Heavier the cross the stronger faith:The loaded palm strikes deeper root;The vine-juice sweetly issuethWhen men have pressed the clustered fruit;And courage grows where dangers comeLike pearls beneath the salt sea foam.Heavier the cross the heartier prayer;The bruisèd herbs most fragrant are;If sky and wind were always fairThe sailor would not watch the star;And David's psalms had ne'er been sungIf grief his heart had never wrung.Heavier the cross the more aspiring;From vales we climb to mountain's crest;The pilgrim, of the desert tiring,Longs for the Canaan of his rest.The dove has here no rest in sight,And to the ark she wings her flight.Heavier the cross the easier dying;Death is a friendlier face to see;To life's decay one bids defying,From life's distress one then is free;The cross sublimely lifts our faithTo him who triumphed over death.Thou Crucified! the cross I carry—The longer may it dearer be;And, lest I faint while here I tarry,Implant thou such a heart in meThat faith, hope, love, may flourish thereTill for the cross my crown I wear.—Benjamin Schmolke.
Heavier the cross the stronger faith:The loaded palm strikes deeper root;The vine-juice sweetly issuethWhen men have pressed the clustered fruit;And courage grows where dangers comeLike pearls beneath the salt sea foam.
Heavier the cross the stronger faith:
The loaded palm strikes deeper root;
The vine-juice sweetly issueth
When men have pressed the clustered fruit;
And courage grows where dangers come
Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam.
Heavier the cross the heartier prayer;The bruisèd herbs most fragrant are;If sky and wind were always fairThe sailor would not watch the star;And David's psalms had ne'er been sungIf grief his heart had never wrung.
Heavier the cross the heartier prayer;
The bruisèd herbs most fragrant are;
If sky and wind were always fair
The sailor would not watch the star;
And David's psalms had ne'er been sung
If grief his heart had never wrung.
Heavier the cross the more aspiring;From vales we climb to mountain's crest;The pilgrim, of the desert tiring,Longs for the Canaan of his rest.The dove has here no rest in sight,And to the ark she wings her flight.
Heavier the cross the more aspiring;
From vales we climb to mountain's crest;
The pilgrim, of the desert tiring,
Longs for the Canaan of his rest.
The dove has here no rest in sight,
And to the ark she wings her flight.
Heavier the cross the easier dying;Death is a friendlier face to see;To life's decay one bids defying,From life's distress one then is free;The cross sublimely lifts our faithTo him who triumphed over death.
Heavier the cross the easier dying;
Death is a friendlier face to see;
To life's decay one bids defying,
From life's distress one then is free;
The cross sublimely lifts our faith
To him who triumphed over death.
Thou Crucified! the cross I carry—The longer may it dearer be;And, lest I faint while here I tarry,Implant thou such a heart in meThat faith, hope, love, may flourish thereTill for the cross my crown I wear.
Thou Crucified! the cross I carry—
The longer may it dearer be;
And, lest I faint while here I tarry,
Implant thou such a heart in me
That faith, hope, love, may flourish there
Till for the cross my crown I wear.
—Benjamin Schmolke.
—Benjamin Schmolke.
———
A worthy man of Paris townCame to the bishop there:His face, o'erclouded with dismay,Betrayed a fixed despair."Father," said he, "a sinner vileAm I, against my will:Each hour I humbly pray for faith,But am a doubter still."Sure were I not despised of God,He would not leave me soTo struggle thus in constant strifeAgainst the deadly foe."The bishop to his sorrowing sonThus spoke a kind relief:"The King of France has castles twain;To each he sends a chief."There's Montelhéry, far inland,That stands in place secure;While La Rochelle, upon the coast,Doth sieges oft endure."Now for these castles—both preserved—First in his prince's loveShall Montelhéry's chief be placed,Or La Rochelle's above?""Oh! doubtless, sire," the sinner said,"That king will love the mostThe man whose task was hard to keepHis castle on the coast!""Son," said the bishop, "thou art right;Apply this reasoning well:My heart is Montelhéry fort,And thine is La Rochelle!"
A worthy man of Paris townCame to the bishop there:His face, o'erclouded with dismay,Betrayed a fixed despair.
A worthy man of Paris town
Came to the bishop there:
His face, o'erclouded with dismay,
Betrayed a fixed despair.
"Father," said he, "a sinner vileAm I, against my will:Each hour I humbly pray for faith,But am a doubter still.
"Father," said he, "a sinner vile
Am I, against my will:
Each hour I humbly pray for faith,
But am a doubter still.
"Sure were I not despised of God,He would not leave me soTo struggle thus in constant strifeAgainst the deadly foe."
"Sure were I not despised of God,
He would not leave me so
To struggle thus in constant strife
Against the deadly foe."
The bishop to his sorrowing sonThus spoke a kind relief:"The King of France has castles twain;To each he sends a chief.
The bishop to his sorrowing son
Thus spoke a kind relief:
"The King of France has castles twain;
To each he sends a chief.
"There's Montelhéry, far inland,That stands in place secure;While La Rochelle, upon the coast,Doth sieges oft endure.
"There's Montelhéry, far inland,
That stands in place secure;
While La Rochelle, upon the coast,
Doth sieges oft endure.
"Now for these castles—both preserved—First in his prince's loveShall Montelhéry's chief be placed,Or La Rochelle's above?"
"Now for these castles—both preserved—
First in his prince's love
Shall Montelhéry's chief be placed,
Or La Rochelle's above?"
"Oh! doubtless, sire," the sinner said,"That king will love the mostThe man whose task was hard to keepHis castle on the coast!"
"Oh! doubtless, sire," the sinner said,
"That king will love the most
The man whose task was hard to keep
His castle on the coast!"
"Son," said the bishop, "thou art right;Apply this reasoning well:My heart is Montelhéry fort,And thine is La Rochelle!"
"Son," said the bishop, "thou art right;
Apply this reasoning well:
My heart is Montelhéry fort,
And thine is La Rochelle!"
———
I think, if thou could'st know,O soul, that will complain,What lies concealed belowOur burden and our pain—How just our anguish bringsNearer those longed-for thingsWe seek for now in vain—I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.I think, if thou could'st see,With thy dim mortal sight,How meanings, dark to thee,Are shadows hiding light;Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,Life's purpose all perplexed—If thou could'st see them right,I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.And yet thou can'st not know;And yet thou can'st not see;Wisdom and sight are slowIn poor humanity.If thou could'sttrust, poor soul,In him who rules the whole,Thou would'st find peace and rest:Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.
I think, if thou could'st know,O soul, that will complain,What lies concealed belowOur burden and our pain—How just our anguish bringsNearer those longed-for thingsWe seek for now in vain—I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.
I think, if thou could'st know,
O soul, that will complain,
What lies concealed below
Our burden and our pain—
How just our anguish brings
Nearer those longed-for things
We seek for now in vain—
I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.
I think, if thou could'st see,With thy dim mortal sight,How meanings, dark to thee,Are shadows hiding light;Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,Life's purpose all perplexed—If thou could'st see them right,I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.
I think, if thou could'st see,
With thy dim mortal sight,
How meanings, dark to thee,
Are shadows hiding light;
Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,
Life's purpose all perplexed—
If thou could'st see them right,
I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.
And yet thou can'st not know;And yet thou can'st not see;Wisdom and sight are slowIn poor humanity.If thou could'sttrust, poor soul,In him who rules the whole,Thou would'st find peace and rest:Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.
And yet thou can'st not know;
And yet thou can'st not see;
Wisdom and sight are slow
In poor humanity.
If thou could'sttrust, poor soul,
In him who rules the whole,
Thou would'st find peace and rest:
Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.
———
"O Lord, my God!" I oft have said,"Had I some other cross insteadOf this I bear from day to day,'Twere easier to go on my way."I do not murmur at its weight;That Thou hast made proportionateTo my scant strength; but oh! full soreIt presses where it pressed before."Change for a space, however brief,The wonted burden, that reliefMay o'er my aching shoulders steal,And the deep bruise have room to heal!"While thus I sadly sighed to-dayI heard my gracious Father say,"Can'st thou not trust my love, my child,And to thy cross be reconciled?"I fashioned it thy needs to meet;Nor were thy discipline completeWithout that very pain and bruiseWhich thy weak heart would fain refuse."Ashamed, I answered, "As Thou wilt!I own my faithlessness and guilt;Welcome the weary pain shall be,Since only that is best for me."
"O Lord, my God!" I oft have said,"Had I some other cross insteadOf this I bear from day to day,'Twere easier to go on my way.
"O Lord, my God!" I oft have said,
"Had I some other cross instead
Of this I bear from day to day,
'Twere easier to go on my way.
"I do not murmur at its weight;That Thou hast made proportionateTo my scant strength; but oh! full soreIt presses where it pressed before.
"I do not murmur at its weight;
That Thou hast made proportionate
To my scant strength; but oh! full sore
It presses where it pressed before.
"Change for a space, however brief,The wonted burden, that reliefMay o'er my aching shoulders steal,And the deep bruise have room to heal!"
"Change for a space, however brief,
The wonted burden, that relief
May o'er my aching shoulders steal,
And the deep bruise have room to heal!"
While thus I sadly sighed to-dayI heard my gracious Father say,"Can'st thou not trust my love, my child,And to thy cross be reconciled?
While thus I sadly sighed to-day
I heard my gracious Father say,
"Can'st thou not trust my love, my child,
And to thy cross be reconciled?
"I fashioned it thy needs to meet;Nor were thy discipline completeWithout that very pain and bruiseWhich thy weak heart would fain refuse."
"I fashioned it thy needs to meet;
Nor were thy discipline complete
Without that very pain and bruise
Which thy weak heart would fain refuse."
Ashamed, I answered, "As Thou wilt!I own my faithlessness and guilt;Welcome the weary pain shall be,Since only that is best for me."
Ashamed, I answered, "As Thou wilt!
I own my faithlessness and guilt;
Welcome the weary pain shall be,
Since only that is best for me."
———
He took them from me, one by one,The things I set my heart upon;They looked so harmless, fair, and blest;Would they have hurt me? God knows best.He loves me so, he would not wrestThem from me if it were not best.He took them from me, one by one,The friends I set my heart upon.O did they come, they and their love,Between me and my Lord above?Were they as idols in my breast?It may be. God in heaven knows best.I will not say I did not weep,As doth a child that wants to keepThe pleasant things in hurtful playHis wiser parent takes away;But in this comfort I will rest:He who hath taken knoweth best.
He took them from me, one by one,The things I set my heart upon;They looked so harmless, fair, and blest;Would they have hurt me? God knows best.He loves me so, he would not wrestThem from me if it were not best.
He took them from me, one by one,
The things I set my heart upon;
They looked so harmless, fair, and blest;
Would they have hurt me? God knows best.
He loves me so, he would not wrest
Them from me if it were not best.
He took them from me, one by one,The friends I set my heart upon.O did they come, they and their love,Between me and my Lord above?Were they as idols in my breast?It may be. God in heaven knows best.
He took them from me, one by one,
The friends I set my heart upon.
O did they come, they and their love,
Between me and my Lord above?
Were they as idols in my breast?
It may be. God in heaven knows best.
I will not say I did not weep,As doth a child that wants to keepThe pleasant things in hurtful playHis wiser parent takes away;But in this comfort I will rest:He who hath taken knoweth best.
I will not say I did not weep,
As doth a child that wants to keep
The pleasant things in hurtful play
His wiser parent takes away;
But in this comfort I will rest:
He who hath taken knoweth best.
———
O Thou who driest the mourner's tear,How dark this world would beIf, when deceived and wounded here,We could not fly to thee!The friends who in our sunshine liveWhen winter comes are flown;And he who has but tears to giveMust weep those tears alone.But Thou wilt heal that broken heartWhich, like the plants that throwTheir fragrance from the wounded part,Breathes sweetness out of woe.O who could bear life's stormy doomDid not Thy wing of loveCome brightly wafting through the gloomOur peace-branch from above!Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows brightWith more than rapture's ray;As darkness shows us worlds of lightWe never saw by day.—Thomas Moore.
O Thou who driest the mourner's tear,How dark this world would beIf, when deceived and wounded here,We could not fly to thee!
O Thou who driest the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee!
The friends who in our sunshine liveWhen winter comes are flown;And he who has but tears to giveMust weep those tears alone.
The friends who in our sunshine live
When winter comes are flown;
And he who has but tears to give
Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heartWhich, like the plants that throwTheir fragrance from the wounded part,Breathes sweetness out of woe.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
O who could bear life's stormy doomDid not Thy wing of loveCome brightly wafting through the gloomOur peace-branch from above!
O who could bear life's stormy doom
Did not Thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above!
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows brightWith more than rapture's ray;As darkness shows us worlds of lightWe never saw by day.
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
—Thomas Moore.
—Thomas Moore.
———
If none were sick and none were sadWhat service could we render?I think if we were always gladWe scarcely could be tender.Did our beloved never needOur patient ministrationEarth would grow cold, and miss indeedIts sweetest consolation.If sorrow never claimed our heart,And every wish were granted,Patience would die and hope depart—Life would be disenchanted.
If none were sick and none were sadWhat service could we render?I think if we were always gladWe scarcely could be tender.Did our beloved never needOur patient ministrationEarth would grow cold, and miss indeedIts sweetest consolation.If sorrow never claimed our heart,And every wish were granted,Patience would die and hope depart—Life would be disenchanted.
If none were sick and none were sad
What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad
We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration
Earth would grow cold, and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation.
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die and hope depart—
Life would be disenchanted.
———
Banish far from me all I love,The smiles of friends, the old fireside,And drive me to that home of homes,The heart of Jesus crucified.Take all the light away from earth,Take all that men can love from me;Let all I lean upon give way,That I may lean on naught but Thee.—Frederick William Faber.
Banish far from me all I love,The smiles of friends, the old fireside,And drive me to that home of homes,The heart of Jesus crucified.
Banish far from me all I love,
The smiles of friends, the old fireside,
And drive me to that home of homes,
The heart of Jesus crucified.
Take all the light away from earth,Take all that men can love from me;Let all I lean upon give way,That I may lean on naught but Thee.
Take all the light away from earth,
Take all that men can love from me;
Let all I lean upon give way,
That I may lean on naught but Thee.
—Frederick William Faber.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
God never would send you the darknessIf he felt you could bear the light;But you would not cling to his guiding handIf the way were always bright;And you would not care to walk by faithCould you always walk by sight.'Tis true he has many an anguishFor your sorrowful heart to bear,And many a cruel thorn-crownFor your tired head to wear:He knows how few would reach heaven at allIf pain did not guide them there.So he sends you the blinding darkness,And the furnace of seven-fold heat.'Tis the only way, believe me,To keep you close to his feet,For 'tis always so easy to wanderWhen our lives are glad and sweet.Then nestle your hand in your Father'sAnd sing, if you can, as you go;Your song may cheer some one behind youWhose courage is sinking low.And—well—if your lips do quiver—God will love you better so.
God never would send you the darknessIf he felt you could bear the light;But you would not cling to his guiding handIf the way were always bright;And you would not care to walk by faithCould you always walk by sight.
God never would send you the darkness
If he felt you could bear the light;
But you would not cling to his guiding hand
If the way were always bright;
And you would not care to walk by faith
Could you always walk by sight.
'Tis true he has many an anguishFor your sorrowful heart to bear,And many a cruel thorn-crownFor your tired head to wear:He knows how few would reach heaven at allIf pain did not guide them there.
'Tis true he has many an anguish
For your sorrowful heart to bear,
And many a cruel thorn-crown
For your tired head to wear:
He knows how few would reach heaven at all
If pain did not guide them there.
So he sends you the blinding darkness,And the furnace of seven-fold heat.'Tis the only way, believe me,To keep you close to his feet,For 'tis always so easy to wanderWhen our lives are glad and sweet.
So he sends you the blinding darkness,
And the furnace of seven-fold heat.
'Tis the only way, believe me,
To keep you close to his feet,
For 'tis always so easy to wander
When our lives are glad and sweet.
Then nestle your hand in your Father'sAnd sing, if you can, as you go;Your song may cheer some one behind youWhose courage is sinking low.And—well—if your lips do quiver—God will love you better so.
Then nestle your hand in your Father's
And sing, if you can, as you go;
Your song may cheer some one behind you
Whose courage is sinking low.
And—well—if your lips do quiver—
God will love you better so.
———
I made the cross myself whose weightWas later laid on me.This thought is torture as I toilUp life's steep Calvary.To think mine own hands drove the nails!I sang a merry song,And chose the heaviest wood I hadTo build it firm and strong.If I had guessed—if I had dreamed—Its weight was meant for me,I should have made a lighter crossTo bear up Calvary.—Anne Reeve Aldrich.
I made the cross myself whose weightWas later laid on me.This thought is torture as I toilUp life's steep Calvary.
I made the cross myself whose weight
Was later laid on me.
This thought is torture as I toil
Up life's steep Calvary.
To think mine own hands drove the nails!I sang a merry song,And chose the heaviest wood I hadTo build it firm and strong.
To think mine own hands drove the nails!
I sang a merry song,
And chose the heaviest wood I had
To build it firm and strong.
If I had guessed—if I had dreamed—Its weight was meant for me,I should have made a lighter crossTo bear up Calvary.
If I had guessed—if I had dreamed—
Its weight was meant for me,
I should have made a lighter cross
To bear up Calvary.
—Anne Reeve Aldrich.
—Anne Reeve Aldrich.
———
The unpolished pearl can never shine—'Tis sorrow makes the soul divine.—From the Japanese, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
The unpolished pearl can never shine—'Tis sorrow makes the soul divine.
The unpolished pearl can never shine—
'Tis sorrow makes the soul divine.
—From the Japanese, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
—From the Japanese, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
———
A Sower went forth to sow;His eyes were dark with woe;He crushed the flowers beneath his feet,Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet,That prayed for pity everywhere.He came to a field that was harriedBy iron, and to heaven laid bare;He shook the seed that he carriedO'er that brown and bladeless place.He shook it, as God shakes hailOver a doomèd land.When lightnings interlaceThe sky and the earth, and his wandOf love is a thunder-flail.Thus did that Sower sow;His seed was human blood,And tears of women and men.And I, who near him stood,Said: When the crop comes, thenThere will be sobbing and sighing,Weeping and wailing and crying,Flame, and ashes, and woe.
A Sower went forth to sow;His eyes were dark with woe;He crushed the flowers beneath his feet,Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet,That prayed for pity everywhere.He came to a field that was harriedBy iron, and to heaven laid bare;He shook the seed that he carriedO'er that brown and bladeless place.He shook it, as God shakes hailOver a doomèd land.When lightnings interlaceThe sky and the earth, and his wandOf love is a thunder-flail.Thus did that Sower sow;His seed was human blood,And tears of women and men.And I, who near him stood,Said: When the crop comes, thenThere will be sobbing and sighing,Weeping and wailing and crying,Flame, and ashes, and woe.
A Sower went forth to sow;
His eyes were dark with woe;
He crushed the flowers beneath his feet,
Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet,
That prayed for pity everywhere.
He came to a field that was harried
By iron, and to heaven laid bare;
He shook the seed that he carried
O'er that brown and bladeless place.
He shook it, as God shakes hail
Over a doomèd land.
When lightnings interlace
The sky and the earth, and his wand
Of love is a thunder-flail.
Thus did that Sower sow;
His seed was human blood,
And tears of women and men.
And I, who near him stood,
Said: When the crop comes, then
There will be sobbing and sighing,
Weeping and wailing and crying,
Flame, and ashes, and woe.
It was an autumn dayWhen next I went that way.And what, think you, did I say,What was it that I heard,What music was in the air?The song of a sweet-voiced bird?Nay—but the songs of manyThrilled through with praise and prayer.Of all those voices not anyWere sad of memory;But a sea of sunlight flowed,A golden harvest glowed,And I said, Thou only art wise,God of the earth and skies!And I praise thee, again and again,For the Sower whose name is Pain.—Richard Watson Gilder.
It was an autumn dayWhen next I went that way.And what, think you, did I say,What was it that I heard,What music was in the air?The song of a sweet-voiced bird?Nay—but the songs of manyThrilled through with praise and prayer.Of all those voices not anyWere sad of memory;But a sea of sunlight flowed,A golden harvest glowed,And I said, Thou only art wise,God of the earth and skies!And I praise thee, again and again,For the Sower whose name is Pain.
It was an autumn day
When next I went that way.
And what, think you, did I say,
What was it that I heard,
What music was in the air?
The song of a sweet-voiced bird?
Nay—but the songs of many
Thrilled through with praise and prayer.
Of all those voices not any
Were sad of memory;
But a sea of sunlight flowed,
A golden harvest glowed,
And I said, Thou only art wise,
God of the earth and skies!
And I praise thee, again and again,
For the Sower whose name is Pain.
—Richard Watson Gilder.
—Richard Watson Gilder.
———
Not disabled in the combat,No, nor absent from your post;You are doing gallant serviceWhere the Master needs you most.It was noble to give battleWhile the world stood cheering on;It is nobler to lie patient,Leaving half one's work undone.And the King counts up his heroesWhere the desperate charge was led,But he writes, "My Best Belovèd,"Over many a sick man's bed.
Not disabled in the combat,No, nor absent from your post;You are doing gallant serviceWhere the Master needs you most.
Not disabled in the combat,
No, nor absent from your post;
You are doing gallant service
Where the Master needs you most.
It was noble to give battleWhile the world stood cheering on;It is nobler to lie patient,Leaving half one's work undone.
It was noble to give battle
While the world stood cheering on;
It is nobler to lie patient,
Leaving half one's work undone.
And the King counts up his heroesWhere the desperate charge was led,But he writes, "My Best Belovèd,"Over many a sick man's bed.
And the King counts up his heroes
Where the desperate charge was led,
But he writes, "My Best Belovèd,"
Over many a sick man's bed.
———
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may beA pleasant road;I do not ask that thou wouldst take from meAught of its load.I do not ask that flowers should always springBeneath my feet;I know too well the poison and the stingOf things too sweet.For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:Lead me aright.Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,Through peace to light.I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shedFull radiance here;Give but a ray of peace, that I may treadWithout a fear.I do not ask my cross to understand,My way to see;Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,And follow Thee.Joy is like restless day; but peace divineLike quiet night.Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shineThrough peace to light.—Adelaide Anne Procter.
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may beA pleasant road;I do not ask that thou wouldst take from meAught of its load.
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road;
I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load.
I do not ask that flowers should always springBeneath my feet;I know too well the poison and the stingOf things too sweet.
I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:Lead me aright.Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,Through peace to light.
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:
Lead me aright.
Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,
Through peace to light.
I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shedFull radiance here;Give but a ray of peace, that I may treadWithout a fear.
I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here;
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.
I do not ask my cross to understand,My way to see;Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,And follow Thee.
I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;
Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,
And follow Thee.
Joy is like restless day; but peace divineLike quiet night.Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shineThrough peace to light.
Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night.
Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine
Through peace to light.
—Adelaide Anne Procter.
—Adelaide Anne Procter.
———
With silence only as their benedictionGod's angels come,Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,The soul sits dumb.Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,Our Father's will,Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth,Is mercy still.Not upon us or ours the solemn angelHath evil wrought;The funeral anthem is a glad evangel—The good die not!God calls our loved ones, but we lose not whollyWhat he has given;They live on earth in thought and deed as trulyAs in his heaven.—John Greenleaf Whittier.
With silence only as their benedictionGod's angels come,Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,The soul sits dumb.
With silence only as their benediction
God's angels come,
Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,
The soul sits dumb.
Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,Our Father's will,Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth,Is mercy still.
Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,
Our Father's will,
Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth,
Is mercy still.
Not upon us or ours the solemn angelHath evil wrought;The funeral anthem is a glad evangel—The good die not!
Not upon us or ours the solemn angel
Hath evil wrought;
The funeral anthem is a glad evangel—
The good die not!
God calls our loved ones, but we lose not whollyWhat he has given;They live on earth in thought and deed as trulyAs in his heaven.
God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly
What he has given;
They live on earth in thought and deed as truly
As in his heaven.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,God's breath upon the flame doth blow;And all my heart in anguish shiversAnd trembles at the fiery glow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And in his hottest fire stand still.He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,On the hard anvil, minded soInto his own fair shape to beat itWith his great hammer, blow on blow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And at his heaviest blows hold still.He takes my softened heart and beats it;The sparks fly off at every blow;He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it,And lets it cool, and makes it glow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And in his mighty hand hold still.Why should I murmur? for the sorrowThus only longer-lived would be;Its end may come, and will to-morrow,When God has done his work in me;So I say trusting—"As God will!"And, trusting to the end, hold still.—Julius Sturm.
Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,God's breath upon the flame doth blow;And all my heart in anguish shiversAnd trembles at the fiery glow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And in his hottest fire stand still.
Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow;
And all my heart in anguish shivers
And trembles at the fiery glow;
And yet I whisper—"As God will!"
And in his hottest fire stand still.
He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,On the hard anvil, minded soInto his own fair shape to beat itWith his great hammer, blow on blow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And at his heaviest blows hold still.
He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it
With his great hammer, blow on blow;
And yet I whisper—"As God will!"
And at his heaviest blows hold still.
He takes my softened heart and beats it;The sparks fly off at every blow;He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it,And lets it cool, and makes it glow;And yet I whisper—"As God will!"And in his mighty hand hold still.
He takes my softened heart and beats it;
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow;
And yet I whisper—"As God will!"
And in his mighty hand hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrowThus only longer-lived would be;Its end may come, and will to-morrow,When God has done his work in me;So I say trusting—"As God will!"And, trusting to the end, hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will to-morrow,
When God has done his work in me;
So I say trusting—"As God will!"
And, trusting to the end, hold still.
—Julius Sturm.
—Julius Sturm.
———
Not when with self dissatisfied,O Lord, I lowly lie,So much I need thy grace to guide,And thy reproving eye,As when the sound of human praiseGrows pleasant to my ear,And in its light my broken waysFair and complete appear.By failure and defeat made wise,We come to know, at length,What strength within our weakness lies,What weakness in our strength;What inward peace is born of strifeWhat power of being spent;What wings unto our upward lifeIs noble discontent.O Lord, we need thy shaming lookThat burns all low desire;The discipline of thy rebukeShall be refining fire!—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
Not when with self dissatisfied,O Lord, I lowly lie,So much I need thy grace to guide,And thy reproving eye,
Not when with self dissatisfied,
O Lord, I lowly lie,
So much I need thy grace to guide,
And thy reproving eye,
As when the sound of human praiseGrows pleasant to my ear,And in its light my broken waysFair and complete appear.
As when the sound of human praise
Grows pleasant to my ear,
And in its light my broken ways
Fair and complete appear.
By failure and defeat made wise,We come to know, at length,What strength within our weakness lies,What weakness in our strength;
By failure and defeat made wise,
We come to know, at length,
What strength within our weakness lies,
What weakness in our strength;
What inward peace is born of strifeWhat power of being spent;What wings unto our upward lifeIs noble discontent.
What inward peace is born of strife
What power of being spent;
What wings unto our upward life
Is noble discontent.
O Lord, we need thy shaming lookThat burns all low desire;The discipline of thy rebukeShall be refining fire!
O Lord, we need thy shaming look
That burns all low desire;
The discipline of thy rebuke
Shall be refining fire!
—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
———
Some evil upon Rabia fell;And one who loved and knew her wellMurmured that God with pain undueShould strike a child so fond and true.But she replied, "Believe and trustThat all I suffer is most just.I had, in contemplation, strivenTo realize the joys of heaven;I had extended fancy's flightsThrough all that region of delights,Had counted, till the numbers failed,The pleasures on the blest entailed.Had sounded the ecstatic restI should enjoy on Allah's breast—And for these thoughts I now atone;They were of something of my own,And were not thoughts of him alone."—From the Arabian.
Some evil upon Rabia fell;And one who loved and knew her wellMurmured that God with pain undueShould strike a child so fond and true.But she replied, "Believe and trustThat all I suffer is most just.I had, in contemplation, strivenTo realize the joys of heaven;I had extended fancy's flightsThrough all that region of delights,Had counted, till the numbers failed,The pleasures on the blest entailed.Had sounded the ecstatic restI should enjoy on Allah's breast—And for these thoughts I now atone;They were of something of my own,And were not thoughts of him alone."
Some evil upon Rabia fell;
And one who loved and knew her well
Murmured that God with pain undue
Should strike a child so fond and true.
But she replied, "Believe and trust
That all I suffer is most just.
I had, in contemplation, striven
To realize the joys of heaven;
I had extended fancy's flights
Through all that region of delights,
Had counted, till the numbers failed,
The pleasures on the blest entailed.
Had sounded the ecstatic rest
I should enjoy on Allah's breast—
And for these thoughts I now atone;
They were of something of my own,
And were not thoughts of him alone."
—From the Arabian.
—From the Arabian.
———
O thou so weary of thy self-denials,And so impatient of thy little cross,Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,And count all earthly things a gainful loss?Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,"Behold, we count them happy which endure"?What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,Repass the stormy water to secure?And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promiseFor the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?No hand can take away the treasure from usThat rests within the keeping of the Lord.
O thou so weary of thy self-denials,And so impatient of thy little cross,Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,And count all earthly things a gainful loss?
O thou so weary of thy self-denials,
And so impatient of thy little cross,
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,
And count all earthly things a gainful loss?
Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,"Behold, we count them happy which endure"?What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,Repass the stormy water to secure?
Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,
"Behold, we count them happy which endure"?
What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,
Repass the stormy water to secure?
And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promiseFor the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?No hand can take away the treasure from usThat rests within the keeping of the Lord.
And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise
For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?
No hand can take away the treasure from us
That rests within the keeping of the Lord.
———
Oft when of God we askFor fuller, happier life,He sets us some new taskInvolving care and strife;Is this the boon for which we sought?Has prayer new trouble on us brought?This is indeed the boon,Though strange to us it seems;We pierce the rock, and soonThe blessing on us streams;For when we are the most athirst,Then the clear waters on us burst.We toil as in the fieldWherein, to us unknown,A treasure lies concealedWhich may be all our own.And shall we of the toil complainThat speedily will bring such gain?We dig the wells of life,And God the waters gives;We win our way by strife,Then he within us lives;And only war could make us meetFor peace so sacred and so sweet.—Thomas Toke Lynch.
Oft when of God we askFor fuller, happier life,He sets us some new taskInvolving care and strife;Is this the boon for which we sought?Has prayer new trouble on us brought?
Oft when of God we ask
For fuller, happier life,
He sets us some new task
Involving care and strife;
Is this the boon for which we sought?
Has prayer new trouble on us brought?
This is indeed the boon,Though strange to us it seems;We pierce the rock, and soonThe blessing on us streams;For when we are the most athirst,Then the clear waters on us burst.
This is indeed the boon,
Though strange to us it seems;
We pierce the rock, and soon
The blessing on us streams;
For when we are the most athirst,
Then the clear waters on us burst.
We toil as in the fieldWherein, to us unknown,A treasure lies concealedWhich may be all our own.And shall we of the toil complainThat speedily will bring such gain?
We toil as in the field
Wherein, to us unknown,
A treasure lies concealed
Which may be all our own.
And shall we of the toil complain
That speedily will bring such gain?
We dig the wells of life,And God the waters gives;We win our way by strife,Then he within us lives;And only war could make us meetFor peace so sacred and so sweet.
We dig the wells of life,
And God the waters gives;
We win our way by strife,
Then he within us lives;
And only war could make us meet
For peace so sacred and so sweet.
—Thomas Toke Lynch.
—Thomas Toke Lynch.
———
Still hope! still act! Be sure that lifeThe source and strength of every good,Wastes down in feeling's empty strife,And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.To toil in tasks however meanFor all we know of right and true—In this alone our worth is seen,'Tis this we were ordained to do.So shalt thou find, in work and thought:The peace that sorrow cannot give;Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,By thee let others nobler live.Oh, wait not in the darksome forest,Where thou must needs be left alone,But e'en when memory is sorest,Seek out a path and journey on!Thou wilt have angels near aboveBy whom invisible aid is given;They journey still on tasks of love,And never rest except in heaven.—John Sterling.
Still hope! still act! Be sure that lifeThe source and strength of every good,Wastes down in feeling's empty strife,And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.
Still hope! still act! Be sure that life
The source and strength of every good,
Wastes down in feeling's empty strife,
And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.
To toil in tasks however meanFor all we know of right and true—In this alone our worth is seen,'Tis this we were ordained to do.
To toil in tasks however mean
For all we know of right and true—
In this alone our worth is seen,
'Tis this we were ordained to do.
So shalt thou find, in work and thought:The peace that sorrow cannot give;Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,By thee let others nobler live.
So shalt thou find, in work and thought:
The peace that sorrow cannot give;
Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,
By thee let others nobler live.
Oh, wait not in the darksome forest,Where thou must needs be left alone,But e'en when memory is sorest,Seek out a path and journey on!
Oh, wait not in the darksome forest,
Where thou must needs be left alone,
But e'en when memory is sorest,
Seek out a path and journey on!
Thou wilt have angels near aboveBy whom invisible aid is given;They journey still on tasks of love,And never rest except in heaven.
Thou wilt have angels near above
By whom invisible aid is given;
They journey still on tasks of love,
And never rest except in heaven.
—John Sterling.
—John Sterling.
———
In the floods of tribulation,While the billows o'er me roll,Jesus whispers consolationAnd supports my fainting soul;Sweet afflictionThat brings Jesus to my soul.Thus the lion yields me honey,From the eater food is given;Strengthened thus I still press forward,Singing on my way to heaven.Sweet affliction,Helping speed me on to heaven.So in darkest dispensationsDoth my faithful Lord appear,With his richest consolationsTo reanimate and cheer;Sweet affliction,Thus to bring my Saviour near.Floods of tribulation heighten,Billows still around me roar;Those who know not Christ they frighten;But my soul defies their power:Sweet affliction,Thus to bring my Saviour near.In the sacred page recorded,Thus His word securely stands;"Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee,Naught shall pluck thee from my hands."Sweet affliction,Every word my love demands.All I meet, I find, assists meIn my path to heavenly joy,Where, though trials now attend me,Trials never more annoy.Sweet affliction,Every promise gives me joy.Wearing there a weight of glory,Still the path I'll ne'er forget,But, exulting, cry it led meTo my blessed Saviour's seat;Sweet affliction,Which hath brought me to his feet.—Pearce.
In the floods of tribulation,While the billows o'er me roll,Jesus whispers consolationAnd supports my fainting soul;Sweet afflictionThat brings Jesus to my soul.
In the floods of tribulation,
While the billows o'er me roll,
Jesus whispers consolation
And supports my fainting soul;
Sweet affliction
That brings Jesus to my soul.
Thus the lion yields me honey,From the eater food is given;Strengthened thus I still press forward,Singing on my way to heaven.Sweet affliction,Helping speed me on to heaven.
Thus the lion yields me honey,
From the eater food is given;
Strengthened thus I still press forward,
Singing on my way to heaven.
Sweet affliction,
Helping speed me on to heaven.
So in darkest dispensationsDoth my faithful Lord appear,With his richest consolationsTo reanimate and cheer;Sweet affliction,Thus to bring my Saviour near.
So in darkest dispensations
Doth my faithful Lord appear,
With his richest consolations
To reanimate and cheer;
Sweet affliction,
Thus to bring my Saviour near.
Floods of tribulation heighten,Billows still around me roar;Those who know not Christ they frighten;But my soul defies their power:Sweet affliction,Thus to bring my Saviour near.
Floods of tribulation heighten,
Billows still around me roar;
Those who know not Christ they frighten;
But my soul defies their power:
Sweet affliction,
Thus to bring my Saviour near.
In the sacred page recorded,Thus His word securely stands;"Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee,Naught shall pluck thee from my hands."Sweet affliction,Every word my love demands.
In the sacred page recorded,
Thus His word securely stands;
"Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee,
Naught shall pluck thee from my hands."
Sweet affliction,
Every word my love demands.
All I meet, I find, assists meIn my path to heavenly joy,Where, though trials now attend me,Trials never more annoy.Sweet affliction,Every promise gives me joy.
All I meet, I find, assists me
In my path to heavenly joy,
Where, though trials now attend me,
Trials never more annoy.
Sweet affliction,
Every promise gives me joy.
Wearing there a weight of glory,Still the path I'll ne'er forget,But, exulting, cry it led meTo my blessed Saviour's seat;Sweet affliction,Which hath brought me to his feet.
Wearing there a weight of glory,
Still the path I'll ne'er forget,
But, exulting, cry it led me
To my blessed Saviour's seat;
Sweet affliction,
Which hath brought me to his feet.
—Pearce.
—Pearce.
———
Glory to God—to God! he saith,Knowledge by suffering entereth,And life is perfected by death.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Glory to God—to God! he saith,Knowledge by suffering entereth,And life is perfected by death.
Glory to God—to God! he saith,
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by death.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
———
I asked for grace to lift me high,Above the world's depressing cares.God sent me sorrows,—with a sighI said, He has not heard my prayers.I asked for light, that I might seeMy path along life's thorny road;But clouds and darkness shadowed meWhen I expected light from God.I asked for peace, that I might restTo think my sacred duties o'er,When lo! such horrors filled my breastAs I had never felt before.And O, I cried, can this be prayerWhose plaints the steadfast mountains move?Can this be heaven's prevailing care?And, O my God, is this thy love?But soon I found that sorrow, wornAs duty's garment, strength supplies,And out of darkness meekly borneUnto the righteous light doth rise.And soon I found that fears which stirredMy startled soul God's will to do,On me more real peace conferredThan in life's calm I ever knew.Then, Lord, in thy mysterious waysLead my dependent spirit on,And whensoe'er it kneels and prays,Teach it to say, "Thy will be done!"Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,Thine image seek, thy glory see;Let every other wish and careBe left confidingly to thee.—John Samuel Bewley Monsell.
I asked for grace to lift me high,Above the world's depressing cares.God sent me sorrows,—with a sighI said, He has not heard my prayers.
I asked for grace to lift me high,
Above the world's depressing cares.
God sent me sorrows,—with a sigh
I said, He has not heard my prayers.
I asked for light, that I might seeMy path along life's thorny road;But clouds and darkness shadowed meWhen I expected light from God.
I asked for light, that I might see
My path along life's thorny road;
But clouds and darkness shadowed me
When I expected light from God.
I asked for peace, that I might restTo think my sacred duties o'er,When lo! such horrors filled my breastAs I had never felt before.
I asked for peace, that I might rest
To think my sacred duties o'er,
When lo! such horrors filled my breast
As I had never felt before.
And O, I cried, can this be prayerWhose plaints the steadfast mountains move?Can this be heaven's prevailing care?And, O my God, is this thy love?
And O, I cried, can this be prayer
Whose plaints the steadfast mountains move?
Can this be heaven's prevailing care?
And, O my God, is this thy love?
But soon I found that sorrow, wornAs duty's garment, strength supplies,And out of darkness meekly borneUnto the righteous light doth rise.
But soon I found that sorrow, worn
As duty's garment, strength supplies,
And out of darkness meekly borne
Unto the righteous light doth rise.
And soon I found that fears which stirredMy startled soul God's will to do,On me more real peace conferredThan in life's calm I ever knew.
And soon I found that fears which stirred
My startled soul God's will to do,
On me more real peace conferred
Than in life's calm I ever knew.
Then, Lord, in thy mysterious waysLead my dependent spirit on,And whensoe'er it kneels and prays,Teach it to say, "Thy will be done!"
Then, Lord, in thy mysterious ways
Lead my dependent spirit on,
And whensoe'er it kneels and prays,
Teach it to say, "Thy will be done!"
Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,Thine image seek, thy glory see;Let every other wish and careBe left confidingly to thee.
Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,
Thine image seek, thy glory see;
Let every other wish and care
Be left confidingly to thee.
—John Samuel Bewley Monsell.
—John Samuel Bewley Monsell.
———
Not in each shell the diver brings to airIs found the priceless pearl, but only whereMangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.—Caroline Atherton Mason.
Not in each shell the diver brings to airIs found the priceless pearl, but only whereMangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.
Not in each shell the diver brings to air
Is found the priceless pearl, but only where
Mangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,
The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.
O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;
The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
———
Count each affliction, whether light or grave,God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thouWith courtesy receive him, rise and bow,And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, cravePermission first his heavenly feet to lave,Then lay before him all thou hast. AllowNo cloud of passion to usurp thy browOr mar thy hospitality; no waveOf mortal tumult to obliterateThy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be,Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;Strong to consume small troubles, to commendGreat thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.—Aubrey Thomas De Vere.
Count each affliction, whether light or grave,God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thouWith courtesy receive him, rise and bow,And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, cravePermission first his heavenly feet to lave,Then lay before him all thou hast. AllowNo cloud of passion to usurp thy browOr mar thy hospitality; no waveOf mortal tumult to obliterateThy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be,Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;Strong to consume small troubles, to commendGreat thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.
Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou
With courtesy receive him, rise and bow,
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave,
Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow
Or mar thy hospitality; no wave
Of mortal tumult to obliterate
Thy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be,
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;
Strong to consume small troubles, to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.
—Aubrey Thomas De Vere.
—Aubrey Thomas De Vere.
———
Lord, what is man,That thou art mindful of him?Though in creation's van,Lord, what is man?He wills less than he can,Lets his ideal scoff him!Lord, what is man,That thou art mindful of him?—George Macdonald.
Lord, what is man,That thou art mindful of him?Though in creation's van,Lord, what is man?He wills less than he can,Lets his ideal scoff him!Lord, what is man,That thou art mindful of him?
Lord, what is man,
That thou art mindful of him?
Though in creation's van,
Lord, what is man?
He wills less than he can,
Lets his ideal scoff him!
Lord, what is man,
That thou art mindful of him?
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us?Our sins breathe fire; thy fire returns to purge us.Lord, what an alchemist art thou, whose skillTransmutes to perfect good from perfect ill!—Francis Quarles.
Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us?Our sins breathe fire; thy fire returns to purge us.Lord, what an alchemist art thou, whose skillTransmutes to perfect good from perfect ill!
Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us?
Our sins breathe fire; thy fire returns to purge us.
Lord, what an alchemist art thou, whose skill
Transmutes to perfect good from perfect ill!
—Francis Quarles.
—Francis Quarles.
———
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;No traveler e'er reached that blest abodeWho found not thorns and briers in his road.—William Cowper.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;No traveler e'er reached that blest abodeWho found not thorns and briers in his road.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveler e'er reached that blest abode
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.
—William Cowper.
—William Cowper.
———
The cry of man's anguish went up unto God:"Lord, take away pain—The shadow that darkens the world thou hast made,The close-coiling chainThat strangles the heart, the burden that weighsOn the wings that would soar—Lord, take away pain from the world thou hast made,That it love thee the more!"Then answered the Lord to the cry of his world:"Shall I take away painAnd with it the power of the soul to endure,Made strong by the strain?Shall I take away pity, that knits heart to heart,And sacrifice high?Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fireWhite brows to the sky?Shall I take away love, that redeems with a priceAnd smiles at its loss?Can ye spare from your lives, that would climb unto mine,The Christ on his cross?"
The cry of man's anguish went up unto God:"Lord, take away pain—The shadow that darkens the world thou hast made,The close-coiling chainThat strangles the heart, the burden that weighsOn the wings that would soar—Lord, take away pain from the world thou hast made,That it love thee the more!"
The cry of man's anguish went up unto God:
"Lord, take away pain—
The shadow that darkens the world thou hast made,
The close-coiling chain
That strangles the heart, the burden that weighs
On the wings that would soar—
Lord, take away pain from the world thou hast made,
That it love thee the more!"
Then answered the Lord to the cry of his world:"Shall I take away painAnd with it the power of the soul to endure,Made strong by the strain?Shall I take away pity, that knits heart to heart,And sacrifice high?Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fireWhite brows to the sky?Shall I take away love, that redeems with a priceAnd smiles at its loss?Can ye spare from your lives, that would climb unto mine,The Christ on his cross?"
Then answered the Lord to the cry of his world:
"Shall I take away pain
And with it the power of the soul to endure,
Made strong by the strain?
Shall I take away pity, that knits heart to heart,
And sacrifice high?
Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fire
White brows to the sky?
Shall I take away love, that redeems with a price
And smiles at its loss?
Can ye spare from your lives, that would climb unto mine,
The Christ on his cross?"
———
'Tis not alone in the sunshineOur lives grow pure and true;There is growth as well in the shadow,And pain has a work to do.So it comes to me more and moreAs I enter upon each new day:The love of the Father eternalIs over us all the way.
'Tis not alone in the sunshineOur lives grow pure and true;There is growth as well in the shadow,And pain has a work to do.
'Tis not alone in the sunshine
Our lives grow pure and true;
There is growth as well in the shadow,
And pain has a work to do.
So it comes to me more and moreAs I enter upon each new day:The love of the Father eternalIs over us all the way.
So it comes to me more and more
As I enter upon each new day:
The love of the Father eternal
Is over us all the way.
———
"In pastures green"? Not always; sometimes heWho knoweth best in kindness leadeth meIn weary ways where heavy shadows be.But where He leads me I can safely go,And in the blest hereafter I shall knowWhy in his wisdom he hath led me so.
"In pastures green"? Not always; sometimes heWho knoweth best in kindness leadeth meIn weary ways where heavy shadows be.
"In pastures green"? Not always; sometimes he
Who knoweth best in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways where heavy shadows be.
But where He leads me I can safely go,And in the blest hereafter I shall knowWhy in his wisdom he hath led me so.
But where He leads me I can safely go,
And in the blest hereafter I shall know
Why in his wisdom he hath led me so.
———
Thou sweet hand of God, that so woundest my heart,Thou makest me smile while thou mak'st me to smart;It seems as if God were at ball-play; and I,The harder he strikes me the higher I fly.I own it, he bruises, he pierces me sore;But the hammer and chisel afflict me no more.Shall I tell you the reason? It is that I seeThe Sculptor will carve out an angel for me.I shrink from no suffering, how painful soe'er,When once I can feel that my God's hand is there;For soft on the anvil the iron shall glowWhen the Smith with his hammer deals blow upon blow.God presses me hard, but he gives patience, too!And I say to myself, "'Tis no more than my due,"And no tone from the organ can swell on the breezeTill the organist's fingers press down on the keys.So come, then, and welcome the blow and the pain!Without them no mortal to heaven can attain;For what can the sheaves on the barn floor availTill the thresher shall beat out the chaff with his flail?'Tis only a moment God chastens with pain;Joy follows on sorrow like sunshine on rain.Then bear thou what God on thy spirit shall lay;Be dumb; but, when tempted to murmur, then pray.—From the German.
Thou sweet hand of God, that so woundest my heart,Thou makest me smile while thou mak'st me to smart;It seems as if God were at ball-play; and I,The harder he strikes me the higher I fly.
Thou sweet hand of God, that so woundest my heart,
Thou makest me smile while thou mak'st me to smart;
It seems as if God were at ball-play; and I,
The harder he strikes me the higher I fly.
I own it, he bruises, he pierces me sore;But the hammer and chisel afflict me no more.Shall I tell you the reason? It is that I seeThe Sculptor will carve out an angel for me.
I own it, he bruises, he pierces me sore;
But the hammer and chisel afflict me no more.
Shall I tell you the reason? It is that I see
The Sculptor will carve out an angel for me.
I shrink from no suffering, how painful soe'er,When once I can feel that my God's hand is there;For soft on the anvil the iron shall glowWhen the Smith with his hammer deals blow upon blow.
I shrink from no suffering, how painful soe'er,
When once I can feel that my God's hand is there;
For soft on the anvil the iron shall glow
When the Smith with his hammer deals blow upon blow.
God presses me hard, but he gives patience, too!And I say to myself, "'Tis no more than my due,"And no tone from the organ can swell on the breezeTill the organist's fingers press down on the keys.
God presses me hard, but he gives patience, too!
And I say to myself, "'Tis no more than my due,"
And no tone from the organ can swell on the breeze
Till the organist's fingers press down on the keys.
So come, then, and welcome the blow and the pain!Without them no mortal to heaven can attain;For what can the sheaves on the barn floor availTill the thresher shall beat out the chaff with his flail?
So come, then, and welcome the blow and the pain!
Without them no mortal to heaven can attain;
For what can the sheaves on the barn floor avail
Till the thresher shall beat out the chaff with his flail?
'Tis only a moment God chastens with pain;Joy follows on sorrow like sunshine on rain.Then bear thou what God on thy spirit shall lay;Be dumb; but, when tempted to murmur, then pray.
'Tis only a moment God chastens with pain;
Joy follows on sorrow like sunshine on rain.
Then bear thou what God on thy spirit shall lay;
Be dumb; but, when tempted to murmur, then pray.
—From the German.
—From the German.
———
When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent,What time will then remain for murmurs or lament?
When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent,What time will then remain for murmurs or lament?
When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent,
What time will then remain for murmurs or lament?
———
We must live through the weary winterIf we would value the spring;And the woods must be cold and silentBefore the robins sing.The flowers must lie buried in darknessBefore they can bud and bloom;And the sweetest and warmest sunshineComes after the storm and gloom.—Agnes L. Pratt.
We must live through the weary winterIf we would value the spring;And the woods must be cold and silentBefore the robins sing.The flowers must lie buried in darknessBefore they can bud and bloom;And the sweetest and warmest sunshineComes after the storm and gloom.
We must live through the weary winter
If we would value the spring;
And the woods must be cold and silent
Before the robins sing.
The flowers must lie buried in darkness
Before they can bud and bloom;
And the sweetest and warmest sunshine
Comes after the storm and gloom.
—Agnes L. Pratt.
—Agnes L. Pratt.
———
We look along the shining ways,To see the angel faces;They come to us in darkest daysAnd in the blackest places.The strongest hearts have strongest need,To them the fiery trial;Who walks a saint in word and deedIs saint by self-denial.
We look along the shining ways,To see the angel faces;They come to us in darkest daysAnd in the blackest places.The strongest hearts have strongest need,To them the fiery trial;Who walks a saint in word and deedIs saint by self-denial.
We look along the shining ways,
To see the angel faces;
They come to us in darkest days
And in the blackest places.
The strongest hearts have strongest need,
To them the fiery trial;
Who walks a saint in word and deed
Is saint by self-denial.
———
Is it true, O Christ in heaven,That the strongest suffer most,That the wisest wander farthest,And most hopelessly are lost?That the mark of rank in natureIs capacity for pain,That the anguish of the singerMakes the sweetness of the strain?
Is it true, O Christ in heaven,That the strongest suffer most,That the wisest wander farthest,And most hopelessly are lost?That the mark of rank in natureIs capacity for pain,That the anguish of the singerMakes the sweetness of the strain?
Is it true, O Christ in heaven,
That the strongest suffer most,
That the wisest wander farthest,
And most hopelessly are lost?
That the mark of rank in nature
Is capacity for pain,
That the anguish of the singer
Makes the sweetness of the strain?
———
O, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor,Lifelong we build these human natures upInto a temple fit for freedom's shrine.And trial ever consecrates the cupWherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.—James Russell Lowell.
O, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor,Lifelong we build these human natures upInto a temple fit for freedom's shrine.And trial ever consecrates the cupWherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.
O, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor,
Lifelong we build these human natures up
Into a temple fit for freedom's shrine.
And trial ever consecrates the cup
Wherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.
—James Russell Lowell.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
But all God's angels come to us disguised;Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,One after other lift their frowning masks,And we behold the seraph's face beneathAll radiant with the glory and the calmOf having looked upon the front of God.—James Russell Lowell.
But all God's angels come to us disguised;Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,One after other lift their frowning masks,And we behold the seraph's face beneathAll radiant with the glory and the calmOf having looked upon the front of God.
But all God's angels come to us disguised;
Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,
One after other lift their frowning masks,
And we behold the seraph's face beneath
All radiant with the glory and the calm
Of having looked upon the front of God.
—James Russell Lowell.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
The man whom God delights to blessHe never curses with success.Thrice happy loss which makes me seeMy happiness is all in thee.—Charles Wesley.
The man whom God delights to blessHe never curses with success.Thrice happy loss which makes me seeMy happiness is all in thee.
The man whom God delights to bless
He never curses with success.
Thrice happy loss which makes me see
My happiness is all in thee.
—Charles Wesley.
—Charles Wesley.
———
Who ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half.Who never failed, he never strove or sought.Who never wept is stranger to a laughAnd he who never doubted never thought.—J. B. Goode.
Who ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half.Who never failed, he never strove or sought.Who never wept is stranger to a laughAnd he who never doubted never thought.
Who ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half.
Who never failed, he never strove or sought.
Who never wept is stranger to a laugh
And he who never doubted never thought.
—J. B. Goode.
—J. B. Goode.
———
I thank thee, Lord, that all my joyIs touched with pain;That shadows fall on brightest hours;That thorns remain;So that earth's bliss may be my guide,And not my chain.
I thank thee, Lord, that all my joyIs touched with pain;That shadows fall on brightest hours;That thorns remain;So that earth's bliss may be my guide,And not my chain.
I thank thee, Lord, that all my joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
That thorns remain;
So that earth's bliss may be my guide,
And not my chain.
———