BROTHERHOOD

Be it health or be it leisure,Be it skill we have to give,Still in spending it for othersChristians only really live.Not in having or receiving,But in giving, there is bliss;He who has no other pleasureEver may rejoice in this.

Be it health or be it leisure,Be it skill we have to give,Still in spending it for othersChristians only really live.

Be it health or be it leisure,

Be it skill we have to give,

Still in spending it for others

Christians only really live.

Not in having or receiving,But in giving, there is bliss;He who has no other pleasureEver may rejoice in this.

Not in having or receiving,

But in giving, there is bliss;

He who has no other pleasure

Ever may rejoice in this.

———

I said, "Let me walk in the fields."He said, "No, walk in the town."I said, "There are no flowers there."He said, "No flowers, but a crown."I said, "But the skies are black;There is nothing but noise and din."And He wept as he sent me back;"There is more," He said; "there is sin."I said, "But the air is thick,And fogs are veiling the sun."He answered, "Yet souls are sick,And souls in the dark undone."I said, "I shall miss the light,And friends will miss me, they say."He answered, "Choose to-nightIfIam to miss you, or they."I pleaded for time to be given.He said, "Is it hard to decide?It will not seem hard in heavenTo have followed the steps of your Guide."I cast one look at the fields,Then set my face to the town;He said, "My child, do you yield?Will you leave the flowers for the crown?"Then into His hand went mine,And into my heart came He;And I walk in a light divineThe path I had feared to see.—George Macdonald.

I said, "Let me walk in the fields."He said, "No, walk in the town."I said, "There are no flowers there."He said, "No flowers, but a crown."

I said, "Let me walk in the fields."

He said, "No, walk in the town."

I said, "There are no flowers there."

He said, "No flowers, but a crown."

I said, "But the skies are black;There is nothing but noise and din."And He wept as he sent me back;"There is more," He said; "there is sin."

I said, "But the skies are black;

There is nothing but noise and din."

And He wept as he sent me back;

"There is more," He said; "there is sin."

I said, "But the air is thick,And fogs are veiling the sun."He answered, "Yet souls are sick,And souls in the dark undone."

I said, "But the air is thick,

And fogs are veiling the sun."

He answered, "Yet souls are sick,

And souls in the dark undone."

I said, "I shall miss the light,And friends will miss me, they say."He answered, "Choose to-nightIfIam to miss you, or they."

I said, "I shall miss the light,

And friends will miss me, they say."

He answered, "Choose to-night

IfIam to miss you, or they."

I pleaded for time to be given.He said, "Is it hard to decide?It will not seem hard in heavenTo have followed the steps of your Guide."

I pleaded for time to be given.

He said, "Is it hard to decide?

It will not seem hard in heaven

To have followed the steps of your Guide."

I cast one look at the fields,Then set my face to the town;He said, "My child, do you yield?Will you leave the flowers for the crown?"

I cast one look at the fields,

Then set my face to the town;

He said, "My child, do you yield?

Will you leave the flowers for the crown?"

Then into His hand went mine,And into my heart came He;And I walk in a light divineThe path I had feared to see.

Then into His hand went mine,

And into my heart came He;

And I walk in a light divine

The path I had feared to see.

—George Macdonald.

———

I asked the Lord to let me doSome mighty work for Him;To fight amid His battle hosts,Then sing the victor's hymn.I longed my ardent love to show,But Jesus would not have it so.He placed me in a quiet home,Whose life was calm and still,And gave me little things to do,My daily round to fill;I could not think it good to beJust put aside so silently.Small duties gathered round my way,They seemed of earth alone;I, who had longed for conquests brightTo lay before His throne,Had common things to do and bear,To watch and strive with daily care.So then I thought my prayer unheard,And asked the Lord once moreThat He would give me work for HimAnd open wide the door;Forgetting that my Master knewJust what was best for me to do.Then quietly the answer came,"My child, I hear thy cry;Think not that mighty deeds aloneWill bring the victory.The battle has been planned by Me,Let daily life thy conquests see."

I asked the Lord to let me doSome mighty work for Him;To fight amid His battle hosts,Then sing the victor's hymn.I longed my ardent love to show,But Jesus would not have it so.

I asked the Lord to let me do

Some mighty work for Him;

To fight amid His battle hosts,

Then sing the victor's hymn.

I longed my ardent love to show,

But Jesus would not have it so.

He placed me in a quiet home,Whose life was calm and still,And gave me little things to do,My daily round to fill;I could not think it good to beJust put aside so silently.

He placed me in a quiet home,

Whose life was calm and still,

And gave me little things to do,

My daily round to fill;

I could not think it good to be

Just put aside so silently.

Small duties gathered round my way,They seemed of earth alone;I, who had longed for conquests brightTo lay before His throne,Had common things to do and bear,To watch and strive with daily care.

Small duties gathered round my way,

They seemed of earth alone;

I, who had longed for conquests bright

To lay before His throne,

Had common things to do and bear,

To watch and strive with daily care.

So then I thought my prayer unheard,And asked the Lord once moreThat He would give me work for HimAnd open wide the door;Forgetting that my Master knewJust what was best for me to do.

So then I thought my prayer unheard,

And asked the Lord once more

That He would give me work for Him

And open wide the door;

Forgetting that my Master knew

Just what was best for me to do.

Then quietly the answer came,"My child, I hear thy cry;Think not that mighty deeds aloneWill bring the victory.The battle has been planned by Me,Let daily life thy conquests see."

Then quietly the answer came,

"My child, I hear thy cry;

Think not that mighty deeds alone

Will bring the victory.

The battle has been planned by Me,

Let daily life thy conquests see."

———

Have you had a kindness shown?Pass it on.It was not given to you alone,Pass it on.Let it travel through the years;Let it wipe another's tears;Till in heaven the deed appears,Pass it on.Have you found the heavenly light?Pass it on.Souls are groping in the night,Daylight gone.Lift your lighted lamp on high,Be a star in some one's sky,He may live who else would die.Pass it on.

Have you had a kindness shown?Pass it on.It was not given to you alone,Pass it on.Let it travel through the years;Let it wipe another's tears;Till in heaven the deed appears,Pass it on.

Have you had a kindness shown?

Pass it on.

It was not given to you alone,

Pass it on.

Let it travel through the years;

Let it wipe another's tears;

Till in heaven the deed appears,

Pass it on.

Have you found the heavenly light?Pass it on.Souls are groping in the night,Daylight gone.Lift your lighted lamp on high,Be a star in some one's sky,He may live who else would die.Pass it on.

Have you found the heavenly light?

Pass it on.

Souls are groping in the night,

Daylight gone.

Lift your lighted lamp on high,

Be a star in some one's sky,

He may live who else would die.

Pass it on.

———

Who gives, and hides the giving hand,Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise,Shall find his smallest gift outweighsThe burden of the sea and land.Who gives to whom hath naught been given,His gift in need, though small indeedAs is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed,Is large as earth and rich as heaven.—John Greenleaf Whittier, from Tinnevaluna of India.

Who gives, and hides the giving hand,Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise,Shall find his smallest gift outweighsThe burden of the sea and land.

Who gives, and hides the giving hand,

Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise,

Shall find his smallest gift outweighs

The burden of the sea and land.

Who gives to whom hath naught been given,His gift in need, though small indeedAs is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed,Is large as earth and rich as heaven.

Who gives to whom hath naught been given,

His gift in need, though small indeed

As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed,

Is large as earth and rich as heaven.

—John Greenleaf Whittier, from Tinnevaluna of India.

———

What is the world? A wandering maze,Where sin hath tracked a thousand waysHer victims to ensnare.All broad and winding and aslope,All tempting with perfidious hope,All ending in despair.Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,Bearing their baubles or their loadsDown to eternal night.One only path that never bends,Narrow and rough and steep, ascendsThrough darkness into light.Is there no guide to show that path?The Bible. He alone that hathThe Bible need not stray.But he who hath and will not giveThat light of life to all that live,Himself shall lose the way.

What is the world? A wandering maze,

Where sin hath tracked a thousand ways

Her victims to ensnare.

All broad and winding and aslope,

All tempting with perfidious hope,

All ending in despair.

Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,

Bearing their baubles or their loads

Down to eternal night.

One only path that never bends,

Narrow and rough and steep, ascends

Through darkness into light.

Is there no guide to show that path?

The Bible. He alone that hath

The Bible need not stray.

But he who hath and will not give

That light of life to all that live,

Himself shall lose the way.

———

It were not hard, we think, to serve HimIf we could only see!If he would stand with that gaze intenseBurning into our bodily sense,If we might look on that face most tender,The brows where the scars are turned to splendor,Might catch the light of his smile so sweet,And view the marks on his hands and feet,How loyal we should be!It were not hard, we think, to serve him,If we could only see!It were not hard, he says, to see him,If we would only serve;"He that doeth the will of Heaven,To him shall knowledge and sight be given."While for his presence we sit repining,Never we see his countenance shining;They who toil where his reapers beThe glow of his smile may always see,And their faith can never swerve.It were not hard, he says, to see him,If we would only serve.

It were not hard, we think, to serve Him

If we could only see!

If he would stand with that gaze intense

Burning into our bodily sense,

If we might look on that face most tender,

The brows where the scars are turned to splendor,

Might catch the light of his smile so sweet,

And view the marks on his hands and feet,

How loyal we should be!

It were not hard, we think, to serve him,

If we could only see!

It were not hard, he says, to see him,If we would only serve;"He that doeth the will of Heaven,To him shall knowledge and sight be given."While for his presence we sit repining,Never we see his countenance shining;They who toil where his reapers beThe glow of his smile may always see,And their faith can never swerve.It were not hard, he says, to see him,If we would only serve.

It were not hard, he says, to see him,

If we would only serve;

"He that doeth the will of Heaven,

To him shall knowledge and sight be given."

While for his presence we sit repining,

Never we see his countenance shining;

They who toil where his reapers be

The glow of his smile may always see,

And their faith can never swerve.

It were not hard, he says, to see him,

If we would only serve.

———

Think not in sleep to fold thy hands,Forgetful of thy Lord's commands,From Duty's claims no life is free,Behold! To-day has need of thee.

Think not in sleep to fold thy hands,

Forgetful of thy Lord's commands,

From Duty's claims no life is free,

Behold! To-day has need of thee.

———

You can never tell when you do an actJust what the result will be;But with every deed you are sowing a seed,Though its harvest you may not see.Each kindly act is an acorn droppedIn God's productive soil;Though you may not know, yet the tree shall growAnd shelter the brows that toil.

You can never tell when you do an act

Just what the result will be;

But with every deed you are sowing a seed,

Though its harvest you may not see.

Each kindly act is an acorn dropped

In God's productive soil;

Though you may not know, yet the tree shall grow

And shelter the brows that toil.

———

If you cannot on the oceanSail among the swiftest fleet,Rocking on the highest billows,Laughing at the storms you meet;You can stand among the sailorsAnchored yet within the bay;You can lend a hand to help themAs they launch their boat away.If you are too weak to journeyUp the mountain steep and high,You can stand within the valleyWhile the multitudes go by;You can chant in happy measureAs they slowly pass along;Though they may forget the singerThey will not forget the song.If you have not gold and silverEver ready to command;If you cannot toward the needy,Reach an ever-open hand;You can visit the afflicted,O'er the erring you can weep;You can be a true discipleSitting at the Saviour's feet.If you cannot in the harvestGarner up the richest sheaves,Many a grain both ripe and goldenWill the careless reapers leave;Go and glean among the briersGrowing rank against the wall,For it may be that their shadowHides the heaviest wheat of all.If you cannot in the conflictProve yourself a soldier true,If where fire and smoke are thickestThere's no work for you to do;When the battle-field is silentYou can go with careful tread:You can bear away the wounded,You can cover up the dead.If you cannot be the watchman,Standing high on Zion's wall,Pointing out the path to heaven,Offering life and peace to all;With your prayers and with your bountiesYou can do what Heaven demands,You can be like faithful Aaron,Holding up the prophet's hands.Do not, then, stand idly waitingFor some greater work to do;Fortune is a lazy goddess—She will never come to you.Go and toil in any vineyard,Do not fear to do or dare;If you want a field of laborYou can find it anywhere.—G. M. Grannis.

If you cannot on the ocean

Sail among the swiftest fleet,

Rocking on the highest billows,

Laughing at the storms you meet;

You can stand among the sailors

Anchored yet within the bay;

You can lend a hand to help them

As they launch their boat away.

If you are too weak to journeyUp the mountain steep and high,You can stand within the valleyWhile the multitudes go by;You can chant in happy measureAs they slowly pass along;Though they may forget the singerThey will not forget the song.

If you are too weak to journey

Up the mountain steep and high,

You can stand within the valley

While the multitudes go by;

You can chant in happy measure

As they slowly pass along;

Though they may forget the singer

They will not forget the song.

If you have not gold and silverEver ready to command;If you cannot toward the needy,Reach an ever-open hand;You can visit the afflicted,O'er the erring you can weep;You can be a true discipleSitting at the Saviour's feet.

If you have not gold and silver

Ever ready to command;

If you cannot toward the needy,

Reach an ever-open hand;

You can visit the afflicted,

O'er the erring you can weep;

You can be a true disciple

Sitting at the Saviour's feet.

If you cannot in the harvestGarner up the richest sheaves,Many a grain both ripe and goldenWill the careless reapers leave;Go and glean among the briersGrowing rank against the wall,For it may be that their shadowHides the heaviest wheat of all.

If you cannot in the harvest

Garner up the richest sheaves,

Many a grain both ripe and golden

Will the careless reapers leave;

Go and glean among the briers

Growing rank against the wall,

For it may be that their shadow

Hides the heaviest wheat of all.

If you cannot in the conflictProve yourself a soldier true,If where fire and smoke are thickestThere's no work for you to do;When the battle-field is silentYou can go with careful tread:You can bear away the wounded,You can cover up the dead.

If you cannot in the conflict

Prove yourself a soldier true,

If where fire and smoke are thickest

There's no work for you to do;

When the battle-field is silent

You can go with careful tread:

You can bear away the wounded,

You can cover up the dead.

If you cannot be the watchman,Standing high on Zion's wall,Pointing out the path to heaven,Offering life and peace to all;With your prayers and with your bountiesYou can do what Heaven demands,You can be like faithful Aaron,Holding up the prophet's hands.

If you cannot be the watchman,

Standing high on Zion's wall,

Pointing out the path to heaven,

Offering life and peace to all;

With your prayers and with your bounties

You can do what Heaven demands,

You can be like faithful Aaron,

Holding up the prophet's hands.

Do not, then, stand idly waitingFor some greater work to do;Fortune is a lazy goddess—She will never come to you.Go and toil in any vineyard,Do not fear to do or dare;If you want a field of laborYou can find it anywhere.

Do not, then, stand idly waiting

For some greater work to do;

Fortune is a lazy goddess—

She will never come to you.

Go and toil in any vineyard,

Do not fear to do or dare;

If you want a field of labor

You can find it anywhere.

—G. M. Grannis.

———

Golden gleams of noonday fellOn the pavement of the cell,And the monk still lingered thereIn the ecstasy of prayer;Fuller floods of glory streamedThrough the window, and it seemedLike an answering glow of loveFrom the countenance above.On the silence of the cellBreak the faint tones of a bell.'Tis the hour when at the gateCrowds of poor and hungry wait,Wan and wistful, to be fedWith the friar of mercy's bread.Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!On the monk's rapt ear it swells,No! fond, flattering dream, away!Mercy calls; no longer stay!Whom thou yearnest here to findIn the musings of thy mind,God and Jesus, lo, they waitKnocking at thy convent gate!From his knees the monk arose;With full heart and hand he goes,At his gate the poor relieves,Gains a blessing and receives;To his cell returned, and thereFound the angel of his prayer,Who with radiant features said,"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled."—Charles Timothy Brooks.

Golden gleams of noonday fell

On the pavement of the cell,

And the monk still lingered there

In the ecstasy of prayer;

Fuller floods of glory streamed

Through the window, and it seemed

Like an answering glow of love

From the countenance above.

On the silence of the cellBreak the faint tones of a bell.'Tis the hour when at the gateCrowds of poor and hungry wait,Wan and wistful, to be fedWith the friar of mercy's bread.

On the silence of the cell

Break the faint tones of a bell.

'Tis the hour when at the gate

Crowds of poor and hungry wait,

Wan and wistful, to be fed

With the friar of mercy's bread.

Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!On the monk's rapt ear it swells,No! fond, flattering dream, away!Mercy calls; no longer stay!Whom thou yearnest here to findIn the musings of thy mind,God and Jesus, lo, they waitKnocking at thy convent gate!

Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!

On the monk's rapt ear it swells,

No! fond, flattering dream, away!

Mercy calls; no longer stay!

Whom thou yearnest here to find

In the musings of thy mind,

God and Jesus, lo, they wait

Knocking at thy convent gate!

From his knees the monk arose;With full heart and hand he goes,At his gate the poor relieves,Gains a blessing and receives;To his cell returned, and thereFound the angel of his prayer,Who with radiant features said,"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled."

From his knees the monk arose;

With full heart and hand he goes,

At his gate the poor relieves,

Gains a blessing and receives;

To his cell returned, and there

Found the angel of his prayer,

Who with radiant features said,

"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled."

—Charles Timothy Brooks.

———

Somewhere I have read of an aged monkWho, kneeling one day in his cell,Beheld in a glorious vision the formOf the dear Lord Christ; and there fellUpon him a rapture, wondrously sweet,And his lips could frame no word,As he gazed on the form and noted the loveThat beamed from the face of his Lord.There came to his ears the sound of a bellWhich called him early and lateTo carry loaves to the wretched poorWho lingered about the gate.Could he leave his cell now glorifiedBy the presence of the Christ,The Blessed Son, the Holy One,His Saviour, the Sacrificed?He went to his act of mercy, and whenHe returned to his cell, the dimGay light was dispelled as the loving ChristRe-entered to welcome him.And the Blessed One remained, more fair,More glorious than before,And the heart of the aged monk was glad,And his cell was dim no more."Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ,All through this day," is the prayerWhich sounds from my heart, and my lips repeatEach morning, and Christ, the Fair,Seems very near as his words I hear,Though his form I do not see;"When you care for the least of these, dear child,You have done it unto me."With loving service fill all this day,Do good in the name of your Lord,And I will be near, your heart to cheer,According to my word."—William Norris Burr.

Somewhere I have read of an aged monkWho, kneeling one day in his cell,Beheld in a glorious vision the formOf the dear Lord Christ; and there fell

Somewhere I have read of an aged monk

Who, kneeling one day in his cell,

Beheld in a glorious vision the form

Of the dear Lord Christ; and there fell

Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet,And his lips could frame no word,As he gazed on the form and noted the loveThat beamed from the face of his Lord.

Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet,

And his lips could frame no word,

As he gazed on the form and noted the love

That beamed from the face of his Lord.

There came to his ears the sound of a bellWhich called him early and lateTo carry loaves to the wretched poorWho lingered about the gate.

There came to his ears the sound of a bell

Which called him early and late

To carry loaves to the wretched poor

Who lingered about the gate.

Could he leave his cell now glorifiedBy the presence of the Christ,The Blessed Son, the Holy One,His Saviour, the Sacrificed?

Could he leave his cell now glorified

By the presence of the Christ,

The Blessed Son, the Holy One,

His Saviour, the Sacrificed?

He went to his act of mercy, and whenHe returned to his cell, the dimGay light was dispelled as the loving ChristRe-entered to welcome him.

He went to his act of mercy, and when

He returned to his cell, the dim

Gay light was dispelled as the loving Christ

Re-entered to welcome him.

And the Blessed One remained, more fair,More glorious than before,And the heart of the aged monk was glad,And his cell was dim no more.

And the Blessed One remained, more fair,

More glorious than before,

And the heart of the aged monk was glad,

And his cell was dim no more.

"Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ,All through this day," is the prayerWhich sounds from my heart, and my lips repeatEach morning, and Christ, the Fair,

"Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ,

All through this day," is the prayer

Which sounds from my heart, and my lips repeat

Each morning, and Christ, the Fair,

Seems very near as his words I hear,Though his form I do not see;"When you care for the least of these, dear child,You have done it unto me.

Seems very near as his words I hear,

Though his form I do not see;

"When you care for the least of these, dear child,

You have done it unto me.

"With loving service fill all this day,Do good in the name of your Lord,And I will be near, your heart to cheer,According to my word."

"With loving service fill all this day,

Do good in the name of your Lord,

And I will be near, your heart to cheer,

According to my word."

—William Norris Burr.

———

It wasonlya blossom,Just the merest bit of bloom,But it brought a glimpse of summerTo the little darkened room.It wasonlya glad "good morning,"As she passed along the way;But it spread the morning's gloryOver the livelong day.Onlya song; but the music,Though simply pure and sweet,Brought back to better pathwaysThe reckless roving feet."Only," in our blind wisdom,How dare we say at all?Since the ages alone can tell usWhich is the great or small.

It wasonlya blossom,Just the merest bit of bloom,But it brought a glimpse of summerTo the little darkened room.

It wasonlya blossom,

Just the merest bit of bloom,

But it brought a glimpse of summer

To the little darkened room.

It wasonlya glad "good morning,"As she passed along the way;But it spread the morning's gloryOver the livelong day.

It wasonlya glad "good morning,"

As she passed along the way;

But it spread the morning's glory

Over the livelong day.

Onlya song; but the music,Though simply pure and sweet,Brought back to better pathwaysThe reckless roving feet.

Onlya song; but the music,

Though simply pure and sweet,

Brought back to better pathways

The reckless roving feet.

"Only," in our blind wisdom,How dare we say at all?Since the ages alone can tell usWhich is the great or small.

"Only," in our blind wisdom,

How dare we say at all?

Since the ages alone can tell us

Which is the great or small.

———

Hark! the voice of Jesus calling,"Who will go and work to-day?Fields are white and harvests waiting,Who will bear the sheaves away?"Loud and long the Master calleth,Rich reward he offers free;Who will answer, gladly saying,"Here am I, send me, send me."If you cannot cross the oceanAnd the heathen lands explore,You can find the heathen nearer,You can help them at your door;If you cannot give your thousandsYou can give the widow's mite;And the least you give for JesusWill be precious in his sight.If you cannot speak like angels,If you cannot preach like Paul,You can tell the love of Jesus,You can say he died for all.If you cannot rouse the wickedWith the Judgment's dread alarms,You can lead the little childrenTo the Saviour's waiting arms.Let none hear you idly saying"There is nothing I can do,"While the sons of men are dying,And the Master calls for you.Take the task he gives you gladly,Let his work your pleasure be;Answer quickly, when he calleth,"Here am I, send me, send me."—Daniel March.

Hark! the voice of Jesus calling,

"Who will go and work to-day?

Fields are white and harvests waiting,

Who will bear the sheaves away?"

Loud and long the Master calleth,

Rich reward he offers free;

Who will answer, gladly saying,

"Here am I, send me, send me."

If you cannot cross the oceanAnd the heathen lands explore,You can find the heathen nearer,You can help them at your door;If you cannot give your thousandsYou can give the widow's mite;And the least you give for JesusWill be precious in his sight.

If you cannot cross the ocean

And the heathen lands explore,

You can find the heathen nearer,

You can help them at your door;

If you cannot give your thousands

You can give the widow's mite;

And the least you give for Jesus

Will be precious in his sight.

If you cannot speak like angels,If you cannot preach like Paul,You can tell the love of Jesus,You can say he died for all.If you cannot rouse the wickedWith the Judgment's dread alarms,You can lead the little childrenTo the Saviour's waiting arms.

If you cannot speak like angels,

If you cannot preach like Paul,

You can tell the love of Jesus,

You can say he died for all.

If you cannot rouse the wicked

With the Judgment's dread alarms,

You can lead the little children

To the Saviour's waiting arms.

Let none hear you idly saying"There is nothing I can do,"While the sons of men are dying,And the Master calls for you.Take the task he gives you gladly,Let his work your pleasure be;Answer quickly, when he calleth,"Here am I, send me, send me."

Let none hear you idly saying

"There is nothing I can do,"

While the sons of men are dying,

And the Master calls for you.

Take the task he gives you gladly,

Let his work your pleasure be;

Answer quickly, when he calleth,

"Here am I, send me, send me."

—Daniel March.

———

Sow thou thy seed!Glad is the light of Spring—the sun is glowing.Do thou thy deed:Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing?Thy seed may beBearer of thousands scattered far and near;EternityMay feel the impress of the deed done here.—Arthur L. Salmon.

Sow thou thy seed!Glad is the light of Spring—the sun is glowing.Do thou thy deed:Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing?

Sow thou thy seed!

Glad is the light of Spring—the sun is glowing.

Do thou thy deed:

Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing?

Thy seed may beBearer of thousands scattered far and near;EternityMay feel the impress of the deed done here.

Thy seed may be

Bearer of thousands scattered far and near;

Eternity

May feel the impress of the deed done here.

—Arthur L. Salmon.

———

The toil of brain, or heart, or hand,Is man's appointed lot;He who God's call can understandWill work and murmur not.Toil is no thorny crown of pain,Bound round man's brow for sin;True souls, from it, all strength may gain,High manliness may win.O God! who workest hitherto,Working in all we see,Fain would we be, and bear, and do,As best it pleaseth thee.Where'er thou sendest we will go,Nor any questions ask,And that thou biddest we will do,Whatever be the task.Our skill of hand, and strength of limb,Are not our own, but thine;We link them to the work of HimWho made all life divine.Our brother-friend, thy holy Son,Shared all our lot and strife;And nobly will our work be doneIf molded by his life.—Thomas W. Freckelton.

The toil of brain, or heart, or hand,

Is man's appointed lot;

He who God's call can understand

Will work and murmur not.

Toil is no thorny crown of pain,

Bound round man's brow for sin;

True souls, from it, all strength may gain,

High manliness may win.

O God! who workest hitherto,Working in all we see,Fain would we be, and bear, and do,As best it pleaseth thee.Where'er thou sendest we will go,Nor any questions ask,And that thou biddest we will do,Whatever be the task.

O God! who workest hitherto,

Working in all we see,

Fain would we be, and bear, and do,

As best it pleaseth thee.

Where'er thou sendest we will go,

Nor any questions ask,

And that thou biddest we will do,

Whatever be the task.

Our skill of hand, and strength of limb,Are not our own, but thine;We link them to the work of HimWho made all life divine.Our brother-friend, thy holy Son,Shared all our lot and strife;And nobly will our work be doneIf molded by his life.

Our skill of hand, and strength of limb,

Are not our own, but thine;

We link them to the work of Him

Who made all life divine.

Our brother-friend, thy holy Son,

Shared all our lot and strife;

And nobly will our work be done

If molded by his life.

—Thomas W. Freckelton.

———

No service in itself is small;None great, though earth it fill;But that is small that seeks its own,And great that seeks God's will.Then hold my hand, most gracious God,Guide all my goings still;And let it be my life's one aim,To know and do thy will.

No service in itself is small;None great, though earth it fill;But that is small that seeks its own,And great that seeks God's will.

No service in itself is small;

None great, though earth it fill;

But that is small that seeks its own,

And great that seeks God's will.

Then hold my hand, most gracious God,Guide all my goings still;And let it be my life's one aim,To know and do thy will.

Then hold my hand, most gracious God,

Guide all my goings still;

And let it be my life's one aim,

To know and do thy will.

———

It was only a sunny smile,And little it cost in the giving;But it scattered the nightLike morning light,And made the day worth living.Through life's dull warp a woof it wove,In shining colors of light and love,And the angels smiled as they watched above,Yet little it cost in giving.It was only a kindly word,And a word that was lightly spoken;Yet not in vain,For it stilled the painOf a heart that was nearly broken.It strengthened a fate beset by fearsAnd groping blindly through mists of tearsFor light to brighten the coming years,Although it was lightly spoken.It was only a helping hand,And it seemed of little availing;But its clasps were warm,And it saved from harmA brother whose strength was failing.Its touch was tender as angels' wings,But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs,And pointed the way to higher things,Though it seemed of little availing.A smile, a word, a touch,And each is easily given;Yet one may winA soul from sinOr smooth the way to heaven.A smile may lighten a falling heart,A word may soften pain's keenest smart,A touch may lead us from sin apart—How easily each is given!

It was only a sunny smile,

And little it cost in the giving;

But it scattered the night

Like morning light,

And made the day worth living.

Through life's dull warp a woof it wove,

In shining colors of light and love,

And the angels smiled as they watched above,

Yet little it cost in giving.

It was only a kindly word,And a word that was lightly spoken;Yet not in vain,For it stilled the painOf a heart that was nearly broken.It strengthened a fate beset by fearsAnd groping blindly through mists of tearsFor light to brighten the coming years,Although it was lightly spoken.

It was only a kindly word,

And a word that was lightly spoken;

Yet not in vain,

For it stilled the pain

Of a heart that was nearly broken.

It strengthened a fate beset by fears

And groping blindly through mists of tears

For light to brighten the coming years,

Although it was lightly spoken.

It was only a helping hand,And it seemed of little availing;But its clasps were warm,And it saved from harmA brother whose strength was failing.Its touch was tender as angels' wings,But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs,And pointed the way to higher things,Though it seemed of little availing.

It was only a helping hand,

And it seemed of little availing;

But its clasps were warm,

And it saved from harm

A brother whose strength was failing.

Its touch was tender as angels' wings,

But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs,

And pointed the way to higher things,

Though it seemed of little availing.

A smile, a word, a touch,And each is easily given;Yet one may winA soul from sinOr smooth the way to heaven.A smile may lighten a falling heart,A word may soften pain's keenest smart,A touch may lead us from sin apart—How easily each is given!

A smile, a word, a touch,

And each is easily given;

Yet one may win

A soul from sin

Or smooth the way to heaven.

A smile may lighten a falling heart,

A word may soften pain's keenest smart,

A touch may lead us from sin apart—

How easily each is given!

———

O matchless honor, all unsought,High privilege, surpassing thoughtThat thou shouldst call us, Lord, to beLinked in work-fellowship with thee!To carry outthywondrous plan,To bearthymessages to man;"In trust," with Christ's own word of graceTo every soul of human race.

O matchless honor, all unsought,

High privilege, surpassing thought

That thou shouldst call us, Lord, to be

Linked in work-fellowship with thee!

To carry outthywondrous plan,

To bearthymessages to man;

"In trust," with Christ's own word of grace

To every soul of human race.

———

"Jesus saith," and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand,Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand?Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high:"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire,That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire,Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay,Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way,Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always seeIn the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree,Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife,In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life,Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I."—Mrs. Henry B. Smith.

"Jesus saith," and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand,

Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand?

Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high:

"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire,That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire,Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire,

That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire,

Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high,

"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay,Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way,Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay,

Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way,

Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high,

"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always seeIn the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree,Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always see

In the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree,

Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh,

"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I"?

Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife,In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life,Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high,"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I."

Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife,

In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life,

Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high,

"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there am I."

—Mrs. Henry B. Smith.

———

He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun,That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most baseWhose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.—James Russell Lowell.

He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,

To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun,

That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base

Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

She stood before a chosen few,With modest air and eyes of blue;A gentle creature, in whose faceWere mingled tenderness and grace."You wish to join our fold," they said;"Do you believe in all that's readFrom ritual and written creed,Essential to our human need?"A troubled look was in her eyes;She answered, as in vague surprise,As though the sense to her were dim."I only strive to follow Him."They knew her life, how oft she stood,Pure in her guileless maidenhood,By dying bed, in hovel lone,Whose sorrow she had made her own.Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,Sweet as the note of any bird;Her hand been open in distress;Her joy to brighten and to bless.Yet still she answered, when they soughtTo know her inmost, earnest thought,With look as of the seraphim"I only strive to follow Him."—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

She stood before a chosen few,With modest air and eyes of blue;A gentle creature, in whose faceWere mingled tenderness and grace.

She stood before a chosen few,

With modest air and eyes of blue;

A gentle creature, in whose face

Were mingled tenderness and grace.

"You wish to join our fold," they said;"Do you believe in all that's readFrom ritual and written creed,Essential to our human need?"

"You wish to join our fold," they said;

"Do you believe in all that's read

From ritual and written creed,

Essential to our human need?"

A troubled look was in her eyes;She answered, as in vague surprise,As though the sense to her were dim."I only strive to follow Him."

A troubled look was in her eyes;

She answered, as in vague surprise,

As though the sense to her were dim.

"I only strive to follow Him."

They knew her life, how oft she stood,Pure in her guileless maidenhood,By dying bed, in hovel lone,Whose sorrow she had made her own.

They knew her life, how oft she stood,

Pure in her guileless maidenhood,

By dying bed, in hovel lone,

Whose sorrow she had made her own.

Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,Sweet as the note of any bird;Her hand been open in distress;Her joy to brighten and to bless.

Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,

Sweet as the note of any bird;

Her hand been open in distress;

Her joy to brighten and to bless.

Yet still she answered, when they soughtTo know her inmost, earnest thought,With look as of the seraphim"I only strive to follow Him."

Yet still she answered, when they sought

To know her inmost, earnest thought,

With look as of the seraphim

"I only strive to follow Him."

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

———

Another day God gives me, pure and white.How can I make it holy in his sight?Small means have I and but a narrow sphere,Yet work is round me, for he placed me here.How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes;Show me the duty that around me lies."The house is small, but human hearts are there,And for this day at least beneath thy care.Someone is sad—then speak a word of cheer;Someone is lonely—make him welcome here;Someone has failed—protect him from despair;Someone is poor—there's something you can spare!"Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer,And carry sunshine with thee everywhere.The little duties do with all thine heartAnd from things sordid keep a mind apart;Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest,In blessing others thou thyself art blest!"

Another day God gives me, pure and white.

How can I make it holy in his sight?

Small means have I and but a narrow sphere,

Yet work is round me, for he placed me here.

How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes;

Show me the duty that around me lies.

"The house is small, but human hearts are there,And for this day at least beneath thy care.Someone is sad—then speak a word of cheer;Someone is lonely—make him welcome here;Someone has failed—protect him from despair;Someone is poor—there's something you can spare!

"The house is small, but human hearts are there,

And for this day at least beneath thy care.

Someone is sad—then speak a word of cheer;

Someone is lonely—make him welcome here;

Someone has failed—protect him from despair;

Someone is poor—there's something you can spare!

"Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer,And carry sunshine with thee everywhere.The little duties do with all thine heartAnd from things sordid keep a mind apart;Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest,In blessing others thou thyself art blest!"

"Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer,

And carry sunshine with thee everywhere.

The little duties do with all thine heart

And from things sordid keep a mind apart;

Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest,

In blessing others thou thyself art blest!"

———

Methought that in a solemn church I stood;Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet,Lay spread from door to door, from street to street.Midway the form hung high upon the roodOf Him who gave his life to be our good.Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meetAmong the candles, shining still and sweet.Men came and went, and worshipped as they could—And still their dust a woman with her broom,Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door.Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom,Across the church a silent figure come;"Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor.""It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more.—George Macdonald.

Methought that in a solemn church I stood;

Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet,

Lay spread from door to door, from street to street.

Midway the form hung high upon the rood

Of Him who gave his life to be our good.

Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet

Among the candles, shining still and sweet.

Men came and went, and worshipped as they could—

And still their dust a woman with her broom,

Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door.

Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom,

Across the church a silent figure come;

"Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor."

"It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more.

—George Macdonald.

———

Dig channels for the streams of love,Where they may broadly run,And love has overflowing streamsTo fill them every one.But if at any time thou ceaseSuch channels to provide,The very founts of love to theeWill soon be parched and dried.For thou must share if thou wouldst keepThat good thing from above;Ceasing to share you cease to have;Such is the law of love.

Dig channels for the streams of love,

Where they may broadly run,

And love has overflowing streams

To fill them every one.

But if at any time thou cease

Such channels to provide,

The very founts of love to thee

Will soon be parched and dried.

For thou must share if thou wouldst keep

That good thing from above;

Ceasing to share you cease to have;

Such is the law of love.

———

Only a seed—but it chanced to fallIn a little cleft of a city wall,And taking root, grew bravely upTill a tiny blossom crowned its top.Only a thought—but the work it wroughtCould never by tongue or pen be taught;For it ran through a life like a thread of gold,And the life bore fruit—a hundred fold.Only a word—but 'twas spoken in love,With a whispered prayer to the Lord above;And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more,For a new-born soul "entered in by the door."

Only a seed—but it chanced to fallIn a little cleft of a city wall,And taking root, grew bravely upTill a tiny blossom crowned its top.

Only a seed—but it chanced to fall

In a little cleft of a city wall,

And taking root, grew bravely up

Till a tiny blossom crowned its top.

Only a thought—but the work it wroughtCould never by tongue or pen be taught;For it ran through a life like a thread of gold,And the life bore fruit—a hundred fold.

Only a thought—but the work it wrought

Could never by tongue or pen be taught;

For it ran through a life like a thread of gold,

And the life bore fruit—a hundred fold.

Only a word—but 'twas spoken in love,With a whispered prayer to the Lord above;And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more,For a new-born soul "entered in by the door."

Only a word—but 'twas spoken in love,

With a whispered prayer to the Lord above;

And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more,

For a new-born soul "entered in by the door."

———

Secure in his prophetic strength,The water peril o'er,The many-gifted man at lengthStepped on the promised shore.He trod the shore; but not to rest,Nor wait till angels came;Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,The firebrands and the flame.But when he felt the viper's smart,Then instant aid was given.Christian, hence learn to do thy part,And leave the rest to Heaven.—John Henry Newman.

Secure in his prophetic strength,The water peril o'er,The many-gifted man at lengthStepped on the promised shore.

Secure in his prophetic strength,

The water peril o'er,

The many-gifted man at length

Stepped on the promised shore.

He trod the shore; but not to rest,Nor wait till angels came;Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,The firebrands and the flame.

He trod the shore; but not to rest,

Nor wait till angels came;

Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,

The firebrands and the flame.

But when he felt the viper's smart,Then instant aid was given.Christian, hence learn to do thy part,And leave the rest to Heaven.

But when he felt the viper's smart,

Then instant aid was given.

Christian, hence learn to do thy part,

And leave the rest to Heaven.

—John Henry Newman.

———

All service ranks the same with God;If now, as formerly He trodParadise, His presence fillsOur earth, each only as God willsCan work—God's puppets, best and worst,Are we; there is no last nor first.Say not "a small event!" Why "small"?Costs it more pain that this, ye callA "great event," should come to passThan that? Untwine me, from the massOf deeds which make up life, one deedPower shall fall short in, or exceed.—Robert Browning.

All service ranks the same with God;

If now, as formerly He trod

Paradise, His presence fills

Our earth, each only as God wills

Can work—God's puppets, best and worst,

Are we; there is no last nor first.

Say not "a small event!" Why "small"?Costs it more pain that this, ye callA "great event," should come to passThan that? Untwine me, from the massOf deeds which make up life, one deedPower shall fall short in, or exceed.

Say not "a small event!" Why "small"?

Costs it more pain that this, ye call

A "great event," should come to pass

Than that? Untwine me, from the mass

Of deeds which make up life, one deed

Power shall fall short in, or exceed.

—Robert Browning.

———

What will it matter in a little whileThat for a dayWe met and gave a word, a touch, a smile,Upon the way?These trifles! Can they make or marHuman life?Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes areBy love or strife?Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break,Or make it whole,And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake,May save a soul.

What will it matter in a little while

That for a day

We met and gave a word, a touch, a smile,

Upon the way?

These trifles! Can they make or mar

Human life?

Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes are

By love or strife?

Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break,

Or make it whole,

And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake,

May save a soul.

———

Get leave to workIn this world—'tis the best you get at all;For God in cursing gives us better giftsThan men in benediction. God says, "SweatFor foreheads;" men say "crowns;" and so we are crowned—Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steelWhich snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work;Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Get leave to work

In this world—'tis the best you get at all;

For God in cursing gives us better gifts

Than men in benediction. God says, "Sweat

For foreheads;" men say "crowns;" and so we are crowned—

Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel

Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work;

Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

Be useful where thou livest, that they mayBoth want and wish thy pleasing presence still;Kindness, good parts, great places, are the wayTo compass this. Find out men's wants and will,And meet them there. All worldly joys go lessTo the one joy of doing kindnesses.—George Herbert.

Be useful where thou livest, that they may

Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still;

Kindness, good parts, great places, are the way

To compass this. Find out men's wants and will,

And meet them there. All worldly joys go less

To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

—George Herbert.

———

When He who, sad and weary, longing soreFor love's sweet service sought the sisters' door,One saw the heavenly, one the human guest;But who shall say which loved the Master best?—John Greenleaf Whittier.

When He who, sad and weary, longing soreFor love's sweet service sought the sisters' door,One saw the heavenly, one the human guest;But who shall say which loved the Master best?

When He who, sad and weary, longing sore

For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door,

One saw the heavenly, one the human guest;

But who shall say which loved the Master best?

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver,Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there.. . . . . .Then with a rush the intolerable cravingShivers throughout me like a trumpet call—Oh to save these! to perish for their saving,Die for their life, be offered for them all!

Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver,

Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there.

. . . . . .

Then with a rush the intolerable craving

Shivers throughout me like a trumpet call—

Oh to save these! to perish for their saving,

Die for their life, be offered for them all!

———

No man is born into the world whose workIs not born with him; there is always work,And tools to work withal, for those who will;And blessed are the horny hands of toil!—James Russell Lowell.

No man is born into the world whose workIs not born with him; there is always work,And tools to work withal, for those who will;And blessed are the horny hands of toil!

No man is born into the world whose work

Is not born with him; there is always work,

And tools to work withal, for those who will;

And blessed are the horny hands of toil!

—James Russell Lowell.

———

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,In whatso we share with another's need;Not what we give, but what we share,For the gift without the giver is bare;Who gives himself with his alms feeds three:Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.—James Russell Lowell.

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,

In whatso we share with another's need;

Not what we give, but what we share,

For the gift without the giver is bare;

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three:

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

Look not beyond the stars for heaven,Nor 'neath the sea for hell;Know thou, who leads a useful lifeIn Paradise doth dwell.—Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Look not beyond the stars for heaven,Nor 'neath the sea for hell;Know thou, who leads a useful lifeIn Paradise doth dwell.

Look not beyond the stars for heaven,

Nor 'neath the sea for hell;

Know thou, who leads a useful life

In Paradise doth dwell.

—Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

Small service is true service while it lasts:Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one;The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.—William Wordsworth.

Small service is true service while it lasts:Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one;The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

Small service is true service while it lasts:

Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one;

The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,

Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

—William Wordsworth.

———

Mechanic soul, thou must not only doWith Martha, but with Mary ponder too;Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary;But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary.—Francis Quarles.

Mechanic soul, thou must not only doWith Martha, but with Mary ponder too;Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary;But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary.

Mechanic soul, thou must not only do

With Martha, but with Mary ponder too;

Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary;

But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary.

—Francis Quarles.

———

If thou hast the gift of strength, then knowThy part is to uplift the trodden low;Else, in the giant's grasp, until the endA hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.—George Meredith.

If thou hast the gift of strength, then knowThy part is to uplift the trodden low;Else, in the giant's grasp, until the endA hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.

If thou hast the gift of strength, then know

Thy part is to uplift the trodden low;

Else, in the giant's grasp, until the end

A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.

—George Meredith.

———

The best men doing their bestKnow, peradventure, least of what they do.Men usefullest i' the world are simply used.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

The best men doing their bestKnow, peradventure, least of what they do.Men usefullest i' the world are simply used.

The best men doing their best

Know, peradventure, least of what they do.

Men usefullest i' the world are simply used.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

New words to speak, new thoughts to hear,New love to give and take;Perchance new burdens I may bearTo-day for love's sweet sake.

New words to speak, new thoughts to hear,

New love to give and take;

Perchance new burdens I may bear

To-day for love's sweet sake.

———

He doth good work whose heart can findThe spirit 'neath the letter;Who makes his kind of happier mind,Leaves wiser men and better.

He doth good work whose heart can find

The spirit 'neath the letter;

Who makes his kind of happier mind,

Leaves wiser men and better.

———

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,Labor—all labor is noble and holy.—Frances Sargent Osgood.

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,Labor—all labor is noble and holy.

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,

Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,

Labor—all labor is noble and holy.

—Frances Sargent Osgood.

———

In silence mend what ills deform the mind;But all thy good impart to all thy kind.—John Sterling.

In silence mend what ills deform the mind;But all thy good impart to all thy kind.

In silence mend what ills deform the mind;

But all thy good impart to all thy kind.

—John Sterling.

———

God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day:A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say.

God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day:

A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say.

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That best portion of a good man's life—His little, nameless, unremembered actsOf kindness and of love.—William Wordsworth.

That best portion of a good man's life—His little, nameless, unremembered actsOf kindness and of love.

That best portion of a good man's life—

His little, nameless, unremembered acts

Of kindness and of love.

—William Wordsworth.

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Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground,Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground,Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round.

Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground,

Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

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