laid them low.
"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried;"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?""'Tis in this way," the Lord replied,"I answer prayer for grace and faith.
"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried;
"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?"
"'Tis in this way," the Lord replied,
"I answer prayer for grace and faith.
"These inward trials I employFrom self and pride to set thee free,And break thy schemes of earthly joyThat thou mayest set thine all in me!"
"These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free,
And break thy schemes of earthly joy
That thou mayest set thine all in me!"
—John Newton.
—John Newton.
———
Source of my life's refreshing springs,Whose presence in my heart sustains me,Thy love appoints me pleasant things,Thy mercy orders all that pains me.If loving hearts were never lonely,If all they wished might always be,Accepting what they look for only,They might be glad—but not in thee.Well may thy own beloved, who seeIn all their lot their Father's pleasure,Bear loss of all they love save thee,Their living, everlasting treasure.Well may thy happy children ceaseFrom restless wishes, prone to sin,And, in thine own exceeding peace,Yield to thy daily discipline.We need as much the cross we bearAs air we breathe, as light we see!It draws us to thy side in prayer,It binds us to our strength in thee.—Anna Letitia Waring.
Source of my life's refreshing springs,Whose presence in my heart sustains me,Thy love appoints me pleasant things,Thy mercy orders all that pains me.
Source of my life's refreshing springs,
Whose presence in my heart sustains me,
Thy love appoints me pleasant things,
Thy mercy orders all that pains me.
If loving hearts were never lonely,If all they wished might always be,Accepting what they look for only,They might be glad—but not in thee.
If loving hearts were never lonely,
If all they wished might always be,
Accepting what they look for only,
They might be glad—but not in thee.
Well may thy own beloved, who seeIn all their lot their Father's pleasure,Bear loss of all they love save thee,Their living, everlasting treasure.
Well may thy own beloved, who see
In all their lot their Father's pleasure,
Bear loss of all they love save thee,
Their living, everlasting treasure.
Well may thy happy children ceaseFrom restless wishes, prone to sin,And, in thine own exceeding peace,Yield to thy daily discipline.
Well may thy happy children cease
From restless wishes, prone to sin,
And, in thine own exceeding peace,
Yield to thy daily discipline.
We need as much the cross we bearAs air we breathe, as light we see!It draws us to thy side in prayer,It binds us to our strength in thee.
We need as much the cross we bear
As air we breathe, as light we see!
It draws us to thy side in prayer,
It binds us to our strength in thee.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
—Anna Letitia Waring.
———
In the still air the music lies unheard;In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;To make the music and the beauty needsThe master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand;Let not the music that is in us die.Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor letHidden and lost thy form within us lie!Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt!Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;Complete thy purpose that we may becomeThy perfect image, thou our God and Lord!—Horatius Bonar.
In the still air the music lies unheard;In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;To make the music and the beauty needsThe master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.
In the still air the music lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;
To make the music and the beauty needs
The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.
Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand;Let not the music that is in us die.Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor letHidden and lost thy form within us lie!
Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand;
Let not the music that is in us die.
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let
Hidden and lost thy form within us lie!
Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt!Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;Complete thy purpose that we may becomeThy perfect image, thou our God and Lord!
Spare not the stroke! Do with us as thou wilt!
Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;
Complete thy purpose that we may become
Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord!
—Horatius Bonar.
—Horatius Bonar.
———
The childish smile is fair, but lovelier farThe smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are.—John Sterling.
The childish smile is fair, but lovelier farThe smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are.
The childish smile is fair, but lovelier far
The smiles which tell of griefs that now no longer are.
—John Sterling.
—John Sterling.
———
Home they brought her warrior dead;She nor swoon'd nor uttered cry.All her maidens, watching, said,"She must weep or she will die."Then they praised him, soft and low,Call'd him worthy to be loved,Truest friend, and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke nor moved.Stole a maiden from her place,Lightly to the warrior stept,Took the face-cloth from the face;Yet she neither moved nor wept.Rose a nurse of ninety years,Set his child upon her knee;Like summer tempest came her tears:"Sweet my child, I live for thee."—Alfred Tennyson.
Home they brought her warrior dead;She nor swoon'd nor uttered cry.All her maidens, watching, said,"She must weep or she will die."
Home they brought her warrior dead;
She nor swoon'd nor uttered cry.
All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low,Call'd him worthy to be loved,Truest friend, and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Then they praised him, soft and low,
Call'd him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend, and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,Lightly to the warrior stept,Took the face-cloth from the face;Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,Set his child upon her knee;Like summer tempest came her tears:"Sweet my child, I live for thee."
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee;
Like summer tempest came her tears:
"Sweet my child, I live for thee."
—Alfred Tennyson.
—Alfred Tennyson.
———
O trifling task so often done,Yet ever to be done anew!O cares which come with every sun,Morn after morn, the long years through!We sink beneath their paltry sway—The irksome calls of every day.The restless sense of wasted power,The tiresome round of little things,Are hard to bear, as hour by hourIts tedious iteration brings;Who shall evade or who delayThe small demands of every day?The bowlder, in the torrent's courseBy tide and tempest lashed in vain,Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's forceAnd yields its substance grain by grain;So crumble strongest lives awayBeneath the wear of every day.Who finds the lion in his lair,Who tracks the tiger for his lifeMay wound them ere they are aware,Or conquer them in desperate strife,Yet powerless he to scathe or slayThe vexing gnats of every day.The steady strain that never stopsIs mightier than the fiercest shock;The constant fall of water dropsWill groove the adamantine rock;We feel our noblest powers decayIn feeble wars with every day.We rise to meet a heavy blow—Our souls a sudden bravery fills—But we endure not always soThe drop by drop of little ills;We still deplore, and still obey,The hard behests of every day.The heart which boldly faces deathUpon the battle-field, and daresCannon and bayonet, faints beneathThe needle-points of frets and cares;The stoutest spirits they dismay—The tiny stings of every day.And even saints of holy fame,Whose souls by faith have overcome,Who won amid the cruel flameThe molten crown of martyrdom,Bore not without complaint alwayThe petty pains of every day.Ah, more than martyr's aureole,And more than hero's heart of fire,We need the humble strength of soulWhich daily toils and ills require;Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may,An added grace for every day.
O trifling task so often done,Yet ever to be done anew!O cares which come with every sun,Morn after morn, the long years through!We sink beneath their paltry sway—The irksome calls of every day.
O trifling task so often done,
Yet ever to be done anew!
O cares which come with every sun,
Morn after morn, the long years through!
We sink beneath their paltry sway—
The irksome calls of every day.
The restless sense of wasted power,The tiresome round of little things,Are hard to bear, as hour by hourIts tedious iteration brings;Who shall evade or who delayThe small demands of every day?
The restless sense of wasted power,
The tiresome round of little things,
Are hard to bear, as hour by hour
Its tedious iteration brings;
Who shall evade or who delay
The small demands of every day?
The bowlder, in the torrent's courseBy tide and tempest lashed in vain,Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's forceAnd yields its substance grain by grain;So crumble strongest lives awayBeneath the wear of every day.
The bowlder, in the torrent's course
By tide and tempest lashed in vain,
Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's force
And yields its substance grain by grain;
So crumble strongest lives away
Beneath the wear of every day.
Who finds the lion in his lair,Who tracks the tiger for his lifeMay wound them ere they are aware,Or conquer them in desperate strife,Yet powerless he to scathe or slayThe vexing gnats of every day.
Who finds the lion in his lair,
Who tracks the tiger for his life
May wound them ere they are aware,
Or conquer them in desperate strife,
Yet powerless he to scathe or slay
The vexing gnats of every day.
The steady strain that never stopsIs mightier than the fiercest shock;The constant fall of water dropsWill groove the adamantine rock;We feel our noblest powers decayIn feeble wars with every day.
The steady strain that never stops
Is mightier than the fiercest shock;
The constant fall of water drops
Will groove the adamantine rock;
We feel our noblest powers decay
In feeble wars with every day.
We rise to meet a heavy blow—Our souls a sudden bravery fills—But we endure not always soThe drop by drop of little ills;We still deplore, and still obey,The hard behests of every day.
We rise to meet a heavy blow—
Our souls a sudden bravery fills—
But we endure not always so
The drop by drop of little ills;
We still deplore, and still obey,
The hard behests of every day.
The heart which boldly faces deathUpon the battle-field, and daresCannon and bayonet, faints beneathThe needle-points of frets and cares;The stoutest spirits they dismay—The tiny stings of every day.
The heart which boldly faces death
Upon the battle-field, and dares
Cannon and bayonet, faints beneath
The needle-points of frets and cares;
The stoutest spirits they dismay—
The tiny stings of every day.
And even saints of holy fame,Whose souls by faith have overcome,Who won amid the cruel flameThe molten crown of martyrdom,Bore not without complaint alwayThe petty pains of every day.
And even saints of holy fame,
Whose souls by faith have overcome,
Who won amid the cruel flame
The molten crown of martyrdom,
Bore not without complaint alway
The petty pains of every day.
Ah, more than martyr's aureole,And more than hero's heart of fire,We need the humble strength of soulWhich daily toils and ills require;Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may,An added grace for every day.
Ah, more than martyr's aureole,
And more than hero's heart of fire,
We need the humble strength of soul
Which daily toils and ills require;
Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may,
An added grace for every day.
———
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For this dark and suffering night?Father,whatshall thine "afterward" be?Hast thou a morning of joy for me,And a new and joyous light?What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For the moan that I cannot stay?Shall it issue in some new song of praise,Sweeter than sorrowless heart could raise,When the night hath passed away?What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For this helplessness of pain?A clearer view of my home above,Of my Father's strength and my Father's love—Shallthisbe my lasting gain?What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord?How long must thy child endure?Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not!Thine "afterward" cometh—I cannot tell what,But I know that thy word is sure.What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,I wonder—and wait to see(While to thy chastening hand I bow)What "peaceable fruit" may be ripening now—Ripening fast for me!—Frances Ridley Havergal.
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For this dark and suffering night?Father,whatshall thine "afterward" be?Hast thou a morning of joy for me,And a new and joyous light?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,
For this dark and suffering night?
Father,whatshall thine "afterward" be?
Hast thou a morning of joy for me,
And a new and joyous light?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For the moan that I cannot stay?Shall it issue in some new song of praise,Sweeter than sorrowless heart could raise,When the night hath passed away?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,
For the moan that I cannot stay?
Shall it issue in some new song of praise,
Sweeter than sorrowless heart could raise,
When the night hath passed away?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,For this helplessness of pain?A clearer view of my home above,Of my Father's strength and my Father's love—Shallthisbe my lasting gain?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,
For this helplessness of pain?
A clearer view of my home above,
Of my Father's strength and my Father's love—
Shallthisbe my lasting gain?
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord?How long must thy child endure?Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not!Thine "afterward" cometh—I cannot tell what,But I know that thy word is sure.
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord?
How long must thy child endure?
Thou knowest! 'Tis well that I know it not!
Thine "afterward" cometh—I cannot tell what,
But I know that thy word is sure.
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,I wonder—and wait to see(While to thy chastening hand I bow)What "peaceable fruit" may be ripening now—Ripening fast for me!
What shall thine "afterward" be, O Lord,
I wonder—and wait to see
(While to thy chastening hand I bow)
What "peaceable fruit" may be ripening now—
Ripening fast for me!
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth,Such as men give and take from day to day,Comes in the common walk of easy life,Blown by the careless wind across our way.Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance,Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;But grasped in the great struggle of the soulHard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.But in the day of conflict, fear and grief,When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heartAnd brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light,Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hoursOf weakness, solitude, perchance of pain,Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field.And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.—Horatius Bonar.
Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth,Such as men give and take from day to day,Comes in the common walk of easy life,Blown by the careless wind across our way.
Great truths are dearly bought. The common truth,
Such as men give and take from day to day,
Comes in the common walk of easy life,
Blown by the careless wind across our way.
Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance,Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;But grasped in the great struggle of the soulHard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.
Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance,
Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;
But grasped in the great struggle of the soul
Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.
But in the day of conflict, fear and grief,When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heartAnd brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light,
But in the day of conflict, fear and grief,
When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,
Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart
And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light,
Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hoursOf weakness, solitude, perchance of pain,Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field.And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.
Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours
Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain,
Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field.
And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.
—Horatius Bonar.
—Horatius Bonar.
———
Though trouble-tossed and torture-tornThe kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.—Gerald Massey.
Though trouble-tossed and torture-tornThe kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.
Though trouble-tossed and torture-torn
The kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.
—Gerald Massey.
—Gerald Massey.
———