I know not if 'twas wise or wellTo give all heathens up to hell—Hadrian—Aurelius—Socrates—And others wise and good as these;I know not if it is forbid,But this I know—Christ never did.
I know not if 'twas wise or wellTo give all heathens up to hell—Hadrian—Aurelius—Socrates—And others wise and good as these;I know not if it is forbid,But this I know—Christ never did.
I know not if 'twas wise or well
To give all heathens up to hell—
Hadrian—Aurelius—Socrates—
And others wise and good as these;
I know not if it is forbid,
But this I know—Christ never did.
———
May every soul that touches mine—Be it the slightest contact—get therefrom some good,Some little grace, one kindly thought,One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courageFor the darkening sky, one gleam of faithTo brave the thickening ills of life,One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists,To make this life worth while,And heaven a surer heritage.
May every soul that touches mine—Be it the slightest contact—get therefrom some good,Some little grace, one kindly thought,One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courageFor the darkening sky, one gleam of faithTo brave the thickening ills of life,One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists,To make this life worth while,And heaven a surer heritage.
May every soul that touches mine—
Be it the slightest contact—get therefrom some good,
Some little grace, one kindly thought,
One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage
For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life,
One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists,
To make this life worth while,
And heaven a surer heritage.
———
O for a closer walk with man!Sweet fellowship of soul,Where each is to the other bound,Parts of one living whole.Our Father, God, help us to seeThat all in thee are one;O warm our hearts with thy pure love,Strong as your glorious sun.Pride, envy, selfishness will meltBeneath that kindling fire;Our brother's faults we scarce shall see,But good in all admire.No bitter cry of miseryShall ever pass unheard;But gentle sympathy spring forthIn smile and strengthening word.And when our brother's voice shall callFrom lands beyond the sea,Our hearts in glad response will say,"Here, Lord, am I, send me."O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man,Grant us thy face to see;In thy light shall we understandWhat human life may be.Then daily with thy Spirit filled,According to thy word,New power shall flow through us to all,And draw men near our Lord.Thus will the deep desire be metWith which our prayer began;A closer walk with Thee will meanA closer walk with man.
O for a closer walk with man!Sweet fellowship of soul,Where each is to the other bound,Parts of one living whole.
O for a closer walk with man!
Sweet fellowship of soul,
Where each is to the other bound,
Parts of one living whole.
Our Father, God, help us to seeThat all in thee are one;O warm our hearts with thy pure love,Strong as your glorious sun.
Our Father, God, help us to see
That all in thee are one;
O warm our hearts with thy pure love,
Strong as your glorious sun.
Pride, envy, selfishness will meltBeneath that kindling fire;Our brother's faults we scarce shall see,But good in all admire.
Pride, envy, selfishness will melt
Beneath that kindling fire;
Our brother's faults we scarce shall see,
But good in all admire.
No bitter cry of miseryShall ever pass unheard;But gentle sympathy spring forthIn smile and strengthening word.
No bitter cry of misery
Shall ever pass unheard;
But gentle sympathy spring forth
In smile and strengthening word.
And when our brother's voice shall callFrom lands beyond the sea,Our hearts in glad response will say,"Here, Lord, am I, send me."
And when our brother's voice shall call
From lands beyond the sea,
Our hearts in glad response will say,
"Here, Lord, am I, send me."
O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man,Grant us thy face to see;In thy light shall we understandWhat human life may be.
O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man,
Grant us thy face to see;
In thy light shall we understand
What human life may be.
Then daily with thy Spirit filled,According to thy word,New power shall flow through us to all,And draw men near our Lord.
Then daily with thy Spirit filled,
According to thy word,
New power shall flow through us to all,
And draw men near our Lord.
Thus will the deep desire be metWith which our prayer began;A closer walk with Thee will meanA closer walk with man.
Thus will the deep desire be met
With which our prayer began;
A closer walk with Thee will mean
A closer walk with man.
———
If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter,If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter,God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing,And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing.If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter,If any little care of mine make other life completer,If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another,God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother.
If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter,If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter,God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing,And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing.If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter,If any little care of mine make other life completer,If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another,God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother.
If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter,
If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter,
God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing,
And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing.
If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter,
If any little care of mine make other life completer,
If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another,
God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother.
———
Outwearied with the littleness and spite,The falsehood and the treachery of men,I cried, "Give me but justice!" thinking thenI meekly craved a common boon which mightMost easily be granted; soon the lightOf deeper truth grew on my wondering ken,(Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen),And then I saw that in my pride bedightI claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven—God's own great vested right; and I grew calm,With folded hands, like stone, to patience given,And pitying, of pure love distilling balm;And now I wait in quiet trust to beAll known to God—and ask of men sweet charity.—Elizabeth Oakes Smith.
Outwearied with the littleness and spite,The falsehood and the treachery of men,I cried, "Give me but justice!" thinking thenI meekly craved a common boon which mightMost easily be granted; soon the lightOf deeper truth grew on my wondering ken,(Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen),And then I saw that in my pride bedightI claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven—God's own great vested right; and I grew calm,With folded hands, like stone, to patience given,And pitying, of pure love distilling balm;And now I wait in quiet trust to beAll known to God—and ask of men sweet charity.
Outwearied with the littleness and spite,
The falsehood and the treachery of men,
I cried, "Give me but justice!" thinking then
I meekly craved a common boon which might
Most easily be granted; soon the light
Of deeper truth grew on my wondering ken,
(Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen),
And then I saw that in my pride bedight
I claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven—
God's own great vested right; and I grew calm,
With folded hands, like stone, to patience given,
And pitying, of pure love distilling balm;
And now I wait in quiet trust to be
All known to God—and ask of men sweet charity.
—Elizabeth Oakes Smith.
—Elizabeth Oakes Smith.
———
When wilt thou save the people,O God of mercy, when?Not kings alone, but nations?Not thrones and crowns, but men?Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they:Let them not pass, like weeds, away—Their heritage a sunless day.God save the people!Shall crime bring crime forever,Strength aiding still the strong?Is it thy will, O Father,That man shall toil for wrong?"No," say thy mountains, "No," thy skies;Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,And songs ascend instead of sighs.God save the people!When wilt thou save the people?O God of mercy, when?The people, Lord, the people,Not thrones and crowns, but men?God save the people; thine they are,Thy children, as thine angels fair;From vice, oppression, and despair,God save the people!—Ebenezer Elliott.
When wilt thou save the people,O God of mercy, when?Not kings alone, but nations?Not thrones and crowns, but men?Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they:Let them not pass, like weeds, away—Their heritage a sunless day.God save the people!
When wilt thou save the people,
O God of mercy, when?
Not kings alone, but nations?
Not thrones and crowns, but men?
Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they:
Let them not pass, like weeds, away—
Their heritage a sunless day.
God save the people!
Shall crime bring crime forever,Strength aiding still the strong?Is it thy will, O Father,That man shall toil for wrong?"No," say thy mountains, "No," thy skies;Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,And songs ascend instead of sighs.God save the people!
Shall crime bring crime forever,
Strength aiding still the strong?
Is it thy will, O Father,
That man shall toil for wrong?
"No," say thy mountains, "No," thy skies;
Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,
And songs ascend instead of sighs.
God save the people!
When wilt thou save the people?O God of mercy, when?The people, Lord, the people,Not thrones and crowns, but men?God save the people; thine they are,Thy children, as thine angels fair;From vice, oppression, and despair,God save the people!
When wilt thou save the people?
O God of mercy, when?
The people, Lord, the people,
Not thrones and crowns, but men?
God save the people; thine they are,
Thy children, as thine angels fair;
From vice, oppression, and despair,
God save the people!
—Ebenezer Elliott.
—Ebenezer Elliott.
———
Not in the solitudeAlone may man commune with Heaven, or seeOnly in savage woodAnd sunny vale the present Deity;Or only hear his voiceWhere the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.Even here do I beholdThy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowdThrough the great city rolledWith everlasting murmurs deep and loud—Choking the ways that wind'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.The golden sunshine comesFrom the round heaven, and on their dwellings liesAnd lights their inner homes;For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skiesAnd givest them the storesOf ocean, and the harvest of its shores.Thy spirit is around,Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;And this eternal sound—Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng—Like the resounding sea,Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.And when the hour of restComes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,Hushing its billowy breast—The quiet of that moment too is ThineIt breathes of Him who keepsThe vast and helpless city while it sleeps.—William Cullen Bryant.
Not in the solitudeAlone may man commune with Heaven, or seeOnly in savage woodAnd sunny vale the present Deity;Or only hear his voiceWhere the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.
Not in the solitude
Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see
Only in savage wood
And sunny vale the present Deity;
Or only hear his voice
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.
Even here do I beholdThy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowdThrough the great city rolledWith everlasting murmurs deep and loud—Choking the ways that wind'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.
Even here do I behold
Thy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowd
Through the great city rolled
With everlasting murmurs deep and loud—
Choking the ways that wind
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.
The golden sunshine comesFrom the round heaven, and on their dwellings liesAnd lights their inner homes;For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skiesAnd givest them the storesOf ocean, and the harvest of its shores.
The golden sunshine comes
From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies
And lights their inner homes;
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies
And givest them the stores
Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores.
Thy spirit is around,Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;And this eternal sound—Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng—Like the resounding sea,Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.
Thy spirit is around,
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;
And this eternal sound—
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng—
Like the resounding sea,
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.
And when the hour of restComes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,Hushing its billowy breast—The quiet of that moment too is ThineIt breathes of Him who keepsThe vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
And when the hour of rest
Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast—
The quiet of that moment too is Thine
It breathes of Him who keeps
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
—William Cullen Bryant.
—William Cullen Bryant.
———
No one is so accursed by fate,No one so utterly desolate,But some heart, though unknown,Responds unto his own.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
No one is so accursed by fate,No one so utterly desolate,But some heart, though unknown,Responds unto his own.
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
Believe not each accusing tongue,As most weak people do;But still believe that story wrongWhich ought not to be true.—Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
Believe not each accusing tongue,As most weak people do;But still believe that story wrongWhich ought not to be true.
Believe not each accusing tongue,
As most weak people do;
But still believe that story wrong
Which ought not to be true.
—Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
—Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
———
Where cross the crowded ways of lifeWhere sound the cries of race and clan,Above the noise of selfish strife,We hear thy voice, O Son of man.In haunts of wretchedness and need,On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,From paths where hide the lures of greedWe catch the vision of thy tears.From tender childhood's helplessness,From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,Thy heart has never known recoil.The cup of water given for TheeStill holds the freshness of thy grace;Yet long these multitudes to seeThe sweet compassion of thy face.O Master, from the mountain sideMake haste to heal these hearts of pain,Among these restless throngs abide,O tread the city's streets again,Till sons of men shall learn thy loveAnd follow where thy feet have trod;Till glorious from thy heaven aboveShall come the city of our God.—Frank Mason North.
Where cross the crowded ways of lifeWhere sound the cries of race and clan,Above the noise of selfish strife,We hear thy voice, O Son of man.
Where cross the crowded ways of life
Where sound the cries of race and clan,
Above the noise of selfish strife,
We hear thy voice, O Son of man.
In haunts of wretchedness and need,On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,From paths where hide the lures of greedWe catch the vision of thy tears.
In haunts of wretchedness and need,
On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,
From paths where hide the lures of greed
We catch the vision of thy tears.
From tender childhood's helplessness,From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,Thy heart has never known recoil.
From tender childhood's helplessness,
From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,
Thy heart has never known recoil.
The cup of water given for TheeStill holds the freshness of thy grace;Yet long these multitudes to seeThe sweet compassion of thy face.
The cup of water given for Thee
Still holds the freshness of thy grace;
Yet long these multitudes to see
The sweet compassion of thy face.
O Master, from the mountain sideMake haste to heal these hearts of pain,Among these restless throngs abide,O tread the city's streets again,
O Master, from the mountain side
Make haste to heal these hearts of pain,
Among these restless throngs abide,
O tread the city's streets again,
Till sons of men shall learn thy loveAnd follow where thy feet have trod;Till glorious from thy heaven aboveShall come the city of our God.
Till sons of men shall learn thy love
And follow where thy feet have trod;
Till glorious from thy heaven above
Shall come the city of our God.
—Frank Mason North.
—Frank Mason North.
———
Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soulMay keep the path, but will not reach the goal;While he who walks in love may wander far,But God will bring him where the blessed are.—Henry van Dyke.
Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soulMay keep the path, but will not reach the goal;While he who walks in love may wander far,But God will bring him where the blessed are.
Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul
May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;
While he who walks in love may wander far,
But God will bring him where the blessed are.
—Henry van Dyke.
—Henry van Dyke.
———
Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,Hard study never made the matter clearer;'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heartSends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,Hard study never made the matter clearer;'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heartSends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.
Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,
Hard study never made the matter clearer;
'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart
Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
———
If you have a friend worth loving,Love him. Yes, and let him knowThat you love him, ere life's eveningTinge his brow with sunset glow.Why should good words ne'er be saidOf a friend—till he is dead?If you hear a song that thrills you,Sung by any child of song,Praise it. Do not let the singerWait deserved praises long.Why should one who thrills your heartLack the joy you may impart?If you hear a prayer that moves youBy its humble, pleading tone,Join it. Do not let the seekerBow before his God alone.Why should not thy brother shareThe strength of "two or three" in prayer?If your work is made more easyBy a friendly, helping hand,Say so. Speak out brave and truly,Ere the darkness veil the land.Should a brother workman dearFalter for a word of cheer?Scatter thus your seeds of kindnessAll enriching as you go—Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver;He will make each seed to grow.So, until the happy end,Your life shall never lack a friend.
If you have a friend worth loving,Love him. Yes, and let him knowThat you love him, ere life's eveningTinge his brow with sunset glow.Why should good words ne'er be saidOf a friend—till he is dead?
If you have a friend worth loving,
Love him. Yes, and let him know
That you love him, ere life's evening
Tinge his brow with sunset glow.
Why should good words ne'er be said
Of a friend—till he is dead?
If you hear a song that thrills you,Sung by any child of song,Praise it. Do not let the singerWait deserved praises long.Why should one who thrills your heartLack the joy you may impart?
If you hear a song that thrills you,
Sung by any child of song,
Praise it. Do not let the singer
Wait deserved praises long.
Why should one who thrills your heart
Lack the joy you may impart?
If you hear a prayer that moves youBy its humble, pleading tone,Join it. Do not let the seekerBow before his God alone.Why should not thy brother shareThe strength of "two or three" in prayer?
If you hear a prayer that moves you
By its humble, pleading tone,
Join it. Do not let the seeker
Bow before his God alone.
Why should not thy brother share
The strength of "two or three" in prayer?
If your work is made more easyBy a friendly, helping hand,Say so. Speak out brave and truly,Ere the darkness veil the land.Should a brother workman dearFalter for a word of cheer?
If your work is made more easy
By a friendly, helping hand,
Say so. Speak out brave and truly,
Ere the darkness veil the land.
Should a brother workman dear
Falter for a word of cheer?
Scatter thus your seeds of kindnessAll enriching as you go—Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver;He will make each seed to grow.So, until the happy end,Your life shall never lack a friend.
Scatter thus your seeds of kindness
All enriching as you go—
Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver;
He will make each seed to grow.
So, until the happy end,
Your life shall never lack a friend.
———
The smallest bark on life's tumultuous oceanWill leave a track behind forevermore;The lightest wave of influence, once in motion,Extends and widens to the eternal shore.We should be wary, then, who go beforeA myriad yet to be, and we should takeOur bearings carefully where breakers roarAnd fearful tempests gather: one mistakeMay wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.—Sarah Knowles Bolton.
The smallest bark on life's tumultuous oceanWill leave a track behind forevermore;The lightest wave of influence, once in motion,Extends and widens to the eternal shore.We should be wary, then, who go beforeA myriad yet to be, and we should takeOur bearings carefully where breakers roarAnd fearful tempests gather: one mistakeMay wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.
The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean
Will leave a track behind forevermore;
The lightest wave of influence, once in motion,
Extends and widens to the eternal shore.
We should be wary, then, who go before
A myriad yet to be, and we should take
Our bearings carefully where breakers roar
And fearful tempests gather: one mistake
May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.
—Sarah Knowles Bolton.
—Sarah Knowles Bolton.
———
If you have a word of cheerThat may light the pathway drear,Of a brother pilgrim here,Let him know.Show him you appreciateWhat he does, and do not waitTill the heavy hand of fateLays him low.If your heart contains a thoughtThat will brighter make his lot,Then, in mercy, hide it not;Tell him so.Bide not till the end of allCarries him beyond recallWhen beside his sable pall,To avowYour affection and acclaimTo do honor to his nameAnd to place the wreath of fameOn his brow.Rather speak to him to-day;For the things you have to sayMay assist him on his way:Tell him now.Life is hard enough, at best:But the love that is expressedMakes it seem a pathway blestTo our feet;And the troubles that we shareSeem the easier to bear,Smile upon your neighbor's care,As you greet.Rough and stony are our ways,Dark and dreary are our days;But another's love and praiseMake them sweet.Wait not till your friend is deadEre your compliments are said;For the spirit that has fled,If it know,Does not need to speed it onOur poor praise; where it has goneLove's eternal, golden dawnIs aglow.But unto our brother hereThat poor praise is very dear;If you've any word of cheerTell him so.—J. A. Egerton.
If you have a word of cheerThat may light the pathway drear,Of a brother pilgrim here,Let him know.Show him you appreciateWhat he does, and do not waitTill the heavy hand of fateLays him low.If your heart contains a thoughtThat will brighter make his lot,Then, in mercy, hide it not;Tell him so.
If you have a word of cheer
That may light the pathway drear,
Of a brother pilgrim here,
Let him know.
Show him you appreciate
What he does, and do not wait
Till the heavy hand of fate
Lays him low.
If your heart contains a thought
That will brighter make his lot,
Then, in mercy, hide it not;
Tell him so.
Bide not till the end of allCarries him beyond recallWhen beside his sable pall,To avowYour affection and acclaimTo do honor to his nameAnd to place the wreath of fameOn his brow.Rather speak to him to-day;For the things you have to sayMay assist him on his way:Tell him now.
Bide not till the end of all
Carries him beyond recall
When beside his sable pall,
To avow
Your affection and acclaim
To do honor to his name
And to place the wreath of fame
On his brow.
Rather speak to him to-day;
For the things you have to say
May assist him on his way:
Tell him now.
Life is hard enough, at best:But the love that is expressedMakes it seem a pathway blestTo our feet;And the troubles that we shareSeem the easier to bear,Smile upon your neighbor's care,As you greet.Rough and stony are our ways,Dark and dreary are our days;But another's love and praiseMake them sweet.
Life is hard enough, at best:
But the love that is expressed
Makes it seem a pathway blest
To our feet;
And the troubles that we share
Seem the easier to bear,
Smile upon your neighbor's care,
As you greet.
Rough and stony are our ways,
Dark and dreary are our days;
But another's love and praise
Make them sweet.
Wait not till your friend is deadEre your compliments are said;For the spirit that has fled,If it know,Does not need to speed it onOur poor praise; where it has goneLove's eternal, golden dawnIs aglow.But unto our brother hereThat poor praise is very dear;If you've any word of cheerTell him so.
Wait not till your friend is dead
Ere your compliments are said;
For the spirit that has fled,
If it know,
Does not need to speed it on
Our poor praise; where it has gone
Love's eternal, golden dawn
Is aglow.
But unto our brother here
That poor praise is very dear;
If you've any word of cheer
Tell him so.
—J. A. Egerton.
—J. A. Egerton.
———
So when a great man dies,For years beyond our kenThe light he leaves behind him liesUpon the paths of men.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
So when a great man dies,For years beyond our kenThe light he leaves behind him liesUpon the paths of men.
So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
There once was a man who bore a grudge.Stoutly he bore it many a year."Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge!Well it becomes me, never fear."Men for this world, and saints for heaven;Too much of meekness shows a fool;My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven;'Give as you get,' is a good old rule."The longer he bore it, the more it grew,Grew his grudge, as he trudged along;Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew,And he heard within it a wondrous song.The shining porter said, "Walk in."He sought to do so; the gate was strait:Hard he struggled his way to win,The way was narrow, the grudge was great.He turned in haste to lay it down;He strove to tear it away—to cut—But it had fast to his heart strings grown,"O wait," he cried; but the door was shut.Through windows bright and clear he sawThe blessed going with their Lord to sup.But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw;Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up.—Sara Hammond Palfrey.
There once was a man who bore a grudge.Stoutly he bore it many a year."Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge!Well it becomes me, never fear.
There once was a man who bore a grudge.
Stoutly he bore it many a year.
"Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge!
Well it becomes me, never fear.
"Men for this world, and saints for heaven;Too much of meekness shows a fool;My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven;'Give as you get,' is a good old rule."
"Men for this world, and saints for heaven;
Too much of meekness shows a fool;
My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven;
'Give as you get,' is a good old rule."
The longer he bore it, the more it grew,Grew his grudge, as he trudged along;Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew,And he heard within it a wondrous song.
The longer he bore it, the more it grew,
Grew his grudge, as he trudged along;
Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew,
And he heard within it a wondrous song.
The shining porter said, "Walk in."He sought to do so; the gate was strait:Hard he struggled his way to win,The way was narrow, the grudge was great.
The shining porter said, "Walk in."
He sought to do so; the gate was strait:
Hard he struggled his way to win,
The way was narrow, the grudge was great.
He turned in haste to lay it down;He strove to tear it away—to cut—But it had fast to his heart strings grown,"O wait," he cried; but the door was shut.
He turned in haste to lay it down;
He strove to tear it away—to cut—
But it had fast to his heart strings grown,
"O wait," he cried; but the door was shut.
Through windows bright and clear he sawThe blessed going with their Lord to sup.But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw;Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up.
Through windows bright and clear he saw
The blessed going with their Lord to sup.
But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw;
Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up.
—Sara Hammond Palfrey.
—Sara Hammond Palfrey.
———
Man judges from a partial view,None ever yet his brother knew;The Eternal Eye that sees the wholeMay better read the darkened soul,And find, to outward sense denied,The flower upon its inward side.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
Man judges from a partial view,None ever yet his brother knew;The Eternal Eye that sees the wholeMay better read the darkened soul,And find, to outward sense denied,The flower upon its inward side.
Man judges from a partial view,
None ever yet his brother knew;
The Eternal Eye that sees the whole
May better read the darkened soul,
And find, to outward sense denied,
The flower upon its inward side.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
O brothers! are ye asking howThe hills of happiness to find?Then know they lie beyond the vow—"God helping me, I will be kind."—Nixon Waterman.
O brothers! are ye asking howThe hills of happiness to find?Then know they lie beyond the vow—"God helping me, I will be kind."
O brothers! are ye asking how
The hills of happiness to find?
Then know they lie beyond the vow—
"God helping me, I will be kind."
—Nixon Waterman.
—Nixon Waterman.
———
Not to the man of dollars,Not to the man of deeds,Not unto craft and cunning,Not unto human creeds;Not to the one whose passionIs for the world's renown,Not in the form of fashionCometh a blessing down.But to the one whose spiritYearns for the great and good;Unto the one whose storehouseYieldeth the hungry food;Unto the one who laborsFearless of foe or frown;Unto the kindly-hearted,Cometh a blessing down.—Mary Frances Tucker.
Not to the man of dollars,Not to the man of deeds,Not unto craft and cunning,Not unto human creeds;Not to the one whose passionIs for the world's renown,Not in the form of fashionCometh a blessing down.
Not to the man of dollars,
Not to the man of deeds,
Not unto craft and cunning,
Not unto human creeds;
Not to the one whose passion
Is for the world's renown,
Not in the form of fashion
Cometh a blessing down.
But to the one whose spiritYearns for the great and good;Unto the one whose storehouseYieldeth the hungry food;Unto the one who laborsFearless of foe or frown;Unto the kindly-hearted,Cometh a blessing down.
But to the one whose spirit
Yearns for the great and good;
Unto the one whose storehouse
Yieldeth the hungry food;
Unto the one who labors
Fearless of foe or frown;
Unto the kindly-hearted,
Cometh a blessing down.
—Mary Frances Tucker.
—Mary Frances Tucker.
———
Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,And so are tongue and pen,And so are sheaves of good bank notes,To sway the souls of men.But guns and swords and piles of gold,Though mighty in their sphere,Are sometimes feebler than a smile,And poorer than a tear.—Charles Mackay.
Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,And so are tongue and pen,And so are sheaves of good bank notes,To sway the souls of men.But guns and swords and piles of gold,Though mighty in their sphere,Are sometimes feebler than a smile,And poorer than a tear.
Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,
And so are tongue and pen,
And so are sheaves of good bank notes,
To sway the souls of men.
But guns and swords and piles of gold,
Though mighty in their sphere,
Are sometimes feebler than a smile,
And poorer than a tear.
—Charles Mackay.
—Charles Mackay.
———
Enough to know that, through the winter's frostAnd summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,And every duty pays at last its cost.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
Enough to know that, through the winter's frostAnd summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,And every duty pays at last its cost.
Enough to know that, through the winter's frost
And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,
And every duty pays at last its cost.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
A kindly act is a kernel sownThat will grow to a goodly tree,Shedding its fruit when time is flownDown the gulf of Eternity.—John Boyle O'Reilly.
A kindly act is a kernel sownThat will grow to a goodly tree,Shedding its fruit when time is flownDown the gulf of Eternity.
A kindly act is a kernel sown
That will grow to a goodly tree,
Shedding its fruit when time is flown
Down the gulf of Eternity.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
———
The kindly word unspoken is a sin—A sin that wraps itself in purest guise,And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within,That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.—John Boyle O'Reilly.
The kindly word unspoken is a sin—A sin that wraps itself in purest guise,And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within,That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.
The kindly word unspoken is a sin—
A sin that wraps itself in purest guise,
And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within,
That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
O God, take the reins of my life!I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,Where the brambles were rife,In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.O God, take the reins of my life!For I am so weary and weak.My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,And the worn horses reekWith the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,While I am all weary and weak.But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the wayShall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,And my life in that hourShall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;For thou wilt be peace and all power.Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!While eyes can look up and while reason remains,And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,Ere death stamp my browAnd pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins—Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!I yield Thee my place, which is thine.Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor;Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more,While the glad axles shine,And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,—Now thou hast my place, which is thine.—Amos R. Wells.
O God, take the reins of my life!I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,Where the brambles were rife,In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.O God, take the reins of my life!
O God, take the reins of my life!
I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,
In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,
Where the brambles were rife,
In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.
O God, take the reins of my life!
For I am so weary and weak.My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,And the worn horses reekWith the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,While I am all weary and weak.
For I am so weary and weak.
My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,
And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,
And the worn horses reek
With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,
While I am all weary and weak.
But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the wayShall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,And my life in that hourShall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;For thou wilt be peace and all power.
But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.
Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way
Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,
And my life in that hour
Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;
For thou wilt be peace and all power.
Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!While eyes can look up and while reason remains,And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,Ere death stamp my browAnd pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins—Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!
Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!
While eyes can look up and while reason remains,
And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,
Ere death stamp my brow
And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins—
Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!
I yield Thee my place, which is thine.Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor;Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more,While the glad axles shine,And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,—Now thou hast my place, which is thine.
I yield Thee my place, which is thine.
Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor;
Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more,
While the glad axles shine,
And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,—
Now thou hast my place, which is thine.
—Amos R. Wells.
—Amos R. Wells.
———
My whole though broken heart, O Lord,From henceforth shall be thine;And here I do my vow record—This hand, these words are mine:All that I have, without reserve,I offer here to thee:Thy will and honor all shall serveThat thou bestow'st on me.All that exceptions save I lose;All that I lose I save;The treasures of thy love I choose,And Thou art all I crave.My God, thou hast my heart and hand;I all to thee resign;I'll ever to this covenant stand,Though flesh hereat repine.I know that Thou wast willing first,And then drew my consent;Having thus loved me at the worstThou wilt not now repent.Now I have quit all self-pretense,Take charge of what's thine own:My life, my health, and my defense,Now lie on thee alone.—Richard Baxter.
My whole though broken heart, O Lord,From henceforth shall be thine;And here I do my vow record—This hand, these words are mine:All that I have, without reserve,I offer here to thee:Thy will and honor all shall serveThat thou bestow'st on me.
My whole though broken heart, O Lord,
From henceforth shall be thine;
And here I do my vow record—
This hand, these words are mine:
All that I have, without reserve,
I offer here to thee:
Thy will and honor all shall serve
That thou bestow'st on me.
All that exceptions save I lose;All that I lose I save;The treasures of thy love I choose,And Thou art all I crave.My God, thou hast my heart and hand;I all to thee resign;I'll ever to this covenant stand,Though flesh hereat repine.
All that exceptions save I lose;
All that I lose I save;
The treasures of thy love I choose,
And Thou art all I crave.
My God, thou hast my heart and hand;
I all to thee resign;
I'll ever to this covenant stand,
Though flesh hereat repine.
I know that Thou wast willing first,And then drew my consent;Having thus loved me at the worstThou wilt not now repent.Now I have quit all self-pretense,Take charge of what's thine own:My life, my health, and my defense,Now lie on thee alone.
I know that Thou wast willing first,
And then drew my consent;
Having thus loved me at the worst
Thou wilt not now repent.
Now I have quit all self-pretense,
Take charge of what's thine own:
My life, my health, and my defense,
Now lie on thee alone.
—Richard Baxter.
—Richard Baxter.
———
To do or not to do; to haveOr not to have, I leave to thee;To be or not to be I leave;Thy only will be done in me.All my requests are lost in one:Father, thy only will be done.Suffice that, for the season past,Myself in things divine I sought,For comforts cried with eager haste,And murmured that I found them not.I leave it now to Thee alone:Father, thy only will be done.Thy gifts I clamor for no more,Or selfishly thy grace requireAn evil heart to varnish o'er;Jesus, the Giver, I desire,After the flesh no longer known:Father, thy only will be done.Welcome alike the crown or cross;Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace,Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss,Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease,Nor life, nor death, but ever groan,Father, thy only will be done.—Charles Wesley.
To do or not to do; to haveOr not to have, I leave to thee;To be or not to be I leave;Thy only will be done in me.All my requests are lost in one:Father, thy only will be done.
To do or not to do; to have
Or not to have, I leave to thee;
To be or not to be I leave;
Thy only will be done in me.
All my requests are lost in one:
Father, thy only will be done.
Suffice that, for the season past,Myself in things divine I sought,For comforts cried with eager haste,And murmured that I found them not.I leave it now to Thee alone:Father, thy only will be done.
Suffice that, for the season past,
Myself in things divine I sought,
For comforts cried with eager haste,
And murmured that I found them not.
I leave it now to Thee alone:
Father, thy only will be done.
Thy gifts I clamor for no more,Or selfishly thy grace requireAn evil heart to varnish o'er;Jesus, the Giver, I desire,After the flesh no longer known:Father, thy only will be done.
Thy gifts I clamor for no more,
Or selfishly thy grace require
An evil heart to varnish o'er;
Jesus, the Giver, I desire,
After the flesh no longer known:
Father, thy only will be done.
Welcome alike the crown or cross;Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace,Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss,Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease,Nor life, nor death, but ever groan,Father, thy only will be done.
Welcome alike the crown or cross;
Trouble I cannot ask, nor peace,
Nor toil, nor rest, nor gain, nor loss,
Nor joy, nor grief, nor pain, nor ease,
Nor life, nor death, but ever groan,
Father, thy only will be done.
—Charles Wesley.
—Charles Wesley.
———
O God! I thank thee for each sightOf beauty that thy hand doth give;For sunny skies and air and light;O God, I thank thee that I live!That life I consecrate to Thee;And ever as the day is born,On wings of joy my soul would fleeAnd thank thee for another morn;Another day in which to castSome silent deed of love abroad,That, greatening as it journeys past,May do some earnest work for God;Another day to do and dare;To tax anew my growing strength;To arm my soul with faith and prayer,And so reach heaven and Thee at length.—Caroline Atherton Mason.
O God! I thank thee for each sightOf beauty that thy hand doth give;For sunny skies and air and light;O God, I thank thee that I live!
O God! I thank thee for each sight
Of beauty that thy hand doth give;
For sunny skies and air and light;
O God, I thank thee that I live!
That life I consecrate to Thee;And ever as the day is born,On wings of joy my soul would fleeAnd thank thee for another morn;
That life I consecrate to Thee;
And ever as the day is born,
On wings of joy my soul would flee
And thank thee for another morn;
Another day in which to castSome silent deed of love abroad,That, greatening as it journeys past,May do some earnest work for God;
Another day in which to cast
Some silent deed of love abroad,
That, greatening as it journeys past,
May do some earnest work for God;
Another day to do and dare;To tax anew my growing strength;To arm my soul with faith and prayer,And so reach heaven and Thee at length.
Another day to do and dare;
To tax anew my growing strength;
To arm my soul with faith and prayer,
And so reach heaven and Thee at length.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
———
Into Thy guiding hands;Along a way thy love and care forefendGladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bendThe longest road that leads at life's far endInto thy hands.Into thy chastening hands:If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin,Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win,Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline,Into thy hands.Into Thy healing hands;No hurt of soul or body long enthralls,The bruiséd heart that for thy succor callsWhen, far from doubting as from fear, it fallsInto thy hands.Into thy saving hands:Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake,My life a perfect whole thy power can make,If Thou my shards of broken purpose takeInto thy hands.Into Thy keeping hands;As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail—So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail—The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale,Into thy hands.Into thy loving hands;Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest;Who made the world to tire made thee my rest;My joyful heart I give, at thy behest,Into thy hands.—Louise Manning Hodgkins.
Into Thy guiding hands;Along a way thy love and care forefendGladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bendThe longest road that leads at life's far endInto thy hands.
Into Thy guiding hands;
Along a way thy love and care forefend
Gladly I fare, or rough or smooth may bend
The longest road that leads at life's far end
Into thy hands.
Into thy chastening hands:If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin,Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win,Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline,Into thy hands.
Into thy chastening hands:
If e'er I yield to weakness or to sin,
Blind to the guerdon Thou dost bid me win,
Bring Thou me back, by Love's sweet discipline,
Into thy hands.
Into Thy healing hands;No hurt of soul or body long enthralls,The bruiséd heart that for thy succor callsWhen, far from doubting as from fear, it fallsInto thy hands.
Into Thy healing hands;
No hurt of soul or body long enthralls,
The bruiséd heart that for thy succor calls
When, far from doubting as from fear, it falls
Into thy hands.
Into thy saving hands:Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake,My life a perfect whole thy power can make,If Thou my shards of broken purpose takeInto thy hands.
Into thy saving hands:
Despite assoil, infirmity, mistake,
My life a perfect whole thy power can make,
If Thou my shards of broken purpose take
Into thy hands.
Into Thy keeping hands;As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail—So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail—The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale,Into thy hands.
Into Thy keeping hands;
As safe as Heaven kept the guarded Grail—
So safe, so pure, so compassed as with mail—
The soul committed, e'en through Death's dark vale,
Into thy hands.
Into thy loving hands;Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest;Who made the world to tire made thee my rest;My joyful heart I give, at thy behest,Into thy hands.
Into thy loving hands;
Who made my heart to love made Thee my guest;
Who made the world to tire made thee my rest;
My joyful heart I give, at thy behest,
Into thy hands.
—Louise Manning Hodgkins.
—Louise Manning Hodgkins.
———
My will would like a life of ease,And power to do, and time to rest,And health and strength my will would please,But, Lord, I know thy will is best.If I have strength to do thy willThat should be power enough for me,Whether to work or to sit stillThe appointment of the day may be.And if by sickness I may growMore patient, holy and resigned,Strong health I need not wish to know,And greater ease I cannot find.And rest—I need not seek it here;For perfect rest remaineth still;When in thy presence we appearRest shall be given by thy will.Lord I have given my life to thee,And every day and hour is thine;What thou appointest let them be:Thy will is better, Lord, than mine.—Anna B. Warner.
My will would like a life of ease,And power to do, and time to rest,And health and strength my will would please,But, Lord, I know thy will is best.
My will would like a life of ease,
And power to do, and time to rest,
And health and strength my will would please,
But, Lord, I know thy will is best.
If I have strength to do thy willThat should be power enough for me,Whether to work or to sit stillThe appointment of the day may be.
If I have strength to do thy will
That should be power enough for me,
Whether to work or to sit still
The appointment of the day may be.
And if by sickness I may growMore patient, holy and resigned,Strong health I need not wish to know,And greater ease I cannot find.
And if by sickness I may grow
More patient, holy and resigned,
Strong health I need not wish to know,
And greater ease I cannot find.
And rest—I need not seek it here;For perfect rest remaineth still;When in thy presence we appearRest shall be given by thy will.
And rest—I need not seek it here;
For perfect rest remaineth still;
When in thy presence we appear
Rest shall be given by thy will.
Lord I have given my life to thee,And every day and hour is thine;What thou appointest let them be:Thy will is better, Lord, than mine.
Lord I have given my life to thee,
And every day and hour is thine;
What thou appointest let them be:
Thy will is better, Lord, than mine.
—Anna B. Warner.
—Anna B. Warner.
———
Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine—Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;But here I bring within my trembling hand,This will of mine—a thing that seemeth small,And Thou alone, O God, canst understandHow, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can seeStruggles of passion—visions of delight—All that I love, and am, and fain would be,Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none—Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'enIf, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,And thou give back my will, it may have beenSo changed, so purified, so fair have grown,So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,I may not see nor know it as my own,But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.
Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine—Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;But here I bring within my trembling hand,This will of mine—a thing that seemeth small,And Thou alone, O God, canst understandHow, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can seeStruggles of passion—visions of delight—All that I love, and am, and fain would be,Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none—Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'enIf, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,And thou give back my will, it may have beenSo changed, so purified, so fair have grown,So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,I may not see nor know it as my own,But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.
Laid on thine altar, O my Lord Divine,
Accept my will this day, for Jesus' sake;
I have no jewels to adorn thy shrine—
Nor any world-proud sacrifice to make;
But here I bring within my trembling hand,
This will of mine—a thing that seemeth small,
And Thou alone, O God, canst understand
How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine all.
Hidden therein, thy searching gaze can see
Struggles of passion—visions of delight—
All that I love, and am, and fain would be,
Deep loves, fond hopes, and longings infinite.
It hath been wet with tears and dimmed with sighs,
Clinched in my grasp, till beauty hath it none—
Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished lies,
The prayer ascendeth, "May thy will be done."
Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail,
And merge it so in thine own Will, that e'en
If, in some desperate hour, my cries prevail,
And thou give back my will, it may have been
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown,
So one with thee, so filled with peace divine,
I may not see nor know it as my own,
But, gaining back my will, may find it thine.
———
Manlike is it to fall into sin,Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,Christlike is it for sin to grieve,Godlike is it all sin to leave.—Friedrich von Logau.
Manlike is it to fall into sin,Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,Christlike is it for sin to grieve,Godlike is it all sin to leave.
Manlike is it to fall into sin,
Fiendlike is it to dwell therein,
Christlike is it for sin to grieve,
Godlike is it all sin to leave.
—Friedrich von Logau.
—Friedrich von Logau.
———
O God of Truth, whose living wordUpholds whate'er hath breath,Look down on thy creation, Lord,Enslaved by sin and death.Set up thy standard, Lord, that theyWho claim a heavenly birthMay march with thee to smite the liesThat vex thy ransomed earth.Ah! would we join that blest array,And follow in the mightOf Him, the Faithful and the True,In raiment clean and white.Wefight for truth,wefight for God—Poor slaves of lies and sin!He who would fight for thee on earthMust first be true within.Thou God of Truth for whom we long—Thou who wilt hear our prayer—Do thine own battle in our hearts;And slay the falsehood there.Still smite! still burn! till naught is leftBut God's own truth and love;Then, Lord, as morning dew come down,Rest on us from above.Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire,From every lie set free,Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us,And we shall live in Thee.—Thomas Hughes.
O God of Truth, whose living wordUpholds whate'er hath breath,Look down on thy creation, Lord,Enslaved by sin and death.
O God of Truth, whose living word
Upholds whate'er hath breath,
Look down on thy creation, Lord,
Enslaved by sin and death.
Set up thy standard, Lord, that theyWho claim a heavenly birthMay march with thee to smite the liesThat vex thy ransomed earth.
Set up thy standard, Lord, that they
Who claim a heavenly birth
May march with thee to smite the lies
That vex thy ransomed earth.
Ah! would we join that blest array,And follow in the mightOf Him, the Faithful and the True,In raiment clean and white.
Ah! would we join that blest array,
And follow in the might
Of Him, the Faithful and the True,
In raiment clean and white.
Wefight for truth,wefight for God—Poor slaves of lies and sin!He who would fight for thee on earthMust first be true within.
Wefight for truth,wefight for God—
Poor slaves of lies and sin!
He who would fight for thee on earth
Must first be true within.
Thou God of Truth for whom we long—Thou who wilt hear our prayer—Do thine own battle in our hearts;And slay the falsehood there.
Thou God of Truth for whom we long—
Thou who wilt hear our prayer—
Do thine own battle in our hearts;
And slay the falsehood there.
Still smite! still burn! till naught is leftBut God's own truth and love;Then, Lord, as morning dew come down,Rest on us from above.
Still smite! still burn! till naught is left
But God's own truth and love;
Then, Lord, as morning dew come down,
Rest on us from above.
Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire,From every lie set free,Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us,And we shall live in Thee.
Yea, come! then, tried as in the fire,
From every lie set free,
Thy perfect truth shall dwell in us,
And we shall live in Thee.
—Thomas Hughes.
—Thomas Hughes.
———
Lord, in the strength of grace,With a glad heart and free,Myself, my residue of days,I consecrate to Thee.Thy ransomed servant, IRestore to thee thine own;And from this moment live or dieTo serve my God alone.—Charles Wesley.
Lord, in the strength of grace,With a glad heart and free,Myself, my residue of days,I consecrate to Thee.
Lord, in the strength of grace,
With a glad heart and free,
Myself, my residue of days,
I consecrate to Thee.
Thy ransomed servant, IRestore to thee thine own;And from this moment live or dieTo serve my God alone.
Thy ransomed servant, I
Restore to thee thine own;
And from this moment live or die
To serve my God alone.
—Charles Wesley.
—Charles Wesley.
———
In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee,Thine utterly and only and evermore to be!O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone,And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own.—Frances Ridley Havergal.
In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee,Thine utterly and only and evermore to be!O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone,And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own.
In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to thee,
Thine utterly and only and evermore to be!
O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be thine alone,
And all we are and all we have shall henceforth be thine own.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
A little bird I am,Shut from the fields of air;And in my cage I sit and singTo him who placed me there;Well pleased a prisoner to be,Because, my God, it pleaseth thee.Naught have I else to do;I sing the whole day long;And He whom most I love to pleaseDoth listen to my song;He caught and bound my wandering wing,But still he bends to hear me sing.My cage confines me round,Abroad I cannot fly;But though my wings are closely boundMy heart's at liberty.My prison walls cannot controlThe flight, the freedom of my soul.Oh, it is grand to soarThese bolts and bars aboveTo Him whose purpose I adore,Whose providence I love!And in thy mighty will to findThe joy, the freedom of the mind.—Madame Guyon.
A little bird I am,Shut from the fields of air;And in my cage I sit and singTo him who placed me there;Well pleased a prisoner to be,Because, my God, it pleaseth thee.
A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleaseth thee.
Naught have I else to do;I sing the whole day long;And He whom most I love to pleaseDoth listen to my song;He caught and bound my wandering wing,But still he bends to hear me sing.
Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still he bends to hear me sing.
My cage confines me round,Abroad I cannot fly;But though my wings are closely boundMy heart's at liberty.My prison walls cannot controlThe flight, the freedom of my soul.
My cage confines me round,
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wings are closely bound
My heart's at liberty.
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of my soul.
Oh, it is grand to soarThese bolts and bars aboveTo Him whose purpose I adore,Whose providence I love!And in thy mighty will to findThe joy, the freedom of the mind.
Oh, it is grand to soar
These bolts and bars above
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love!
And in thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind.
—Madame Guyon.
—Madame Guyon.
———
Take my life and let it beConsecrated, Lord, to thee.Take my moments and my days;Let them flow in ceaseless praise.Take my hands, and let them moveAt the impulse of thy love.Take my feet and let them beSwift and "beautiful" for Thee.Take my voice, and let me singAlways, only, for my King.Take my lips, and let them beFilled with messages from Thee.Take my silver and my gold;Not a mite would I withhold.Take my intellect, and useEvery power as Thou shalt choose.Take my will and make it Thine;It shall be no longer mine.Take my heart; itisthine own;It shall be thy royal throne.Take my love; my Lord, I pourAt thy feet its treasure-store.Take myself, and I will beEver,only,allfor Thee.—Frances Ridley Havergal.
Take my life and let it beConsecrated, Lord, to thee.Take my moments and my days;Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my life and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to thee.
Take my moments and my days;
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them moveAt the impulse of thy love.Take my feet and let them beSwift and "beautiful" for Thee.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet and let them be
Swift and "beautiful" for Thee.
Take my voice, and let me singAlways, only, for my King.Take my lips, and let them beFilled with messages from Thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee.
Take my silver and my gold;Not a mite would I withhold.Take my intellect, and useEvery power as Thou shalt choose.
Take my silver and my gold;
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as Thou shalt choose.
Take my will and make it Thine;It shall be no longer mine.Take my heart; itisthine own;It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my will and make it Thine;
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart; itisthine own;
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love; my Lord, I pourAt thy feet its treasure-store.Take myself, and I will beEver,only,allfor Thee.
Take my love; my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever,only,allfor Thee.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
———
Strong are the walls around me,That hold me all the day;But they who thus have bound meCannot keep God away:My very dungeon walls are dear,Because the God I love is here.They know, who thus oppress me,'Tis hard to be alone;But know not One can bless meWho comes through bars and stone.He makes my dungeon's darkness brightAnd fills my bosom with delight.Thy love, O God! restores meFrom sighs and tears to praise;And deep my soul adores theeNor thinks of time or place:I ask no more, in good or ill,But union with thy holy will.'Tis that which makes my treasure,'Tis that which brings my gain;Converting woe to pleasure.And reaping joy from pain.Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall,To know that God is All in All.—Madame Guyon.
Strong are the walls around me,That hold me all the day;But they who thus have bound meCannot keep God away:My very dungeon walls are dear,Because the God I love is here.
Strong are the walls around me,
That hold me all the day;
But they who thus have bound me
Cannot keep God away:
My very dungeon walls are dear,
Because the God I love is here.
They know, who thus oppress me,'Tis hard to be alone;But know not One can bless meWho comes through bars and stone.He makes my dungeon's darkness brightAnd fills my bosom with delight.
They know, who thus oppress me,
'Tis hard to be alone;
But know not One can bless me
Who comes through bars and stone.
He makes my dungeon's darkness bright
And fills my bosom with delight.
Thy love, O God! restores meFrom sighs and tears to praise;And deep my soul adores theeNor thinks of time or place:I ask no more, in good or ill,But union with thy holy will.
Thy love, O God! restores me
From sighs and tears to praise;
And deep my soul adores thee
Nor thinks of time or place:
I ask no more, in good or ill,
But union with thy holy will.
'Tis that which makes my treasure,'Tis that which brings my gain;Converting woe to pleasure.And reaping joy from pain.Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall,To know that God is All in All.
'Tis that which makes my treasure,
'Tis that which brings my gain;
Converting woe to pleasure.
And reaping joy from pain.
Oh, 'tis enough, whate'er befall,
To know that God is All in All.
—Madame Guyon.
—Madame Guyon.
———
O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,And fix my frail, inconstant heart;Henceforth my chief desire shall beTo dedicate myself to thee.Whate'er pursuits my time employ,One thought shall fill my soul with joy:That silent, secret thought shall beThat all my hopes are fixed on thee.Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;And wheresoe'er my lot may beStill shall my spirit cleave to thee.Renouncing every worldly thing,And safe beneath thy spreading wing,My sweetest thought henceforth shall beThat all I want I find in thee.—Jean F. Oberlin.
O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,And fix my frail, inconstant heart;Henceforth my chief desire shall beTo dedicate myself to thee.
O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,
And fix my frail, inconstant heart;
Henceforth my chief desire shall be
To dedicate myself to thee.
Whate'er pursuits my time employ,One thought shall fill my soul with joy:That silent, secret thought shall beThat all my hopes are fixed on thee.
Whate'er pursuits my time employ,
One thought shall fill my soul with joy:
That silent, secret thought shall be
That all my hopes are fixed on thee.
Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;And wheresoe'er my lot may beStill shall my spirit cleave to thee.
Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;
Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;
And wheresoe'er my lot may be
Still shall my spirit cleave to thee.
Renouncing every worldly thing,And safe beneath thy spreading wing,My sweetest thought henceforth shall beThat all I want I find in thee.
Renouncing every worldly thing,
And safe beneath thy spreading wing,
My sweetest thought henceforth shall be
That all I want I find in thee.
—Jean F. Oberlin.
—Jean F. Oberlin.
———
Jesus, I my cross have taken,All to leave and follow thee;Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:Perish every fond ambition,All I've sought, and hoped, and known;Yet how rich is my condition,God and heaven are still my own!Let the world despise and leave me,They have left my Saviour too;Human hearts and looks deceive me;Thou art not, like man, untrue;And while thou shalt smile upon me,God of wisdom, love, and might,Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;Show thy face, and all is bright.Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!In Thy service, pain is pleasure;With thy favor, loss is gain.I have called thee, "Abba, Father";I have stayed my heart on thee:Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,All must work for good to me.Man may trouble and distress me,'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;Life with trials hard may press me,Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.O 'tis not in grief to harm me,While thy love is left to me;O 'twere not in joy to charm me,Were that joy unmixed with thee.Know, my soul, thy full salvation;Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;Joy to find in every stationSomething still to do or bear.Think what Spirit dwells within thee;What a Father's smile is thine;What a Saviour died to win thee:Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?Haste thee on from grace to glory,Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;Heaven's eternal day's before thee,God's own hand shall guide thee there.Soon shall close thy earthly mission,Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,Hope shall change to glad fruition,Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.—Henry F. Lyte.
Jesus, I my cross have taken,All to leave and follow thee;Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:Perish every fond ambition,All I've sought, and hoped, and known;Yet how rich is my condition,God and heaven are still my own!
Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee;
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:
Perish every fond ambition,
All I've sought, and hoped, and known;
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heaven are still my own!
Let the world despise and leave me,They have left my Saviour too;Human hearts and looks deceive me;Thou art not, like man, untrue;And while thou shalt smile upon me,God of wisdom, love, and might,Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;Show thy face, and all is bright.
Let the world despise and leave me,
They have left my Saviour too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
Thou art not, like man, untrue;
And while thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;
Show thy face, and all is bright.
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!In Thy service, pain is pleasure;With thy favor, loss is gain.I have called thee, "Abba, Father";I have stayed my heart on thee:Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,All must work for good to me.
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure;
With thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called thee, "Abba, Father";
I have stayed my heart on thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.
Man may trouble and distress me,'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;Life with trials hard may press me,Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.O 'tis not in grief to harm me,While thy love is left to me;O 'twere not in joy to charm me,Were that joy unmixed with thee.
Man may trouble and distress me,
'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
O 'tis not in grief to harm me,
While thy love is left to me;
O 'twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmixed with thee.
Know, my soul, thy full salvation;Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;Joy to find in every stationSomething still to do or bear.Think what Spirit dwells within thee;What a Father's smile is thine;What a Saviour died to win thee:Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?
Know, my soul, thy full salvation;
Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
What a Father's smile is thine;
What a Saviour died to win thee:
Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?
Haste thee on from grace to glory,Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;Heaven's eternal day's before thee,God's own hand shall guide thee there.Soon shall close thy earthly mission,Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,Hope shall change to glad fruition,Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.
Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;
Heaven's eternal day's before thee,
God's own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.
—Henry F. Lyte.
—Henry F. Lyte.
———