APPENDIX

In the hush of April weather,With the bees in budding heather,And the white clouds floating, floating,and the sunshine falling broad;While my children down the hillRun and leap, and I sit still,Through the silence, through the silenceart thou calling, O my God?Through my husband's voice that prayeth,Though he knows not what he sayeth,Is it thou who, in thy holy word, hastsolemn words for me?And when he clasps me fast,And smiles fondly o'er the past,And talks hopeful of the future, Lord,do I hear only thee?Not in terror nor in thunderComes thy voice, although it sunderFlesh from spirit, soul from body,human bliss from human pain;All the work that was to do,All the joys so sweet and new,Which thou shew'dst me in a vision,Moses-like, and hid'st again.From this Pisgah, lying humbled,The long desert where I stumbledAnd the fair plains I shall never reachseem equal, clear, and far:On this mountain-top of easeThou wilt bury me in peace;While my tribes march onward, onwardunto Canaan and to war.

In the hush of April weather,

With the bees in budding heather,

And the white clouds floating, floating,

and the sunshine falling broad;

While my children down the hill

Run and leap, and I sit still,

Through the silence, through the silence

art thou calling, O my God?

Through my husband's voice that prayeth,Though he knows not what he sayeth,Is it thou who, in thy holy word, hastsolemn words for me?And when he clasps me fast,And smiles fondly o'er the past,And talks hopeful of the future, Lord,do I hear only thee?

Through my husband's voice that prayeth,

Though he knows not what he sayeth,

Is it thou who, in thy holy word, hast

solemn words for me?

And when he clasps me fast,

And smiles fondly o'er the past,

And talks hopeful of the future, Lord,

do I hear only thee?

Not in terror nor in thunderComes thy voice, although it sunderFlesh from spirit, soul from body,human bliss from human pain;All the work that was to do,All the joys so sweet and new,Which thou shew'dst me in a vision,Moses-like, and hid'st again.

Not in terror nor in thunder

Comes thy voice, although it sunder

Flesh from spirit, soul from body,

human bliss from human pain;

All the work that was to do,

All the joys so sweet and new,

Which thou shew'dst me in a vision,

Moses-like, and hid'st again.

From this Pisgah, lying humbled,The long desert where I stumbledAnd the fair plains I shall never reachseem equal, clear, and far:On this mountain-top of easeThou wilt bury me in peace;While my tribes march onward, onwardunto Canaan and to war.

From this Pisgah, lying humbled,

The long desert where I stumbled

And the fair plains I shall never reach

seem equal, clear, and far:

On this mountain-top of ease

Thou wilt bury me in peace;

While my tribes march onward, onward

unto Canaan and to war.

———

In my boy's loud laughter ringing,In the sigh, more soft than singing,Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast,After every voice most dear,Comes a whisper, "Rest not here."And the rest thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?Lord, a little, little longer!Sobs the earth love, growing stronger;He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days,And heaven were scarcely heavenIf these lambs that thou hast givenWere to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.Lord, it is not fear of dying,Nor an impious denyingOf thy will—which evermore on earth, in heaven, be done;But a love that, desperate, clingsUnto these, my precious things,In the beauty of the daylight, and glory of the sun.Ah! thou still art calling, calling,With a soft voice unappalling;And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;When thou knockest, even so!I will arise and go:What, my little ones, more violets? nay, be patient; mother hears!—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

In my boy's loud laughter ringing,

In the sigh, more soft than singing,

Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast,

After every voice most dear,

Comes a whisper, "Rest not here."

And the rest thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?

Lord, a little, little longer!Sobs the earth love, growing stronger;He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days,And heaven were scarcely heavenIf these lambs that thou hast givenWere to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.

Lord, a little, little longer!

Sobs the earth love, growing stronger;

He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days,

And heaven were scarcely heaven

If these lambs that thou hast given

Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.

Lord, it is not fear of dying,Nor an impious denyingOf thy will—which evermore on earth, in heaven, be done;But a love that, desperate, clingsUnto these, my precious things,In the beauty of the daylight, and glory of the sun.

Lord, it is not fear of dying,

Nor an impious denying

Of thy will—which evermore on earth, in heaven, be done;

But a love that, desperate, clings

Unto these, my precious things,

In the beauty of the daylight, and glory of the sun.

Ah! thou still art calling, calling,With a soft voice unappalling;And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;When thou knockest, even so!I will arise and go:What, my little ones, more violets? nay, be patient; mother hears!

Ah! thou still art calling, calling,

With a soft voice unappalling;

And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years;

When thou knockest, even so!

I will arise and go:

What, my little ones, more violets? nay, be patient; mother hears!

—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

———

In the June twilight, in the soft, gray twilight,The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,"All these things for ever, for ever thou must leave."My love she sank down quivering like a pine in tempest shivering,"I have had so little happiness as yet beneath the sun;I have called the shadow sunshine, and the merest frosty moonshineI have, weeping, blessed the Lord for as if daylight had begun."Till he sent a sudden angel, with a glorious sweet evangel,Who turned all my tears to pearl-gems, and crownedme—so little worth;Me!and through the rainy even changed my poor earth into heavenOr, by wondrous revelation, brought the heavens down to earth."O the strangeness of the feeling!—O the infinite revealing,—To think how God must love me to have made me so content!Though I would have served him humbly, and patiently, and dumbly,Without any angel standing in the pathway that I went."In the June twilight, in the lessening twilight,My love cried from my bosom an exceeding bitter cry:"Lord, wait a little longer, until my soul is stronger!O wait till thou hast taught me to be content to die!"Then the tender face, all woman, took a glory superhuman,And she seemed to watch for something, or see some I could not see:From my arms she rose full-statured, all transfigured, queenly-featured,—"As thy will is done in heaven, so on earth still let it be!"I go lonely, I go lonely, and I feel that earth is onlyThe vestibule of places whose courts we never win;Yet I see my palace shining, where my love sits amaranths twining,And I know the gates stand open, and I shall enter in!—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

In the June twilight, in the soft, gray twilight,The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,"All these things for ever, for ever thou must leave."

In the June twilight, in the soft, gray twilight,

The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,

As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,

"All these things for ever, for ever thou must leave."

My love she sank down quivering like a pine in tempest shivering,"I have had so little happiness as yet beneath the sun;I have called the shadow sunshine, and the merest frosty moonshineI have, weeping, blessed the Lord for as if daylight had begun.

My love she sank down quivering like a pine in tempest shivering,

"I have had so little happiness as yet beneath the sun;

I have called the shadow sunshine, and the merest frosty moonshine

I have, weeping, blessed the Lord for as if daylight had begun.

"Till he sent a sudden angel, with a glorious sweet evangel,Who turned all my tears to pearl-gems, and crownedme—so little worth;Me!and through the rainy even changed my poor earth into heavenOr, by wondrous revelation, brought the heavens down to earth.

"Till he sent a sudden angel, with a glorious sweet evangel,

Who turned all my tears to pearl-gems, and crownedme—so little worth;

Me!and through the rainy even changed my poor earth into heaven

Or, by wondrous revelation, brought the heavens down to earth.

"O the strangeness of the feeling!—O the infinite revealing,—To think how God must love me to have made me so content!Though I would have served him humbly, and patiently, and dumbly,Without any angel standing in the pathway that I went."

"O the strangeness of the feeling!—O the infinite revealing,—

To think how God must love me to have made me so content!

Though I would have served him humbly, and patiently, and dumbly,

Without any angel standing in the pathway that I went."

In the June twilight, in the lessening twilight,My love cried from my bosom an exceeding bitter cry:"Lord, wait a little longer, until my soul is stronger!O wait till thou hast taught me to be content to die!"

In the June twilight, in the lessening twilight,

My love cried from my bosom an exceeding bitter cry:

"Lord, wait a little longer, until my soul is stronger!

O wait till thou hast taught me to be content to die!"

Then the tender face, all woman, took a glory superhuman,And she seemed to watch for something, or see some I could not see:From my arms she rose full-statured, all transfigured, queenly-featured,—"As thy will is done in heaven, so on earth still let it be!"

Then the tender face, all woman, took a glory superhuman,

And she seemed to watch for something, or see some I could not see:

From my arms she rose full-statured, all transfigured, queenly-featured,—

"As thy will is done in heaven, so on earth still let it be!"

I go lonely, I go lonely, and I feel that earth is onlyThe vestibule of places whose courts we never win;Yet I see my palace shining, where my love sits amaranths twining,And I know the gates stand open, and I shall enter in!

I go lonely, I go lonely, and I feel that earth is only

The vestibule of places whose courts we never win;

Yet I see my palace shining, where my love sits amaranths twining,

And I know the gates stand open, and I shall enter in!

—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

———

Sunset and evening star,And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the barWhen I put out to sea,But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home.Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewellWhen I embark;For though from out our bourne of Time and PlaceThe flood may bear me far,I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have crossed the bar.—Alfred Tennyson.

Sunset and evening star,And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the barWhen I put out to sea,

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home.

But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewellWhen I embark;

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell

When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and PlaceThe flood may bear me far,I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have crossed the bar.

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Nay, why should I fear Death,Who gives us life, and in exchange takes breath?He is like cordial spring,That lifts above the soil each buried thing;Like autumn, kind and brief,The frost that chills the branches frees the leaf;Like winter's stormy hours,That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers;The lordliest of all things!—Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings.Fearing no covert thrust,Let me walk onward, armed in valiant trust;Dreading no unseen knife,Across Death's threshold step from life to life!O all ye frightened folk,Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,Laid in one equal bed,When once your coverlet of grass is spread,What daybreak need you fear?The Love will rule you there that guides you here.Where Life, the sower, stands,Scattering the ages from his swinging hands,Thou waitest, reaper lone,Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.Scythe-bearer, when thy bladeHarvests my flesh, let me be unafraid.God's husbandman thou art,In his unwithering sheaves, O, bind my heart!—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

Nay, why should I fear Death,Who gives us life, and in exchange takes breath?

Nay, why should I fear Death,

Who gives us life, and in exchange takes breath?

He is like cordial spring,That lifts above the soil each buried thing;

He is like cordial spring,

That lifts above the soil each buried thing;

Like autumn, kind and brief,The frost that chills the branches frees the leaf;

Like autumn, kind and brief,

The frost that chills the branches frees the leaf;

Like winter's stormy hours,That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers;

Like winter's stormy hours,

That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers;

The lordliest of all things!—Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings.

The lordliest of all things!—

Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings.

Fearing no covert thrust,Let me walk onward, armed in valiant trust;

Fearing no covert thrust,

Let me walk onward, armed in valiant trust;

Dreading no unseen knife,Across Death's threshold step from life to life!

Dreading no unseen knife,

Across Death's threshold step from life to life!

O all ye frightened folk,Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,

O all ye frightened folk,

Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,

Laid in one equal bed,When once your coverlet of grass is spread,

Laid in one equal bed,

When once your coverlet of grass is spread,

What daybreak need you fear?The Love will rule you there that guides you here.

What daybreak need you fear?

The Love will rule you there that guides you here.

Where Life, the sower, stands,Scattering the ages from his swinging hands,

Where Life, the sower, stands,

Scattering the ages from his swinging hands,

Thou waitest, reaper lone,Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.

Thou waitest, reaper lone,

Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.

Scythe-bearer, when thy bladeHarvests my flesh, let me be unafraid.

Scythe-bearer, when thy blade

Harvests my flesh, let me be unafraid.

God's husbandman thou art,In his unwithering sheaves, O, bind my heart!

God's husbandman thou art,

In his unwithering sheaves, O, bind my heart!

—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

———

The sands of time are sinking,The dawn of heaven breaks,The summer morn I've sighed for—The fair, sweet morn awakes.Dark, dark hath been the midnight,But dayspring is at hand,And glory, glory dwellethIn Immanuel's land.I've wrestled on toward heaven'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide,Now, like a weary travelerThat leaneth on his guide,Amid the shades of evening,While sinks life's lingering sand,I hail the glory dawningFrom Immanuel's land.Deep waters crossed life's pathway;The hedge of thorns was sharp;Now these lie all behind me.O for a well-tuned harp!O to join the HallelujahWith yon triumphant bandWho sing where glory dwelleth—In Immanuel's land!With mercy and with judgmentMy web of time he wove,And aye the dews of sorrowWere lustered with his love;I'll bless the hand that guided,I'll bless the heart that planned,When throned where glory dwelleth—In Immanuel's land.—Annie R. Cousin.

The sands of time are sinking,

The dawn of heaven breaks,

The summer morn I've sighed for—

The fair, sweet morn awakes.

Dark, dark hath been the midnight,

But dayspring is at hand,

And glory, glory dwelleth

In Immanuel's land.

I've wrestled on toward heaven'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide,Now, like a weary travelerThat leaneth on his guide,Amid the shades of evening,While sinks life's lingering sand,I hail the glory dawningFrom Immanuel's land.

I've wrestled on toward heaven

'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide,

Now, like a weary traveler

That leaneth on his guide,

Amid the shades of evening,

While sinks life's lingering sand,

I hail the glory dawning

From Immanuel's land.

Deep waters crossed life's pathway;The hedge of thorns was sharp;Now these lie all behind me.O for a well-tuned harp!O to join the HallelujahWith yon triumphant bandWho sing where glory dwelleth—In Immanuel's land!

Deep waters crossed life's pathway;

The hedge of thorns was sharp;

Now these lie all behind me.

O for a well-tuned harp!

O to join the Hallelujah

With yon triumphant band

Who sing where glory dwelleth—

In Immanuel's land!

With mercy and with judgmentMy web of time he wove,And aye the dews of sorrowWere lustered with his love;I'll bless the hand that guided,I'll bless the heart that planned,When throned where glory dwelleth—In Immanuel's land.

With mercy and with judgment

My web of time he wove,

And aye the dews of sorrow

Were lustered with his love;

I'll bless the hand that guided,

I'll bless the heart that planned,

When throned where glory dwelleth—

In Immanuel's land.

—Annie R. Cousin.

———

The grave itself is but a covered bridgeLeading from light to light through a brief darkness.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The grave itself is but a covered bridgeLeading from light to light through a brief darkness.

The grave itself is but a covered bridge

Leading from light to light through a brief darkness.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

I hold that, since by death aloneGod bids my soul go free,In death a richer blessing isThan all the world to me.—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

I hold that, since by death aloneGod bids my soul go free,In death a richer blessing isThan all the world to me.

I hold that, since by death alone

God bids my soul go free,

In death a richer blessing is

Than all the world to me.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust;Still the star-worlds roll.Fearest death? sayest, "Dust to dust"?No; say "Soul to Soul!"—John Vance Cheney.

Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust;Still the star-worlds roll.Fearest death? sayest, "Dust to dust"?No; say "Soul to Soul!"

Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust;

Still the star-worlds roll.

Fearest death? sayest, "Dust to dust"?

No; say "Soul to Soul!"

—John Vance Cheney.

———

This body is my house—it is not I;Herein I sojourn till, in some far sky,I lease a fairer dwelling, built to lastTill all the carpentry of time is past.When from my high place viewing this lone star,What shall I care where these poor timbers are?What though the crumbling walls turn dust and loam—I shall have left them for a larger home.What though the rafters break, the stanchions rot,When earth has dwindled to a glimmering spot!When thou, clay cottage, fallest, I'll immerseMy long-cramp'd spirit in the universe.Through uncomputed silences of spaceI shall yearn upward to the leaning Face.The ancient heavens will roll aside for me,As Moses monarch'd the dividing sea.This body is my house—it is not I.Triumphant in this faith I live, and die.—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

This body is my house—it is not I;

Herein I sojourn till, in some far sky,

I lease a fairer dwelling, built to last

Till all the carpentry of time is past.

When from my high place viewing this lone star,

What shall I care where these poor timbers are?

What though the crumbling walls turn dust and loam—

I shall have left them for a larger home.

What though the rafters break, the stanchions rot,

When earth has dwindled to a glimmering spot!

When thou, clay cottage, fallest, I'll immerse

My long-cramp'd spirit in the universe.

Through uncomputed silences of space

I shall yearn upward to the leaning Face.

The ancient heavens will roll aside for me,

As Moses monarch'd the dividing sea.

This body is my house—it is not I.

Triumphant in this faith I live, and die.

—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

———

It singeth low in every heart,We hear it, each and all—A song of those who answer not,However we may call;They throng the silence of the breast,We see them as of yore—The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,Who walk with us no more.'Tis hard to take the burden upWhen these have laid it down;They brightened all the joy of life,They softened every frown;But, O, 'tis good to think of themWhen we are troubled sore!Thanks be to God that such have been,Though they are here no more.More homelike seems the vast unknownSince they have entered there;To follow them were not so hard,Wherever they may fare;They cannot be where God is not,On any sea or shore;Whate'er betides, thy love abides,Our God, for evermore.—John White Chadwick.

It singeth low in every heart,

We hear it, each and all—

A song of those who answer not,

However we may call;

They throng the silence of the breast,

We see them as of yore—

The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,

Who walk with us no more.

'Tis hard to take the burden upWhen these have laid it down;They brightened all the joy of life,They softened every frown;But, O, 'tis good to think of themWhen we are troubled sore!Thanks be to God that such have been,Though they are here no more.

'Tis hard to take the burden up

When these have laid it down;

They brightened all the joy of life,

They softened every frown;

But, O, 'tis good to think of them

When we are troubled sore!

Thanks be to God that such have been,

Though they are here no more.

More homelike seems the vast unknownSince they have entered there;To follow them were not so hard,Wherever they may fare;They cannot be where God is not,On any sea or shore;Whate'er betides, thy love abides,Our God, for evermore.

More homelike seems the vast unknown

Since they have entered there;

To follow them were not so hard,

Wherever they may fare;

They cannot be where God is not,

On any sea or shore;

Whate'er betides, thy love abides,

Our God, for evermore.

—John White Chadwick.

———

As I lay sick upon my bedI heard them say "in danger";The word seemed very strange to meCould any word seem stranger?"In danger"—of escape from sinFor ever and for ever!Of entering that most holy placeWhere evil entereth never!"In danger"—of beholding himWho is my soul's salvation!Whose promises sustain my soulIn blest anticipation!"In danger"—of soon shaking offEarth's last remaining fetter!And of departing hence to be"With Christ," which is far better!Itisa solemn thing to die,To face the king Immortal,And each forgiven sinner shouldTread softly o'er the portal.But when we have confessed our sinsTo him who can discern them,And God has given pardon, peace,Tho' we could ne'er deserve them,Then, dying is no dangerous thing;Safe in the Saviour's keeping,The ransomed soul is gently ledBeyond the reach of weeping.So tell me with unfaltering voiceWhen Hope is really dawning;I should not like to sleep awayMy few hours till the morning.

As I lay sick upon my bedI heard them say "in danger";The word seemed very strange to meCould any word seem stranger?

As I lay sick upon my bed

I heard them say "in danger";

The word seemed very strange to me

Could any word seem stranger?

"In danger"—of escape from sinFor ever and for ever!Of entering that most holy placeWhere evil entereth never!

"In danger"—of escape from sin

For ever and for ever!

Of entering that most holy place

Where evil entereth never!

"In danger"—of beholding himWho is my soul's salvation!Whose promises sustain my soulIn blest anticipation!

"In danger"—of beholding him

Who is my soul's salvation!

Whose promises sustain my soul

In blest anticipation!

"In danger"—of soon shaking offEarth's last remaining fetter!And of departing hence to be"With Christ," which is far better!

"In danger"—of soon shaking off

Earth's last remaining fetter!

And of departing hence to be

"With Christ," which is far better!

Itisa solemn thing to die,To face the king Immortal,And each forgiven sinner shouldTread softly o'er the portal.

Itisa solemn thing to die,

To face the king Immortal,

And each forgiven sinner should

Tread softly o'er the portal.

But when we have confessed our sinsTo him who can discern them,And God has given pardon, peace,Tho' we could ne'er deserve them,

But when we have confessed our sins

To him who can discern them,

And God has given pardon, peace,

Tho' we could ne'er deserve them,

Then, dying is no dangerous thing;Safe in the Saviour's keeping,The ransomed soul is gently ledBeyond the reach of weeping.

Then, dying is no dangerous thing;

Safe in the Saviour's keeping,

The ransomed soul is gently led

Beyond the reach of weeping.

So tell me with unfaltering voiceWhen Hope is really dawning;I should not like to sleep awayMy few hours till the morning.

So tell me with unfaltering voice

When Hope is really dawning;

I should not like to sleep away

My few hours till the morning.

———

Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,(Since he who knows our need is just,)That somehow, somewhere meet we must.Alas for him who never seesThe stars shine through his cypress trees!Who hopeless lays his dead away,Nor looks to see the breaking dayAcross the mournful marbles play;Who hath not learned in hours of faithThis truth to flesh and sense unknown;That Life is ever lord of death,And Love can never lose its own!—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,

(Since he who knows our need is just,)

That somehow, somewhere meet we must.

Alas for him who never sees

The stars shine through his cypress trees!

Who hopeless lays his dead away,

Nor looks to see the breaking day

Across the mournful marbles play;

Who hath not learned in hours of faith

This truth to flesh and sense unknown;

That Life is ever lord of death,

And Love can never lose its own!

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Thereisno vacant chair. The loving meet—A group unbroken—smitten, who knows how?One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;We gave him once that freedom. Why not now?Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;He needed it too often, nor could weBestow. God gave it, knowing how to do it best.Which of us would disturb him? Let him be.There is no vacant chair. If he will takeThe mood to listen mutely, be it done.By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache,Plead not nor question! Let him have this one.Death is a mood of life. It is no whimBy which life's Giver wrecks a broken heart.Death is life's reticence. Still audible to him,The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart.There is no vacant chair. To love is stillTo have. Nearer to memory than to eye,And dearer yet to anguish than to comfort, willWe hold him by our love, that shall not die,For while it doth not, thus he cannot. Try!Who can put out the motion or the smile?The old ways of being noble all with him laid by?Because we love he is. Then trust awhile.—Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward.

Thereisno vacant chair. The loving meet—A group unbroken—smitten, who knows how?One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;We gave him once that freedom. Why not now?

Thereisno vacant chair. The loving meet—

A group unbroken—smitten, who knows how?

One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;

We gave him once that freedom. Why not now?

Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;He needed it too often, nor could weBestow. God gave it, knowing how to do it best.Which of us would disturb him? Let him be.

Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;

He needed it too often, nor could we

Bestow. God gave it, knowing how to do it best.

Which of us would disturb him? Let him be.

There is no vacant chair. If he will takeThe mood to listen mutely, be it done.By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache,Plead not nor question! Let him have this one.

There is no vacant chair. If he will take

The mood to listen mutely, be it done.

By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache,

Plead not nor question! Let him have this one.

Death is a mood of life. It is no whimBy which life's Giver wrecks a broken heart.Death is life's reticence. Still audible to him,The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart.

Death is a mood of life. It is no whim

By which life's Giver wrecks a broken heart.

Death is life's reticence. Still audible to him,

The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart.

There is no vacant chair. To love is stillTo have. Nearer to memory than to eye,And dearer yet to anguish than to comfort, willWe hold him by our love, that shall not die,

There is no vacant chair. To love is still

To have. Nearer to memory than to eye,

And dearer yet to anguish than to comfort, will

We hold him by our love, that shall not die,

For while it doth not, thus he cannot. Try!Who can put out the motion or the smile?The old ways of being noble all with him laid by?Because we love he is. Then trust awhile.

For while it doth not, thus he cannot. Try!

Who can put out the motion or the smile?

The old ways of being noble all with him laid by?

Because we love he is. Then trust awhile.

—Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward.

———

Two gifts God giveth, and he saithOne shall be forfeit in the strife—The one no longer needed: life,No hand shall take the other, death.—John Vance Cheney.

Two gifts God giveth, and he saithOne shall be forfeit in the strife—The one no longer needed: life,No hand shall take the other, death.

Two gifts God giveth, and he saith

One shall be forfeit in the strife—

The one no longer needed: life,

No hand shall take the other, death.

—John Vance Cheney.

———

The ship may sink,And I may drinkA hasty death in the bitter sea;But all that I leaveIn the ocean graveCan be slipped and spared, and no loss to me.What care IThough falls the skyAnd the shriveling earth to a cinder turn;No fires of doomCan ever consumeWhat never was made nor meant to burn!Let go the breath!There is no deathTo a living soul, nor loss, nor harm.Not of the clodIs the life of God—Let it mount, as it will, from form to form.—Charles Gordon Ames.

The ship may sink,And I may drinkA hasty death in the bitter sea;But all that I leaveIn the ocean graveCan be slipped and spared, and no loss to me.

The ship may sink,

And I may drink

A hasty death in the bitter sea;

But all that I leave

In the ocean grave

Can be slipped and spared, and no loss to me.

What care IThough falls the skyAnd the shriveling earth to a cinder turn;No fires of doomCan ever consumeWhat never was made nor meant to burn!

What care I

Though falls the sky

And the shriveling earth to a cinder turn;

No fires of doom

Can ever consume

What never was made nor meant to burn!

Let go the breath!There is no deathTo a living soul, nor loss, nor harm.Not of the clodIs the life of God—Let it mount, as it will, from form to form.

Let go the breath!

There is no death

To a living soul, nor loss, nor harm.

Not of the clod

Is the life of God—

Let it mount, as it will, from form to form.

—Charles Gordon Ames.

———

Life! I know not what thou art,But know that thou and I must part;And when, or how, or where we metI own to me's a secret yet.But this I know—when thou art fled,Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,No clod so valueless shall beAs all that there remains of me.O whither, whither dost thou fly?Where bend unseen thy trackless course?And in this strange divorce,Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I?Life! we've been long together,Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;'Tis hard to part when friends are dear.Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;Then steal away, give little warning,Choose thine own time;Say not "Good Night," but in some brighter climeBid me "Good Morning."—Anna Letitia Barbauld.

Life! I know not what thou art,But know that thou and I must part;And when, or how, or where we metI own to me's a secret yet.

Life! I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part;

And when, or how, or where we met

I own to me's a secret yet.

But this I know—when thou art fled,Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,No clod so valueless shall beAs all that there remains of me.O whither, whither dost thou fly?Where bend unseen thy trackless course?And in this strange divorce,Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I?

But this I know—when thou art fled,

Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,

No clod so valueless shall be

As all that there remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly?

Where bend unseen thy trackless course?

And in this strange divorce,

Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I?

Life! we've been long together,Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;'Tis hard to part when friends are dear.Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;Then steal away, give little warning,Choose thine own time;Say not "Good Night," but in some brighter climeBid me "Good Morning."

Life! we've been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear.

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not "Good Night," but in some brighter clime

Bid me "Good Morning."

—Anna Letitia Barbauld.

———

"Body, I pray you, let me go!"(It is a soul that struggles so.)"Body, I see on yonder heightDim reflex of a solemn light;A flame that shineth from the placeWhere Beauty walks with naked face;It is a flame you cannot see—Lie down, you clod, and set me free."Body, I pray you, let me go!"(It is a soul that striveth so.)"Body, I hear dim sounds afarDripping from some diviner star;Dim sounds of joyous harmony,It is my mates that sing, and IMust drink that song or break my heart—Body, I pray you, let us part."Comrade, your frame is worn and frail,Your vital powers begin to fail;I long for life, but you for rest;Then, Body, let us both be blest.When you are lying 'neath the dewI'll come sometimes, and sing to you;But you will feel no pain nor woe—Body, I pray you, let me go."Thus strove a Being. Beauty fain,He broke his bonds and fled amain.He fled: the Body lay bereft,But on its lips a smile was left,As if that spirit, looking back,Shouted upon his upward track,With joyous tone and hurried breath,Some message that could comfort Death.—Danske Dandridge.

"Body, I pray you, let me go!"

(It is a soul that struggles so.)

"Body, I see on yonder height

Dim reflex of a solemn light;

A flame that shineth from the place

Where Beauty walks with naked face;

It is a flame you cannot see—

Lie down, you clod, and set me free.

"Body, I pray you, let me go!"(It is a soul that striveth so.)"Body, I hear dim sounds afarDripping from some diviner star;Dim sounds of joyous harmony,It is my mates that sing, and IMust drink that song or break my heart—Body, I pray you, let us part.

"Body, I pray you, let me go!"

(It is a soul that striveth so.)

"Body, I hear dim sounds afar

Dripping from some diviner star;

Dim sounds of joyous harmony,

It is my mates that sing, and I

Must drink that song or break my heart—

Body, I pray you, let us part.

"Comrade, your frame is worn and frail,Your vital powers begin to fail;I long for life, but you for rest;Then, Body, let us both be blest.When you are lying 'neath the dewI'll come sometimes, and sing to you;But you will feel no pain nor woe—Body, I pray you, let me go."

"Comrade, your frame is worn and frail,

Your vital powers begin to fail;

I long for life, but you for rest;

Then, Body, let us both be blest.

When you are lying 'neath the dew

I'll come sometimes, and sing to you;

But you will feel no pain nor woe—

Body, I pray you, let me go."

Thus strove a Being. Beauty fain,He broke his bonds and fled amain.He fled: the Body lay bereft,But on its lips a smile was left,As if that spirit, looking back,Shouted upon his upward track,With joyous tone and hurried breath,Some message that could comfort Death.

Thus strove a Being. Beauty fain,

He broke his bonds and fled amain.

He fled: the Body lay bereft,

But on its lips a smile was left,

As if that spirit, looking back,

Shouted upon his upward track,

With joyous tone and hurried breath,

Some message that could comfort Death.

—Danske Dandridge.

———

Man in his life hath three good friends—Wealth, family, and noble deeds;These serve him in his days of joyAnd minister unto his needs.But when the lonely hour of deathWith sad and silent foot draws nigh,Wealth, then, and family take their wings,And from the dying pillow fly.But noble deeds in love respond,"Ere came to thee the fatal day,We went before, O gentle friend,And smoothed the steep and thorny way."—From the Hebrew, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Man in his life hath three good friends—Wealth, family, and noble deeds;These serve him in his days of joyAnd minister unto his needs.

Man in his life hath three good friends—

Wealth, family, and noble deeds;

These serve him in his days of joy

And minister unto his needs.

But when the lonely hour of deathWith sad and silent foot draws nigh,Wealth, then, and family take their wings,And from the dying pillow fly.

But when the lonely hour of death

With sad and silent foot draws nigh,

Wealth, then, and family take their wings,

And from the dying pillow fly.

But noble deeds in love respond,"Ere came to thee the fatal day,We went before, O gentle friend,And smoothed the steep and thorny way."

But noble deeds in love respond,

"Ere came to thee the fatal day,

We went before, O gentle friend,

And smoothed the steep and thorny way."

—From the Hebrew, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

How far from here to heaven?Not very far, my friend;A single hearty stepWill all thy journey end.Hold, there! where runnest thou?Know heaven isinthee!Seek'st thou for God elsewhere?His face thou'lt never see.Go out, God will go in;Die thou, and let him live;Be not, and he will be;Wait, and he'll all things give.I don't believe in death.If hour by hour I die,'Tis hour by hour to gainA better life thereby.—Angelus Silesius, A.D. 1620.

How far from here to heaven?Not very far, my friend;A single hearty stepWill all thy journey end.

How far from here to heaven?

Not very far, my friend;

A single hearty step

Will all thy journey end.

Hold, there! where runnest thou?Know heaven isinthee!Seek'st thou for God elsewhere?His face thou'lt never see.

Hold, there! where runnest thou?

Know heaven isinthee!

Seek'st thou for God elsewhere?

His face thou'lt never see.

Go out, God will go in;Die thou, and let him live;Be not, and he will be;Wait, and he'll all things give.

Go out, God will go in;

Die thou, and let him live;

Be not, and he will be;

Wait, and he'll all things give.

I don't believe in death.If hour by hour I die,'Tis hour by hour to gainA better life thereby.

I don't believe in death.

If hour by hour I die,

'Tis hour by hour to gain

A better life thereby.

—Angelus Silesius, A.D. 1620.

———

The chamber where the good man meets his fateIs privileged beyond the common walkOf virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.—Edward Young.

The chamber where the good man meets his fateIs privileged beyond the common walkOf virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate

Is privileged beyond the common walk

Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

—Edward Young.

———

Life-embarked, out at sea, 'mid the wave-tumbling roar,The poor ship of my body went down to the floor;But I broke, at the bottom of death, through a door,And, from sinking, began for ever to soar.—From the Persian.

Life-embarked, out at sea, 'mid the wave-tumbling roar,The poor ship of my body went down to the floor;But I broke, at the bottom of death, through a door,And, from sinking, began for ever to soar.

Life-embarked, out at sea, 'mid the wave-tumbling roar,

The poor ship of my body went down to the floor;

But I broke, at the bottom of death, through a door,

And, from sinking, began for ever to soar.

—From the Persian.

———

Truths that wake to perish never;Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,Nor man, nor boy,Nor all that is at enmity with joyCan utterly abolish or destroy!Hence in a season of calm weather,Though inland far we be,Our souls have sight of that immortal seaWhich brought us hither;Can in a moment travel thitherAnd see the children sport upon the shore,And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.—William Wordsworth.

Truths that wake to perish never;

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,

Nor man, nor boy,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy

Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence in a season of calm weather,

Though inland far we be,

Our souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither;

Can in a moment travel thither

And see the children sport upon the shore,

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

—William Wordsworth.

Be strong!We are not here to play, to dream, to drift,We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.Shun not the struggle, face it, 'tis God's gift.Be strong!Say not the days are evil—who's to blame?And fold the hands and acquiesce—O shame!Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.Be strong!It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,How hard the battle goes, the day, how long;Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the song.—Maltbie D. Babcock.

Be strong!We are not here to play, to dream, to drift,We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.Shun not the struggle, face it, 'tis God's gift.

Be strong!

We are not here to play, to dream, to drift,

We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.

Shun not the struggle, face it, 'tis God's gift.

Be strong!Say not the days are evil—who's to blame?And fold the hands and acquiesce—O shame!Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.

Be strong!

Say not the days are evil—who's to blame?

And fold the hands and acquiesce—O shame!

Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.

Be strong!It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,How hard the battle goes, the day, how long;Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the song.

Be strong!

It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,

How hard the battle goes, the day, how long;

Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the song.

—Maltbie D. Babcock.

———

O Lord, I prayThat for this dayI may not swerveBy foot or handFrom thy command,Not to be served, but to serve.This, too, I pray,That for this dayNo love of easeNor pride preventMy good intent,Not to be pleased, but to please.And if I mayI'd have this dayStrength from aboveTo set my heartIn heavenly art,Not to be loved, but to love.—Maltbie D. Babcock.

O Lord, I prayThat for this dayI may not swerveBy foot or handFrom thy command,Not to be served, but to serve.

O Lord, I pray

That for this day

I may not swerve

By foot or hand

From thy command,

Not to be served, but to serve.

This, too, I pray,That for this dayNo love of easeNor pride preventMy good intent,Not to be pleased, but to please.

This, too, I pray,

That for this day

No love of ease

Nor pride prevent

My good intent,

Not to be pleased, but to please.

And if I mayI'd have this dayStrength from aboveTo set my heartIn heavenly art,Not to be loved, but to love.

And if I may

I'd have this day

Strength from above

To set my heart

In heavenly art,

Not to be loved, but to love.

—Maltbie D. Babcock.

———

No distant Lord have I,Loving afar to be;Made flesh for me, he cannot restUnless he rests in me.Brother in joy and pain,Bone of my bone was he,Now—intimacy closer still,He dwells himself in me.I need not journey farThis dearest Friend to see;Companionship is always mine,He makes his home with me.I envy not the twelve,Nearer to me is he;The life he once lived here on earthHe lives again in me.Ascended now to God,My witness there to be,His witness here am I, becauseHis Spirit dwells in me.O glorious Son of God,Incarnate Deity,I shall forever be with theeBecause thou art with me.—Maltbie D. Babcock.

No distant Lord have I,Loving afar to be;Made flesh for me, he cannot restUnless he rests in me.

No distant Lord have I,

Loving afar to be;

Made flesh for me, he cannot rest

Unless he rests in me.

Brother in joy and pain,Bone of my bone was he,Now—intimacy closer still,He dwells himself in me.

Brother in joy and pain,

Bone of my bone was he,

Now—intimacy closer still,

He dwells himself in me.

I need not journey farThis dearest Friend to see;Companionship is always mine,He makes his home with me.

I need not journey far

This dearest Friend to see;

Companionship is always mine,

He makes his home with me.

I envy not the twelve,Nearer to me is he;The life he once lived here on earthHe lives again in me.

I envy not the twelve,

Nearer to me is he;

The life he once lived here on earth

He lives again in me.

Ascended now to God,My witness there to be,His witness here am I, becauseHis Spirit dwells in me.

Ascended now to God,

My witness there to be,

His witness here am I, because

His Spirit dwells in me.

O glorious Son of God,Incarnate Deity,I shall forever be with theeBecause thou art with me.

O glorious Son of God,

Incarnate Deity,

I shall forever be with thee

Because thou art with me.

—Maltbie D. Babcock.

———

If I lay waste and wither up with doubtThe blessed fields of heaven where once my faithPossessed itself serenely safe from death;If I deny the things past finding out;Or if I orphan my own soul of OneThat seemed a Father, and make void the placeWithin me where He dwelt in power and grace,What do I gain that am myself undone?—William Dean Howells.

If I lay waste and wither up with doubt

The blessed fields of heaven where once my faith

Possessed itself serenely safe from death;

If I deny the things past finding out;

Or if I orphan my own soul of One

That seemed a Father, and make void the place

Within me where He dwelt in power and grace,

What do I gain that am myself undone?

—William Dean Howells.

———

Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are deadTill you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind.A day—and you will meet,—a night—and you will greet!This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breathAnd know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,And work, nor care nor rest, and find the last the best.—Maltbie D. Babcock.

Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!

Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!

Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!

Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?

Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.

Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?

Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are deadTill you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.

Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are dead

Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.

Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?

Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,

Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?

The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind.A day—and you will meet,—a night—and you will greet!

The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind.

A day—and you will meet,—a night—and you will greet!

This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breathAnd know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,

This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath

And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,

And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,And work, nor care nor rest, and find the last the best.

And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,

And work, nor care nor rest, and find the last the best.

—Maltbie D. Babcock.

———

Lord, let me make this rule:To think of life as school,And try my bestTo stand each test,And do my workAnd nothing shirk.Should some one else outshineThis dullard head of mine,Should I be sad?I will be glad.To do my bestIs thy behest.If weary with my bookI cast a wistful lookWhere posies grow,Oh, let me knowThat flowers withinAre best to win.Dost take my book awayAnon to let me play,And let me outTo run about?I grateful blessThee for recess.Then recess past, alack,I turn me slowly back,On my hard bench,My hands to clench,And set my heartTo learn my part.These lessons thou dost giveTo teach me how to live,To do, to bear,To get and share,To work and prayAnd trust alway.What though I may not askTo choose my daily task,Thou hast decreedTo meet my need.What pleases theeThat shall please me.Some day the bell will sound,Some day my heart will bound,As with a shout,That school is out,And, lessons done,I homeward run.—Maltbie D. Babcock.

Lord, let me make this rule:To think of life as school,And try my bestTo stand each test,And do my workAnd nothing shirk.

Lord, let me make this rule:

To think of life as school,

And try my best

To stand each test,

And do my work

And nothing shirk.

Should some one else outshineThis dullard head of mine,Should I be sad?I will be glad.To do my bestIs thy behest.

Should some one else outshine

This dullard head of mine,

Should I be sad?

I will be glad.

To do my best

Is thy behest.

If weary with my bookI cast a wistful lookWhere posies grow,Oh, let me knowThat flowers withinAre best to win.

If weary with my book

I cast a wistful look

Where posies grow,

Oh, let me know

That flowers within

Are best to win.

Dost take my book awayAnon to let me play,And let me outTo run about?I grateful blessThee for recess.

Dost take my book away

Anon to let me play,

And let me out

To run about?

I grateful bless

Thee for recess.

Then recess past, alack,I turn me slowly back,On my hard bench,My hands to clench,And set my heartTo learn my part.

Then recess past, alack,

I turn me slowly back,

On my hard bench,

My hands to clench,

And set my heart

To learn my part.

These lessons thou dost giveTo teach me how to live,To do, to bear,To get and share,To work and prayAnd trust alway.

These lessons thou dost give

To teach me how to live,

To do, to bear,

To get and share,

To work and pray

And trust alway.

What though I may not askTo choose my daily task,Thou hast decreedTo meet my need.What pleases theeThat shall please me.

What though I may not ask

To choose my daily task,

Thou hast decreed

To meet my need.

What pleases thee

That shall please me.

Some day the bell will sound,Some day my heart will bound,As with a shout,That school is out,And, lessons done,I homeward run.

Some day the bell will sound,

Some day my heart will bound,

As with a shout,

That school is out,

And, lessons done,

I homeward run.

—Maltbie D. Babcock.

———

Weary of all this wordy strife,These notions, forms, and modes, and names,To Thee, the Way, the Truth, the Life,Whose love my simple heart inflames,Divinely taught, at last I fly,With Thee, and Thine, to live and die.Redeemed by Thine almighty grace,I taste my glorious liberty,With open arms the world embrace,But cleave to those who cleave to Thee;But only in thy saints delight,Who walk with God in purest white.My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these,Who do my heavenly Father's will;Who aim at perfect holiness,And all Thy counsels to fulfill,Athirst to be whate'er Thou artAnd love their God with all their heart.—Charles Wesley.

Weary of all this wordy strife,

These notions, forms, and modes, and names,

To Thee, the Way, the Truth, the Life,

Whose love my simple heart inflames,

Divinely taught, at last I fly,

With Thee, and Thine, to live and die.

Redeemed by Thine almighty grace,I taste my glorious liberty,With open arms the world embrace,But cleave to those who cleave to Thee;But only in thy saints delight,Who walk with God in purest white.

Redeemed by Thine almighty grace,

I taste my glorious liberty,

With open arms the world embrace,

But cleave to those who cleave to Thee;

But only in thy saints delight,

Who walk with God in purest white.

My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these,Who do my heavenly Father's will;Who aim at perfect holiness,And all Thy counsels to fulfill,Athirst to be whate'er Thou artAnd love their God with all their heart.

My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these,

Who do my heavenly Father's will;

Who aim at perfect holiness,

And all Thy counsels to fulfill,

Athirst to be whate'er Thou art

And love their God with all their heart.

—Charles Wesley.

———

What matter, friend, though you and IMay sow and others gather?We build and others occupy,Each laboring for the other?What though we toil from sun to sun,And men forget to flatterThe noblest work our hands have done—If God approves, what matter?What matter, though we sow in tears,And crops fail at the reaping?What though the fruit of patient yearsFast perish in our keeping?Upon our hoarded treasures, floodsArise, and tempests scatter—If faith beholds, beyond the clouds,A clearer sky, what matter?What matter, though our castles fall,And disappear while building;Though "strange handwritings on the wall"Flame out amid the gilding?Though every idol of the heartThe hand of death may shatter,Though hopes decay and friends depart,If heaven be ours, what matter?—H. W. Teller.

What matter, friend, though you and I

May sow and others gather?

We build and others occupy,

Each laboring for the other?

What though we toil from sun to sun,

And men forget to flatter

The noblest work our hands have done—

If God approves, what matter?

What matter, though we sow in tears,And crops fail at the reaping?What though the fruit of patient yearsFast perish in our keeping?Upon our hoarded treasures, floodsArise, and tempests scatter—If faith beholds, beyond the clouds,A clearer sky, what matter?

What matter, though we sow in tears,

And crops fail at the reaping?

What though the fruit of patient years

Fast perish in our keeping?

Upon our hoarded treasures, floods

Arise, and tempests scatter—

If faith beholds, beyond the clouds,

A clearer sky, what matter?

What matter, though our castles fall,And disappear while building;Though "strange handwritings on the wall"Flame out amid the gilding?Though every idol of the heartThe hand of death may shatter,Though hopes decay and friends depart,If heaven be ours, what matter?

What matter, though our castles fall,

And disappear while building;

Though "strange handwritings on the wall"

Flame out amid the gilding?

Though every idol of the heart

The hand of death may shatter,

Though hopes decay and friends depart,

If heaven be ours, what matter?

—H. W. Teller.

———

In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes beholdThe very soul that over England flamed!Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill;Convicting men of sin; making faith live;And,—this the mightiest miracle of all,—Creating God again in human hearts.What courage of the flesh and of the spirit!How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve!What wisdom his to know the boundless mightOf banded effort in a world like ours!How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm!A silent figure when men idly ragedIn murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm,—Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent,When spiritual lightnings struck men downAnd brought, by violence, the sense of sin,And violently oped the gates of peace.O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night,In church and abbey whose most ancient wallsNot for a thousand years such accents knew!On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea;'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields;'Mid clamor, vile attack,—or deep-awed hush,Wherein celestial visitants drew nearAnd secret ministered to troubled souls!Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice,Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still—Chief prophet voice through nigh a century's span!Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns,Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment trump,And ever with a sound like that of oldWhich, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes,Or, round about storied Jerusalem,Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spakeThe words of life.Let not that image fadeEver, O God! from out the minds of men,Of him thy messenger and stainless priest,In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time,Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven;In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme,—Driven on forever, back and forth the world,By that divine, omnipotent desire—The hunger and the passion for men's souls!—Richard Watson Gilder.

In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold

The very soul that over England flamed!

Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill;

Convicting men of sin; making faith live;

And,—this the mightiest miracle of all,—

Creating God again in human hearts.

What courage of the flesh and of the spirit!How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve!What wisdom his to know the boundless mightOf banded effort in a world like ours!How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm!A silent figure when men idly ragedIn murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm,—Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent,When spiritual lightnings struck men downAnd brought, by violence, the sense of sin,And violently oped the gates of peace.

What courage of the flesh and of the spirit!

How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve!

What wisdom his to know the boundless might

Of banded effort in a world like ours!

How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm!

A silent figure when men idly raged

In murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm,—

Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent,

When spiritual lightnings struck men down

And brought, by violence, the sense of sin,

And violently oped the gates of peace.

O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night,In church and abbey whose most ancient wallsNot for a thousand years such accents knew!On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea;'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields;'Mid clamor, vile attack,—or deep-awed hush,Wherein celestial visitants drew nearAnd secret ministered to troubled souls!

O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night,

In church and abbey whose most ancient walls

Not for a thousand years such accents knew!

On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea;

'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields;

'Mid clamor, vile attack,—or deep-awed hush,

Wherein celestial visitants drew near

And secret ministered to troubled souls!

Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice,Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still—Chief prophet voice through nigh a century's span!Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns,Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment trump,And ever with a sound like that of oldWhich, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes,Or, round about storied Jerusalem,Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spakeThe words of life.

Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice,

Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still—

Chief prophet voice through nigh a century's span!

Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns,

Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment trump,

And ever with a sound like that of old

Which, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes,

Or, round about storied Jerusalem,

Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spake

The words of life.

Let not that image fadeEver, O God! from out the minds of men,Of him thy messenger and stainless priest,In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time,Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven;In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme,—Driven on forever, back and forth the world,By that divine, omnipotent desire—The hunger and the passion for men's souls!

Let not that image fade

Ever, O God! from out the minds of men,

Of him thy messenger and stainless priest,

In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time,

Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven;

In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme,—

Driven on forever, back and forth the world,

By that divine, omnipotent desire—

The hunger and the passion for men's souls!

—Richard Watson Gilder.

———

It fortifies my soul to knowThat, though I perish, Truth is so:That, howsoe'er I stray and range,Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.I steadier step when I recallThat, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.—Arthur Hugh Clough.

It fortifies my soul to knowThat, though I perish, Truth is so:That, howsoe'er I stray and range,Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.I steadier step when I recallThat, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.

It fortifies my soul to know

That, though I perish, Truth is so:

That, howsoe'er I stray and range,

Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.

I steadier step when I recall

That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.

—Arthur Hugh Clough.

———

My darling wentUnto the seaside long ago. ContentI stayed at home, for O, I was so gladOf all the little outings that she had!I knew she needed rest. I loved to stayAt home a while that she might go away."How beautiful the sea! How she enjoysThe music of the waves! No care annoysHer pleasures," thought I; "O, it is so goodThat she can rest a while. I wish she couldStay till the autumn leaves are turning red.""Stay longer, sister," all my letters said."If you are growing stronger every day,I am so very glad to have you stay."My darling wentTo heaven long ago. Am I contentTo stay at home? Why can I not be gladOf all the glories that she there has had?She needed change. Why am I loath to stayAnd do her work and let her go away?The land is lovely where her feet have been;Why do I not rejoice that she has seenIts beauties first? That she will show to meThe City Beautiful? Is it so hard to beHappy that she is happy? Hard to knowShe learns so much each day that helps her so?Why can I not each night and morning say,"I am so glad that she is glad to-day?"

My darling went

Unto the seaside long ago. Content

I stayed at home, for O, I was so glad

Of all the little outings that she had!

I knew she needed rest. I loved to stay

At home a while that she might go away.

"How beautiful the sea! How she enjoys

The music of the waves! No care annoys

Her pleasures," thought I; "O, it is so good

That she can rest a while. I wish she could

Stay till the autumn leaves are turning red."

"Stay longer, sister," all my letters said.

"If you are growing stronger every day,

I am so very glad to have you stay."

My darling wentTo heaven long ago. Am I contentTo stay at home? Why can I not be gladOf all the glories that she there has had?She needed change. Why am I loath to stayAnd do her work and let her go away?The land is lovely where her feet have been;Why do I not rejoice that she has seenIts beauties first? That she will show to meThe City Beautiful? Is it so hard to beHappy that she is happy? Hard to knowShe learns so much each day that helps her so?Why can I not each night and morning say,"I am so glad that she is glad to-day?"

My darling went

To heaven long ago. Am I content

To stay at home? Why can I not be glad

Of all the glories that she there has had?

She needed change. Why am I loath to stay

And do her work and let her go away?

The land is lovely where her feet have been;

Why do I not rejoice that she has seen

Its beauties first? That she will show to me

The City Beautiful? Is it so hard to be

Happy that she is happy? Hard to know

She learns so much each day that helps her so?

Why can I not each night and morning say,

"I am so glad that she is glad to-day?"

———

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