I go to prove my soul!I see my way as birds their trackless way.I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first,I ask not; but unless God send his hailOr blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:He guides me and the bird. In his good time.—Robert Browning.
I go to prove my soul!I see my way as birds their trackless way.I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first,I ask not; but unless God send his hailOr blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:He guides me and the bird. In his good time.
I go to prove my soul!
I see my way as birds their trackless way.
I shall arrive! What time, what circuit first,
I ask not; but unless God send his hail
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,
In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:
He guides me and the bird. In his good time.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
Art thou in misery, brother? Then, I pray,Be comforted; thy grief shall pass away.Art thou elated? Ah! be not too gay;Temper thy joy; this, too, shall pass away.Whate'er thou art, where'er thy footsteps stray,Heed the wise words: "This, too, shall pass away."
Art thou in misery, brother? Then, I pray,Be comforted; thy grief shall pass away.
Art thou in misery, brother? Then, I pray,
Be comforted; thy grief shall pass away.
Art thou elated? Ah! be not too gay;Temper thy joy; this, too, shall pass away.
Art thou elated? Ah! be not too gay;
Temper thy joy; this, too, shall pass away.
Whate'er thou art, where'er thy footsteps stray,Heed the wise words: "This, too, shall pass away."
Whate'er thou art, where'er thy footsteps stray,
Heed the wise words: "This, too, shall pass away."
———
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths,In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.Life's but a means unto an end; that endBeginning, mean, and end to all things—God.—Philip James Bailey.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths,In feelings, not in figures on a dial.We should count time by heart-throbs. He most livesWho thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.Life's but a means unto an end; that endBeginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths,
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Life's but a means unto an end; that end
Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
—Philip James Bailey.
—Philip James Bailey.
———
We say, and we say, and we say,We promise, engage, and declare,Till a year from to-morrow is yesterdayAnd yesterday is—where?—James Whitcomb Riley.
We say, and we say, and we say,We promise, engage, and declare,Till a year from to-morrow is yesterdayAnd yesterday is—where?
We say, and we say, and we say,
We promise, engage, and declare,
Till a year from to-morrow is yesterday
And yesterday is—where?
—James Whitcomb Riley.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
———
To be sincere. To look life in the eyesWith calm, undrooping gaze. Always to meanThe high and truthful thing. Never to screenBehind the unmeant word the sharp surpriseOf cunning; never tell the little liesOf look or thought. Always to choose betweenThe true and small, the true and large, sereneAnd high above Life's cheap dishonesties.The soul that steers by this unfading starNeeds never other compass. All the far,Wide waste shall blaze with guiding light, though rocksAnd sirens meet and mock its straining gaze.Secure from storms and all Life's battle-shocksIt shall not veer from any righteous ways.—Maurice Smiley.
To be sincere. To look life in the eyesWith calm, undrooping gaze. Always to meanThe high and truthful thing. Never to screenBehind the unmeant word the sharp surpriseOf cunning; never tell the little liesOf look or thought. Always to choose betweenThe true and small, the true and large, sereneAnd high above Life's cheap dishonesties.
To be sincere. To look life in the eyes
With calm, undrooping gaze. Always to mean
The high and truthful thing. Never to screen
Behind the unmeant word the sharp surprise
Of cunning; never tell the little lies
Of look or thought. Always to choose between
The true and small, the true and large, serene
And high above Life's cheap dishonesties.
The soul that steers by this unfading starNeeds never other compass. All the far,Wide waste shall blaze with guiding light, though rocksAnd sirens meet and mock its straining gaze.Secure from storms and all Life's battle-shocksIt shall not veer from any righteous ways.
The soul that steers by this unfading star
Needs never other compass. All the far,
Wide waste shall blaze with guiding light, though rocks
And sirens meet and mock its straining gaze.
Secure from storms and all Life's battle-shocks
It shall not veer from any righteous ways.
—Maurice Smiley.
—Maurice Smiley.
———
The lily's lips are pure and white without a touch of fire;The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened with desire.In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the gladdest lives are thoseWhose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is like the rose.—Nixon Waterman.
The lily's lips are pure and white without a touch of fire;The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened with desire.In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the gladdest lives are thoseWhose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is like the rose.
The lily's lips are pure and white without a touch of fire;
The rose's heart is warm and red and sweetened with desire.
In earth's broad fields of deathless bloom the gladdest lives are those
Whose thoughts are as the lily and whose love is like the rose.
—Nixon Waterman.
—Nixon Waterman.
———
We shape ourselves the joy or fearOf which the coming life is made,And fill our future's atmosphereWith sunshine or with shade.The tissue of the life to beWe weave with colors all our own,And in the field of destinyWe reap as we have sown.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
We shape ourselves the joy or fearOf which the coming life is made,And fill our future's atmosphereWith sunshine or with shade.
We shape ourselves the joy or fear
Of which the coming life is made,
And fill our future's atmosphere
With sunshine or with shade.
The tissue of the life to beWe weave with colors all our own,And in the field of destinyWe reap as we have sown.
The tissue of the life to be
We weave with colors all our own,
And in the field of destiny
We reap as we have sown.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller;So death feeds life, and life, too, feeds its killer.—John Sterling.
The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller;So death feeds life, and life, too, feeds its killer.
The miller feeds the mill, and the mill the miller;
So death feeds life, and life, too, feeds its killer.
—John Sterling.
—John Sterling.
———
If I were dead I think that you would comeAnd look upon me, cold and white, and say,"Poor child! I'm sorry you have gone away."But just because my body has to liveThrough hopeless years, you do not come and say,"Dear child, I'm glad that you are here to-day."
If I were dead I think that you would comeAnd look upon me, cold and white, and say,"Poor child! I'm sorry you have gone away."
If I were dead I think that you would come
And look upon me, cold and white, and say,
"Poor child! I'm sorry you have gone away."
But just because my body has to liveThrough hopeless years, you do not come and say,"Dear child, I'm glad that you are here to-day."
But just because my body has to live
Through hopeless years, you do not come and say,
"Dear child, I'm glad that you are here to-day."
———
Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell himThe scope of our mind can but trifles achieve;The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him—The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave.—John Boyle O'Reilly.
Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell himThe scope of our mind can but trifles achieve;The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him—The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave.
Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell him
The scope of our mind can but trifles achieve;
The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him—
The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
———
A pious friend one day of Rabia askedHow she had learned the truth of Allah wholly;By what instructions was her memory tasked?How was her heart estranged from the world's folly?She answered, "Thou who knowest God in partsThy spirit's moods and processes canst tell:I only know that in my heart of heartsI have despised myself and loved him well."
A pious friend one day of Rabia askedHow she had learned the truth of Allah wholly;By what instructions was her memory tasked?How was her heart estranged from the world's folly?
A pious friend one day of Rabia asked
How she had learned the truth of Allah wholly;
By what instructions was her memory tasked?
How was her heart estranged from the world's folly?
She answered, "Thou who knowest God in partsThy spirit's moods and processes canst tell:I only know that in my heart of heartsI have despised myself and loved him well."
She answered, "Thou who knowest God in parts
Thy spirit's moods and processes canst tell:
I only know that in my heart of hearts
I have despised myself and loved him well."
———
There is a tide in the affairs of menWhich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;Omitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and in miseries.—William Shakespeare.
There is a tide in the affairs of menWhich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;Omitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and in miseries.
There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
—William Shakespeare.
—William Shakespeare.
———
Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone?To show what all would be if she were gone.—John Sterling.
Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone?To show what all would be if she were gone.
Why wakes not life the desert bare and lone?
To show what all would be if she were gone.
—John Sterling.
—John Sterling.
———
So live that, when thy summons comes to joinThe innumerable caravan which movesTo that mysterious realm where each shall takeHis chamber in the silent halls of death,Thou go not like the quarry slave at nightScourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothedBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy graveLike one who wraps the drapery of his couchAbout him and lies down to pleasant dreams.—William Cullen Bryant.
So live that, when thy summons comes to joinThe innumerable caravan which movesTo that mysterious realm where each shall takeHis chamber in the silent halls of death,Thou go not like the quarry slave at nightScourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothedBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy graveLike one who wraps the drapery of his couchAbout him and lies down to pleasant dreams.
So live that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.
—William Cullen Bryant.
—William Cullen Bryant.
———
The time is short.If thou wouldst work for God it must be now.If thou wouldst win the garlands for thy brow,Redeem the time.I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender;And soon with me the labor will be wrought;Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender;The time is short.
The time is short.If thou wouldst work for God it must be now.If thou wouldst win the garlands for thy brow,Redeem the time.
The time is short.
If thou wouldst work for God it must be now.
If thou wouldst win the garlands for thy brow,
Redeem the time.
I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender;And soon with me the labor will be wrought;Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender;The time is short.
I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender;
And soon with me the labor will be wrought;
Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender;
The time is short.
———
The man who idly sits and thinksMay sow a nobler crop than corn;For thoughts are seeds of future deeds,And when God thought, the world was born.—George John Romanes.
The man who idly sits and thinksMay sow a nobler crop than corn;For thoughts are seeds of future deeds,And when God thought, the world was born.
The man who idly sits and thinks
May sow a nobler crop than corn;
For thoughts are seeds of future deeds,
And when God thought, the world was born.
—George John Romanes.
—George John Romanes.
———
Thought is deeper than all speech,Feeling deeper than all thought;Souls to souls can never teachWhat unto themselves was taught.—Christopher Pearse Cranch.
Thought is deeper than all speech,Feeling deeper than all thought;Souls to souls can never teachWhat unto themselves was taught.
Thought is deeper than all speech,
Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach
What unto themselves was taught.
—Christopher Pearse Cranch.
—Christopher Pearse Cranch.
———
That thou mayst injure no man dovelike be,And serpentlike that none may injure thee.
That thou mayst injure no man dovelike be,And serpentlike that none may injure thee.
That thou mayst injure no man dovelike be,
And serpentlike that none may injure thee.
———
The poem hangs on the berry bushWhen comes the poet's eye.The street begins to masqueradeWhen Shakespeare passes by.—William C. Gannett.
The poem hangs on the berry bushWhen comes the poet's eye.The street begins to masqueradeWhen Shakespeare passes by.
The poem hangs on the berry bush
When comes the poet's eye.
The street begins to masquerade
When Shakespeare passes by.
—William C. Gannett.
—William C. Gannett.
———
Be thou a poor man and a justAnd thou mayest live without alarm;For leave the good man Satan must,The poor the Sultan will not harm.—From the Persian.
Be thou a poor man and a justAnd thou mayest live without alarm;For leave the good man Satan must,The poor the Sultan will not harm.
Be thou a poor man and a just
And thou mayest live without alarm;
For leave the good man Satan must,
The poor the Sultan will not harm.
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea,Blame not the ocean; the fault is in thee!—From the Persian.
Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea,Blame not the ocean; the fault is in thee!
Diving, and finding no pearls in the sea,
Blame not the ocean; the fault is in thee!
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
All habits gather by unseen degrees;As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.—John Dryden.
All habits gather by unseen degrees;As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
All habits gather by unseen degrees;
As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
—John Dryden.
—John Dryden.
———
Habits are soon assumed, but when we striveTo strip them off 'tis being flayed alive.—William Cowper.
Habits are soon assumed, but when we striveTo strip them off 'tis being flayed alive.
Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive
To strip them off 'tis being flayed alive.
—William Cowper.
—William Cowper.
———
So live that when the mighty caravan,Which halts one night-time in the Vale of Death,Shall strike its white tents for the morning march,Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills,Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewedLike the strong eagle's for the upward flight.
So live that when the mighty caravan,Which halts one night-time in the Vale of Death,Shall strike its white tents for the morning march,Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills,Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewedLike the strong eagle's for the upward flight.
So live that when the mighty caravan,
Which halts one night-time in the Vale of Death,
Shall strike its white tents for the morning march,
Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills,
Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renewed
Like the strong eagle's for the upward flight.
———
And see all sights from pole to pole,And glance and nod and bustle by,And never once possess our soulBefore we die.—Matthew Arnold.
And see all sights from pole to pole,And glance and nod and bustle by,And never once possess our soulBefore we die.
And see all sights from pole to pole,
And glance and nod and bustle by,
And never once possess our soul
Before we die.
—Matthew Arnold.
—Matthew Arnold.
———
Catch, then, O catch the transient hour;Improve each moment as it flies;Life's a short summer—man a flower.—Dr. Samuel Johnson.
Catch, then, O catch the transient hour;Improve each moment as it flies;Life's a short summer—man a flower.
Catch, then, O catch the transient hour;
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a short summer—man a flower.
—Dr. Samuel Johnson.
—Dr. Samuel Johnson.
———
This world's no blot for usNor blank; it means intensely, and means good:To find its meaning is my meat and drink.—Robert Browning.
This world's no blot for usNor blank; it means intensely, and means good:To find its meaning is my meat and drink.
This world's no blot for us
Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good:
To find its meaning is my meat and drink.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
What is life?'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,Or gaze upon the sun. 'Tis to be free.—Joseph Addison.
What is life?'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,Or gaze upon the sun. 'Tis to be free.
What is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,
Or gaze upon the sun. 'Tis to be free.
—Joseph Addison.
—Joseph Addison.
———
I see the right, and I approve it too,Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.—Ovid.
I see the right, and I approve it too,Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.
—Ovid.
—Ovid.
———
God asks not "To what sect did he belong?"But, "Did he do the right, or love the wrong?"—From the Persian.
God asks not "To what sect did he belong?"But, "Did he do the right, or love the wrong?"
God asks not "To what sect did he belong?"
But, "Did he do the right, or love the wrong?"
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
One wept all night beside a sick man's bed:At dawn the sick was well, the mourner dead.—From the Persian.
One wept all night beside a sick man's bed:At dawn the sick was well, the mourner dead.
One wept all night beside a sick man's bed:
At dawn the sick was well, the mourner dead.
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant,O life, not death, for which we pant;More life and fuller that I want.—Alfred Tennyson.
'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant,O life, not death, for which we pant;More life and fuller that I want.
'Tis life whereof our nerves are scant,
O life, not death, for which we pant;
More life and fuller that I want.
—Alfred Tennyson.
—Alfred Tennyson.
Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time,Of all my blessings or my joy;I have some jewels in my heartWhich thou art powerless to destroy.Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength,And leave my temples seamed and bare;Deprive mine eyes of passion's light,And scatter silver o'er my hair.But never, while a book remains,And breathes a woman or a child,Shalt thou deprive me whilst I liveOf feelings fresh and undefiled.No, never while the earth is fair,And Reason keeps its dial bright,Whate'er thy robberies, O Time,Shall I be bankrupt of delight.Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame,Thou canst not cheat me of this truth:That, though the limbs may faint and fail,The spirit can renew its youth.So, thievish Time, I fear thee not;Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine;My precious jewels are my own,'Tis but the settings that are thine.—Charles Mackay.
Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time,Of all my blessings or my joy;I have some jewels in my heartWhich thou art powerless to destroy.
Thou shalt not rob me, thievish Time,
Of all my blessings or my joy;
I have some jewels in my heart
Which thou art powerless to destroy.
Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength,And leave my temples seamed and bare;Deprive mine eyes of passion's light,And scatter silver o'er my hair.
Thou mayest denude mine arm of strength,
And leave my temples seamed and bare;
Deprive mine eyes of passion's light,
And scatter silver o'er my hair.
But never, while a book remains,And breathes a woman or a child,Shalt thou deprive me whilst I liveOf feelings fresh and undefiled.
But never, while a book remains,
And breathes a woman or a child,
Shalt thou deprive me whilst I live
Of feelings fresh and undefiled.
No, never while the earth is fair,And Reason keeps its dial bright,Whate'er thy robberies, O Time,Shall I be bankrupt of delight.
No, never while the earth is fair,
And Reason keeps its dial bright,
Whate'er thy robberies, O Time,
Shall I be bankrupt of delight.
Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame,Thou canst not cheat me of this truth:That, though the limbs may faint and fail,The spirit can renew its youth.
Whate'er thy victories o'er my frame,
Thou canst not cheat me of this truth:
That, though the limbs may faint and fail,
The spirit can renew its youth.
So, thievish Time, I fear thee not;Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine;My precious jewels are my own,'Tis but the settings that are thine.
So, thievish Time, I fear thee not;
Thou'rt powerless on this heart of mine;
My precious jewels are my own,
'Tis but the settings that are thine.
—Charles Mackay.
—Charles Mackay.
———
You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tellAnd still go on. If but the way be straightI cannot go amiss! Before me liesDawn and the Day! the Night behind me; thatSuffices me; I break the bounds; I see,And nothing more; believe, and nothing less.My future is not one of my concerns.
You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tellAnd still go on. If but the way be straightI cannot go amiss! Before me liesDawn and the Day! the Night behind me; thatSuffices me; I break the bounds; I see,And nothing more; believe, and nothing less.My future is not one of my concerns.
You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tell
And still go on. If but the way be straight
I cannot go amiss! Before me lies
Dawn and the Day! the Night behind me; that
Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see,
And nothing more; believe, and nothing less.
My future is not one of my concerns.
———
What if some morning, when the stars were paling,And the dawn whitened, and the East was clear,Strange peace and rest fell on me from the presenceOf a benignant Spirit standing near,And I should tell him, as he stood beside me,"This is our Earth—most friendly Earth, and fair;Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadowFaithful it turns, robed in its azure air;"There is blest living here, loving and serving,And quest of truth, and serene friendships dear;But stay not, Spirit! Earth has one destroyer—His name is Death; flee, lest he find thee here!"And what if then, while the still morning brightened,And freshened in the elm the summer's breath,Should gravely smile on me the gentle angel,And take my hand and say, "My name is Death."—Edward Rowland Sill.
What if some morning, when the stars were paling,And the dawn whitened, and the East was clear,Strange peace and rest fell on me from the presenceOf a benignant Spirit standing near,
What if some morning, when the stars were paling,
And the dawn whitened, and the East was clear,
Strange peace and rest fell on me from the presence
Of a benignant Spirit standing near,
And I should tell him, as he stood beside me,"This is our Earth—most friendly Earth, and fair;Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadowFaithful it turns, robed in its azure air;
And I should tell him, as he stood beside me,
"This is our Earth—most friendly Earth, and fair;
Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadow
Faithful it turns, robed in its azure air;
"There is blest living here, loving and serving,And quest of truth, and serene friendships dear;But stay not, Spirit! Earth has one destroyer—His name is Death; flee, lest he find thee here!"
"There is blest living here, loving and serving,
And quest of truth, and serene friendships dear;
But stay not, Spirit! Earth has one destroyer—
His name is Death; flee, lest he find thee here!"
And what if then, while the still morning brightened,And freshened in the elm the summer's breath,Should gravely smile on me the gentle angel,And take my hand and say, "My name is Death."
And what if then, while the still morning brightened,
And freshened in the elm the summer's breath,
Should gravely smile on me the gentle angel,
And take my hand and say, "My name is Death."
—Edward Rowland Sill.
—Edward Rowland Sill.
———
On parent knees, a naked, new-born child,Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.—From the Persian.
On parent knees, a naked, new-born child,Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.
On parent knees, a naked, new-born child,
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled:
So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep,
Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.
—From the Persian.
—From the Persian.
———
Abide with us, O wondrous guest!A stranger still, though long possessed;Our hearts thy love unknown desire,And marvel how the sacred fireShould burn within us while we strayFrom that sad spot where Jesus lay.So when our youth, through bitter lossOr hopes deferred, draws near the cross,We lose the Lord our childhood knewAnd God's own word may seem untrue;Yet Christ himself shall soothe the wayTowards the evening of our day.And though we travel towards the west'Tis still for toil, and not for rest;No fate except that life is done;At Emmaus is our work begun;Then let us watch lest tears should hideThe Lord who journeys by our side.
Abide with us, O wondrous guest!A stranger still, though long possessed;Our hearts thy love unknown desire,And marvel how the sacred fireShould burn within us while we strayFrom that sad spot where Jesus lay.
Abide with us, O wondrous guest!
A stranger still, though long possessed;
Our hearts thy love unknown desire,
And marvel how the sacred fire
Should burn within us while we stray
From that sad spot where Jesus lay.
So when our youth, through bitter lossOr hopes deferred, draws near the cross,We lose the Lord our childhood knewAnd God's own word may seem untrue;Yet Christ himself shall soothe the wayTowards the evening of our day.
So when our youth, through bitter loss
Or hopes deferred, draws near the cross,
We lose the Lord our childhood knew
And God's own word may seem untrue;
Yet Christ himself shall soothe the way
Towards the evening of our day.
And though we travel towards the west'Tis still for toil, and not for rest;No fate except that life is done;At Emmaus is our work begun;Then let us watch lest tears should hideThe Lord who journeys by our side.
And though we travel towards the west
'Tis still for toil, and not for rest;
No fate except that life is done;
At Emmaus is our work begun;
Then let us watch lest tears should hide
The Lord who journeys by our side.
———
Take the joys and bear the sorrows—neither with extreme concern!Living here means nescience simply; 'tis next life that helps to learn.Shut those eyes next life will open—stop those ears next life will teachHearing's office; close those lips next life will give the power of speech!Or, if action more amuse thee than the passive attitude,Bravely bustle through thy being, busy thee for ill or good,Reap this life's success or failure! Soon shall things be unperplexed,And the right or wrong, now tangled, lie unraveled in the next.—Robert Browning.
Take the joys and bear the sorrows—neither with extreme concern!Living here means nescience simply; 'tis next life that helps to learn.Shut those eyes next life will open—stop those ears next life will teachHearing's office; close those lips next life will give the power of speech!Or, if action more amuse thee than the passive attitude,Bravely bustle through thy being, busy thee for ill or good,Reap this life's success or failure! Soon shall things be unperplexed,And the right or wrong, now tangled, lie unraveled in the next.
Take the joys and bear the sorrows—neither with extreme concern!
Living here means nescience simply; 'tis next life that helps to learn.
Shut those eyes next life will open—stop those ears next life will teach
Hearing's office; close those lips next life will give the power of speech!
Or, if action more amuse thee than the passive attitude,
Bravely bustle through thy being, busy thee for ill or good,
Reap this life's success or failure! Soon shall things be unperplexed,
And the right or wrong, now tangled, lie unraveled in the next.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,And don't be sorrowful, pray;For taking the year together, my dear,There isn't more night than day.'Tis rainy weather, my darling;Time's waves they heavily run;But taking the year together, my dear,There isn't more cloud than sun.We are old folks now, my darling,Our heads are growing gray;And taking the year together, my dear,You will always find the May.We have had our May, my darling,And our roses long ago;And the time of year is coming, my dear,For the silent night and snow.And God is God, my darling,Of night as well as day,And we feel and know that we can goWherever he leads the way.Ay, God of night, my darling;Of the night of death so grim;The gate that leads out of life, good wife,Is the gate that leads to him.
Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,And don't be sorrowful, pray;For taking the year together, my dear,There isn't more night than day.
Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,
And don't be sorrowful, pray;
For taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more night than day.
'Tis rainy weather, my darling;Time's waves they heavily run;But taking the year together, my dear,There isn't more cloud than sun.
'Tis rainy weather, my darling;
Time's waves they heavily run;
But taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more cloud than sun.
We are old folks now, my darling,Our heads are growing gray;And taking the year together, my dear,You will always find the May.
We are old folks now, my darling,
Our heads are growing gray;
And taking the year together, my dear,
You will always find the May.
We have had our May, my darling,And our roses long ago;And the time of year is coming, my dear,For the silent night and snow.
We have had our May, my darling,
And our roses long ago;
And the time of year is coming, my dear,
For the silent night and snow.
And God is God, my darling,Of night as well as day,And we feel and know that we can goWherever he leads the way.
And God is God, my darling,
Of night as well as day,
And we feel and know that we can go
Wherever he leads the way.
Ay, God of night, my darling;Of the night of death so grim;The gate that leads out of life, good wife,Is the gate that leads to him.
Ay, God of night, my darling;
Of the night of death so grim;
The gate that leads out of life, good wife,
Is the gate that leads to him.
———
For age is opportunity no lessThan youth itself, though in another dress,And as the evening twilight fades awayThe sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
For age is opportunity no lessThan youth itself, though in another dress,And as the evening twilight fades awayThe sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
———
At sixty-two life has begun;At seventy-three begin once more;Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun,And brighter shine at eighty-four.At ninety-fiveShouldst thou arrive,Still wait on God, and work and thrive.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
At sixty-two life has begun;At seventy-three begin once more;Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun,And brighter shine at eighty-four.At ninety-fiveShouldst thou arrive,Still wait on God, and work and thrive.
At sixty-two life has begun;
At seventy-three begin once more;
Fly swifter as thou near'st the sun,
And brighter shine at eighty-four.
At ninety-five
Shouldst thou arrive,
Still wait on God, and work and thrive.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
———
For what is age but youth's full bloom,A riper, more transcendent youth?A weight of gold is never old.
For what is age but youth's full bloom,A riper, more transcendent youth?A weight of gold is never old.
For what is age but youth's full bloom,
A riper, more transcendent youth?
A weight of gold is never old.
———
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,A melancholy slave;But an old age serene and bright,And lovely as a Lapland night,Shall lead thee to thy grave.—William Wordsworth.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,A melancholy slave;But an old age serene and bright,And lovely as a Lapland night,Shall lead thee to thy grave.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
—William Wordsworth.
—William Wordsworth.
———
Fill, brief or long, my granted yearsOf life with love to thee and man;Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest,But let my last days be my best.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
Fill, brief or long, my granted yearsOf life with love to thee and man;Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest,But let my last days be my best.
Fill, brief or long, my granted years
Of life with love to thee and man;
Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest,
But let my last days be my best.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
An age so blest that, by its side,Youth seems the waste instead.—Robert Browning.
An age so blest that, by its side,Youth seems the waste instead.
An age so blest that, by its side,
Youth seems the waste instead.
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time,When you set your fancies free,Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you love so,—Pity me?O to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!What had I on earth to doWith the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel—Being—who?One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,Never doubted clouds would break,Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,Sleep to wake.No, at noonday, in the bustle of man's work-time,Greet the unseen with a cheer!Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,"Strive and thrive!" cry, "Speed,—fight on, fare everThere as here!"—Robert Browning.
At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time,When you set your fancies free,Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you love so,—Pity me?
At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time,
When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you love so,
—Pity me?
O to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!What had I on earth to doWith the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel—Being—who?
O to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
—Being—who?
One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,Never doubted clouds would break,Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,Sleep to wake.
One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.
No, at noonday, in the bustle of man's work-time,Greet the unseen with a cheer!Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,"Strive and thrive!" cry, "Speed,—fight on, fare everThere as here!"
No, at noonday, in the bustle of man's work-time,
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
"Strive and thrive!" cry, "Speed,—fight on, fare ever
There as here!"
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
Let no one till his deathBe called unhappy. Measure not the workUntil the day's out and the labor done;Then bring your gauges.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Let no one till his deathBe called unhappy. Measure not the workUntil the day's out and the labor done;Then bring your gauges.
Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labor done;
Then bring your gauges.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
———
O I would live longer, I gladly would stay,Though "storm after storm rises dark o'er the way";Temptations and trials beset me, 'tis true,Yet gladly I'd stay where there's so much to do.O I would live longer—not "away from my Lord"—For ever he's with me, fulfilling his word;In sorrow I lean on his arm, for he's near,In darkness he speaks, and my spirit doth cheer.Yes, I would live longer some trophy to win,Some soul to lead back from the dark paths of sin;Some weak one to strengthen, some faint one to cheer,And heaven will be sweeter for laboring here.But—would I live longer? How can I decide,With Jesus in glory, still here to abide?O Lord, leave not the decision to me,Where best I can serve thee, Lord, there let me be.—L. Kinney.
O I would live longer, I gladly would stay,Though "storm after storm rises dark o'er the way";Temptations and trials beset me, 'tis true,Yet gladly I'd stay where there's so much to do.
O I would live longer, I gladly would stay,
Though "storm after storm rises dark o'er the way";
Temptations and trials beset me, 'tis true,
Yet gladly I'd stay where there's so much to do.
O I would live longer—not "away from my Lord"—For ever he's with me, fulfilling his word;In sorrow I lean on his arm, for he's near,In darkness he speaks, and my spirit doth cheer.
O I would live longer—not "away from my Lord"—
For ever he's with me, fulfilling his word;
In sorrow I lean on his arm, for he's near,
In darkness he speaks, and my spirit doth cheer.
Yes, I would live longer some trophy to win,Some soul to lead back from the dark paths of sin;Some weak one to strengthen, some faint one to cheer,And heaven will be sweeter for laboring here.
Yes, I would live longer some trophy to win,
Some soul to lead back from the dark paths of sin;
Some weak one to strengthen, some faint one to cheer,
And heaven will be sweeter for laboring here.
But—would I live longer? How can I decide,With Jesus in glory, still here to abide?O Lord, leave not the decision to me,Where best I can serve thee, Lord, there let me be.
But—would I live longer? How can I decide,
With Jesus in glory, still here to abide?
O Lord, leave not the decision to me,
Where best I can serve thee, Lord, there let me be.
—L. Kinney.
—L. Kinney.
———
There is no death! the stars go downTo rise upon some fairer shore,And bright in heaven's jeweled crownThey shine forever more.There is no death! the dust we treadShall change, beneath the summer showers,To golden grain, or mellow fruit,Or rainbow-tinted flowers.There is no death! the leaves may fall,The flowers may fade and pass away—They only wait, through wintry hours,The warm sweet breath of May.There is no death! the choicest giftsThat Heaven hath kindly lent to earthAre ever first to seek againThe country of their birth;And all things that, for grief or joy,Are worthy of thy love and care,Whose loss has left us desolate,Are safely garnered there.* * * * * * *They are not dead! they have but passedBeyond the mists that blind us here,Into the new and larger lifeOf that serener sphere.They have but dropped their robe of clayTo put their shining raiment on;They have not wandered far away—They are not "lost" or "gone."Though disenthralled and glorified,They still are here and love us yet;The dear ones they have left behindThey never can forget.—J. C. McCreery.
There is no death! the stars go downTo rise upon some fairer shore,And bright in heaven's jeweled crownThey shine forever more.
There is no death! the stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore,
And bright in heaven's jeweled crown
They shine forever more.
There is no death! the dust we treadShall change, beneath the summer showers,To golden grain, or mellow fruit,Or rainbow-tinted flowers.
There is no death! the dust we tread
Shall change, beneath the summer showers,
To golden grain, or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.
There is no death! the leaves may fall,The flowers may fade and pass away—They only wait, through wintry hours,The warm sweet breath of May.
There is no death! the leaves may fall,
The flowers may fade and pass away—
They only wait, through wintry hours,
The warm sweet breath of May.
There is no death! the choicest giftsThat Heaven hath kindly lent to earthAre ever first to seek againThe country of their birth;
There is no death! the choicest gifts
That Heaven hath kindly lent to earth
Are ever first to seek again
The country of their birth;
And all things that, for grief or joy,Are worthy of thy love and care,Whose loss has left us desolate,Are safely garnered there.
And all things that, for grief or joy,
Are worthy of thy love and care,
Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
They are not dead! they have but passedBeyond the mists that blind us here,Into the new and larger lifeOf that serener sphere.
They are not dead! they have but passed
Beyond the mists that blind us here,
Into the new and larger life
Of that serener sphere.
They have but dropped their robe of clayTo put their shining raiment on;They have not wandered far away—They are not "lost" or "gone."
They have but dropped their robe of clay
To put their shining raiment on;
They have not wandered far away—
They are not "lost" or "gone."
Though disenthralled and glorified,They still are here and love us yet;The dear ones they have left behindThey never can forget.
Though disenthralled and glorified,
They still are here and love us yet;
The dear ones they have left behind
They never can forget.
—J. C. McCreery.
—J. C. McCreery.
———
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,The mist in my face;When the snows begin, and the blasts denoteI am nearing the place,The power of the night, the press of the storm,The post of the foe;Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form?Yet the strong man must go;For the journey is done and the summit attained,And the barriers fall—Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,The reward of it all.I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,The best and the last!I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,And bade me creep past.No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,The heroes of old,Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrearsOf pain, darkness, and cold.For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,The black minute's at end,And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave,Shall dwindle, shall blend,Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain,Then a light, then thy breast,O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,And with God be the rest!—Robert Browning.
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,The mist in my face;When the snows begin, and the blasts denoteI am nearing the place,The power of the night, the press of the storm,The post of the foe;Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form?Yet the strong man must go;For the journey is done and the summit attained,And the barriers fall—Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,The reward of it all.I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,The best and the last!I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,And bade me creep past.No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,The heroes of old,Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrearsOf pain, darkness, and cold.For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,The black minute's at end,And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave,Shall dwindle, shall blend,Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain,Then a light, then thy breast,O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,And with God be the rest!
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face;
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form?
Yet the strong man must go;
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall—
Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
Of pain, darkness, and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute's at end,
And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!
—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
———
We thank thee, gracious Father,For many a pleasant day,For bird and flower, and joyous hour,For friends, and work, and play.Of blessing and of mercyOur life has had its share;This world is not a wilderness,Thou hast made all things fair.But fairer still, and sweeter,The things that are above;We look and long to join the songIn the land of light and love.We trust the Word which tells usOf that divine abode;By faith we bring its glories nigh,While hope illumes the road.So death has lost its terrors;How can we fear it now?Its face, once grim, now leads to himAt whose command we bow.His presence makes us happy,His service is delight,The many mansions gleam and glow,The saints our souls invite.We welcome that departureWhich brings us to our Lord;We hail with joy the blest employThose wondrous realms afford.We call it home up yonder;Down here we toil and strainAs in some mine's dark, danksome depths;There sunshine bright we gain.To God, then, sound the timbrel!There's naught can do us harm;Our greatest foe has been laid low;What else can cause alarm?For freedom and for victoryOur hearts give loud acclaim;Whate'er befall, on him we call;North, South, East, West, in him we rest;All glory to his name!—James Mudge.
We thank thee, gracious Father,For many a pleasant day,For bird and flower, and joyous hour,For friends, and work, and play.Of blessing and of mercyOur life has had its share;This world is not a wilderness,Thou hast made all things fair.
We thank thee, gracious Father,
For many a pleasant day,
For bird and flower, and joyous hour,
For friends, and work, and play.
Of blessing and of mercy
Our life has had its share;
This world is not a wilderness,
Thou hast made all things fair.
But fairer still, and sweeter,The things that are above;We look and long to join the songIn the land of light and love.We trust the Word which tells usOf that divine abode;By faith we bring its glories nigh,While hope illumes the road.
But fairer still, and sweeter,
The things that are above;
We look and long to join the song
In the land of light and love.
We trust the Word which tells us
Of that divine abode;
By faith we bring its glories nigh,
While hope illumes the road.
So death has lost its terrors;How can we fear it now?Its face, once grim, now leads to himAt whose command we bow.His presence makes us happy,His service is delight,The many mansions gleam and glow,The saints our souls invite.
So death has lost its terrors;
How can we fear it now?
Its face, once grim, now leads to him
At whose command we bow.
His presence makes us happy,
His service is delight,
The many mansions gleam and glow,
The saints our souls invite.
We welcome that departureWhich brings us to our Lord;We hail with joy the blest employThose wondrous realms afford.We call it home up yonder;Down here we toil and strainAs in some mine's dark, danksome depths;There sunshine bright we gain.
We welcome that departure
Which brings us to our Lord;
We hail with joy the blest employ
Those wondrous realms afford.
We call it home up yonder;
Down here we toil and strain
As in some mine's dark, danksome depths;
There sunshine bright we gain.
To God, then, sound the timbrel!There's naught can do us harm;Our greatest foe has been laid low;What else can cause alarm?For freedom and for victoryOur hearts give loud acclaim;Whate'er befall, on him we call;North, South, East, West, in him we rest;All glory to his name!
To God, then, sound the timbrel!
There's naught can do us harm;
Our greatest foe has been laid low;
What else can cause alarm?
For freedom and for victory
Our hearts give loud acclaim;
Whate'er befall, on him we call;
North, South, East, West, in him we rest;
All glory to his name!
—James Mudge.
—James Mudge.
———
When on my day of life the night is falling,And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown,I hear far voices out of darkness callingMy feet to paths unknown;Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;O Love Divine, O Helper ever present,Be thou my strength and stay!Be near me when all else is from me drifting:Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine,And kindly faces to my own upliftingThe love which answers mine.I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spiritBe with me then to comfort and uphold;No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,Nor street of shining gold.Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,And both forgiven through thy abounding grace—I find myself by hands familiar beckonedUnto my fitting place.Some humble door among thy many mansions,Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease,And flows forever through heaven's green expansionsThe river of thy peace.There, from the music round about me stealing,I fain would learn the new and holy song,And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing,The life for which I long.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
When on my day of life the night is falling,And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown,I hear far voices out of darkness callingMy feet to paths unknown;
When on my day of life the night is falling,
And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown,
I hear far voices out of darkness calling
My feet to paths unknown;
Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;O Love Divine, O Helper ever present,Be thou my strength and stay!
Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,
Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;
O Love Divine, O Helper ever present,
Be thou my strength and stay!
Be near me when all else is from me drifting:Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine,And kindly faces to my own upliftingThe love which answers mine.
Be near me when all else is from me drifting:
Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine,
And kindly faces to my own uplifting
The love which answers mine.
I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spiritBe with me then to comfort and uphold;No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,Nor street of shining gold.
I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spirit
Be with me then to comfort and uphold;
No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,
Nor street of shining gold.
Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,And both forgiven through thy abounding grace—I find myself by hands familiar beckonedUnto my fitting place.
Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,
And both forgiven through thy abounding grace—
I find myself by hands familiar beckoned
Unto my fitting place.
Some humble door among thy many mansions,Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease,And flows forever through heaven's green expansionsThe river of thy peace.
Some humble door among thy many mansions,
Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease,
And flows forever through heaven's green expansions
The river of thy peace.
There, from the music round about me stealing,I fain would learn the new and holy song,And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing,The life for which I long.
There, from the music round about me stealing,
I fain would learn the new and holy song,
And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing,
The life for which I long.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
I would be ready, Lord,My house in order set,None of the work thou gavest meTo do unfinished yet.I would be watching, Lord,With lamp well trimmed and clear,Quick to throw open wide the door,What time thou drawest near.I would be waiting, Lord,Because I cannot knowIf in the night or morning watchI may be called to go.I would be waking, Lord,Each day, each hour for thee;Assured that thus I wait thee well,Whene'er thy coming be.I would be living, Lord,As ever in thine eye;For whoso lives the nearest theeThe fittest is to die.—Margaret J. Preston.
I would be ready, Lord,My house in order set,None of the work thou gavest meTo do unfinished yet.
I would be ready, Lord,
My house in order set,
None of the work thou gavest me
To do unfinished yet.
I would be watching, Lord,With lamp well trimmed and clear,Quick to throw open wide the door,What time thou drawest near.
I would be watching, Lord,
With lamp well trimmed and clear,
Quick to throw open wide the door,
What time thou drawest near.
I would be waiting, Lord,Because I cannot knowIf in the night or morning watchI may be called to go.
I would be waiting, Lord,
Because I cannot know
If in the night or morning watch
I may be called to go.
I would be waking, Lord,Each day, each hour for thee;Assured that thus I wait thee well,Whene'er thy coming be.
I would be waking, Lord,
Each day, each hour for thee;
Assured that thus I wait thee well,
Whene'er thy coming be.
I would be living, Lord,As ever in thine eye;For whoso lives the nearest theeThe fittest is to die.
I would be living, Lord,
As ever in thine eye;
For whoso lives the nearest thee
The fittest is to die.
—Margaret J. Preston.
—Margaret J. Preston.
———
I stand upon the summit of my life,Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,The battle and the burden; vast, afarBeyond these weary ways, behold the Sea!The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves;By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breathIs freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.Palter no question of the horizon dim—Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest;Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,A widening heaven, a current without care,Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course,Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.—Brownlee Brown.
I stand upon the summit of my life,Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,The battle and the burden; vast, afarBeyond these weary ways, behold the Sea!The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves;By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breathIs freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.
I stand upon the summit of my life,
Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,
The battle and the burden; vast, afar
Beyond these weary ways, behold the Sea!
The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves;
By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breath
Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.
Palter no question of the horizon dim—Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest;Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,A widening heaven, a current without care,Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course,Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.
Palter no question of the horizon dim—
Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest;
Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,
A widening heaven, a current without care,
Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course,
Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.
—Brownlee Brown.
—Brownlee Brown.
———
At end of love, at end of life,At end of hope, at end of strife,At end of all we cling to so,The sun is setting—must we go?At dawn of love, at dawn of life,At dawn of peace that follows strife,At dawn of all we long for so,The sun is rising—let us go!—Louise Chandler Moulton.
At end of love, at end of life,At end of hope, at end of strife,At end of all we cling to so,The sun is setting—must we go?
At end of love, at end of life,
At end of hope, at end of strife,
At end of all we cling to so,
The sun is setting—must we go?
At dawn of love, at dawn of life,At dawn of peace that follows strife,At dawn of all we long for so,The sun is rising—let us go!
At dawn of love, at dawn of life,
At dawn of peace that follows strife,
At dawn of all we long for so,
The sun is rising—let us go!
—Louise Chandler Moulton.
—Louise Chandler Moulton.
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It is not death to die—To leave this weary road,And, 'mid the brotherhood on high,To be at home with God.It is not death to closeThe eye long dimmed by tears,And wake in glorious reposeTo spend eternal years.It is not death to bearThe wrench that sets us freeFrom dungeon chain, to breathe the airOf boundless liberty.It is not death to flingAside this sinful dust,And rise on strong exulting wingTo live among the just.Jesus, thou Prince of life,Thy chosen cannot die!Like thee they conquer in the strifeTo reign with thee on high.—Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Washington Bethune.
It is not death to die—To leave this weary road,And, 'mid the brotherhood on high,To be at home with God.
It is not death to die—
To leave this weary road,
And, 'mid the brotherhood on high,
To be at home with God.
It is not death to closeThe eye long dimmed by tears,And wake in glorious reposeTo spend eternal years.
It is not death to close
The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake in glorious repose
To spend eternal years.
It is not death to bearThe wrench that sets us freeFrom dungeon chain, to breathe the airOf boundless liberty.
It is not death to bear
The wrench that sets us free
From dungeon chain, to breathe the air
Of boundless liberty.
It is not death to flingAside this sinful dust,And rise on strong exulting wingTo live among the just.
It is not death to fling
Aside this sinful dust,
And rise on strong exulting wing
To live among the just.
Jesus, thou Prince of life,Thy chosen cannot die!Like thee they conquer in the strifeTo reign with thee on high.
Jesus, thou Prince of life,
Thy chosen cannot die!
Like thee they conquer in the strife
To reign with thee on high.
—Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Washington Bethune.
—Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Washington Bethune.
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Does the road wind uphill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss the inn.Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before.Then must I knock or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at the door.Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?Of labor you shall find the sum.Will there be beds for me and all who seek?Yes, beds for all who come.—Christina G. Rossetti.
Does the road wind uphill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss the inn.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss the inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before.Then must I knock or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at the door.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at the door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?Of labor you shall find the sum.Will there be beds for me and all who seek?Yes, beds for all who come.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yes, beds for all who come.
—Christina G. Rossetti.
—Christina G. Rossetti.
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The end's so near,It is all oneWhat track I steer,What work's begun,It is all oneIfnothing'sdone,The end's so near!The end's so near,It is all oneWhattrack thou steer,Whatwork's begun—Somedeed,someplan,As thou'rt a man!The end's so near!—Edward Rowland Sill.
The end's so near,It is all oneWhat track I steer,What work's begun,It is all oneIfnothing'sdone,The end's so near!
The end's so near,
It is all one
What track I steer,
What work's begun,
It is all one
Ifnothing'sdone,
The end's so near!
The end's so near,It is all oneWhattrack thou steer,Whatwork's begun—Somedeed,someplan,As thou'rt a man!The end's so near!
The end's so near,
It is all one
Whattrack thou steer,
Whatwork's begun—
Somedeed,someplan,
As thou'rt a man!
The end's so near!
—Edward Rowland Sill.
—Edward Rowland Sill.
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