Chapter 31

That life is long which answers life's great end;The time that bears no fruit deserves no name;The man of wisdom is the man of years.—Edward Young.

That life is long which answers life's great end;The time that bears no fruit deserves no name;The man of wisdom is the man of years.

That life is long which answers life's great end;

The time that bears no fruit deserves no name;

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

—Edward Young.

———

If I could live to God for just one day,One blessed day, from rosy dawn of lightTill purple twilight deepened into night,A day of faith unfaltering, trust complete,Of love unfeigned and perfect charity,Of hope undimmed, of courage past dismay,Of heavenly peace, patient humility—No hint of duty to constrain my feet,No dream of ease to lull to listlessness,Within my heart no root of bitterness,No yielding to temptation's subtle sway,Methinks, in that one day would so expandMy soul to meet such holy, high demandThat never, never more could hold me boundThis shriveling husk of self that wraps me round.So might I henceforth live to God alway.—Susan E. Gammons.

If I could live to God for just one day,

One blessed day, from rosy dawn of light

Till purple twilight deepened into night,

A day of faith unfaltering, trust complete,

Of love unfeigned and perfect charity,

Of hope undimmed, of courage past dismay,

Of heavenly peace, patient humility—

No hint of duty to constrain my feet,

No dream of ease to lull to listlessness,

Within my heart no root of bitterness,

No yielding to temptation's subtle sway,

Methinks, in that one day would so expand

My soul to meet such holy, high demand

That never, never more could hold me bound

This shriveling husk of self that wraps me round.

So might I henceforth live to God alway.

—Susan E. Gammons.

———

Forget the past and live the present hour;Now is the time to work, the time to fillThe soul with noblest thoughts, the time to willHeroic deeds, to use whatever dowerHeaven has bestowed, to test our utmost power.Now is the time to live, and, better still,To serve our loved ones; over passing illTo rise triumphant; thus the perfect flowerOf life shall come to fruitage; wealth amassFor grandest giving ere the time be gone.Be glad to-day—to-morrow may bring tears;Be brave to-day; the darkest night will passAnd golden days will usher in the dawn;Who conquers now shall rule the coming years.—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

Forget the past and live the present hour;

Now is the time to work, the time to fill

The soul with noblest thoughts, the time to will

Heroic deeds, to use whatever dower

Heaven has bestowed, to test our utmost power.

Now is the time to live, and, better still,

To serve our loved ones; over passing ill

To rise triumphant; thus the perfect flower

Of life shall come to fruitage; wealth amass

For grandest giving ere the time be gone.

Be glad to-day—to-morrow may bring tears;

Be brave to-day; the darkest night will pass

And golden days will usher in the dawn;

Who conquers now shall rule the coming years.

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

———

The hours are viewless angels,That still go gliding by,And bear each minute's record upTo him who sits on high;And we who walk among them,As one by one departs,See not that they are hoveringForever round our hearts.Like summer bees that hoverAround the idle flowers,They gather every act and thought,Those viewless angel-hours;The poison or the nectarThe heart's deep flower cups yield,A sample still they gather swift,And leave us in the field.And some flit by on pinionsOf joyous gold and blue,And some flag on with drooping wingOf sorrow's darker hue;But still they steal the recordAnd bear it far away;Their mission-flight, by day and night,No magic power can stay.And as we spend each minuteThat God to us has given,The deeds are known before his throne,The tale is told in heaven.Those bee-like hours we see not,Nor hear their noiseless wings;We often feel—too oft—when flownThat they have left their stings.So teach me, heavenly Father,To meet each flying hour,That as they go they may not showMy heart a poison flower!So, when death brings its shadows,The hours that linger lastShall bear my hopes on angels' wings,Unfettered by the past.—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

The hours are viewless angels,

That still go gliding by,

And bear each minute's record up

To him who sits on high;

And we who walk among them,

As one by one departs,

See not that they are hovering

Forever round our hearts.

Like summer bees that hoverAround the idle flowers,They gather every act and thought,Those viewless angel-hours;The poison or the nectarThe heart's deep flower cups yield,A sample still they gather swift,And leave us in the field.

Like summer bees that hover

Around the idle flowers,

They gather every act and thought,

Those viewless angel-hours;

The poison or the nectar

The heart's deep flower cups yield,

A sample still they gather swift,

And leave us in the field.

And some flit by on pinionsOf joyous gold and blue,And some flag on with drooping wingOf sorrow's darker hue;But still they steal the recordAnd bear it far away;Their mission-flight, by day and night,No magic power can stay.

And some flit by on pinions

Of joyous gold and blue,

And some flag on with drooping wing

Of sorrow's darker hue;

But still they steal the record

And bear it far away;

Their mission-flight, by day and night,

No magic power can stay.

And as we spend each minuteThat God to us has given,The deeds are known before his throne,The tale is told in heaven.Those bee-like hours we see not,Nor hear their noiseless wings;We often feel—too oft—when flownThat they have left their stings.

And as we spend each minute

That God to us has given,

The deeds are known before his throne,

The tale is told in heaven.

Those bee-like hours we see not,

Nor hear their noiseless wings;

We often feel—too oft—when flown

That they have left their stings.

So teach me, heavenly Father,To meet each flying hour,That as they go they may not showMy heart a poison flower!So, when death brings its shadows,The hours that linger lastShall bear my hopes on angels' wings,Unfettered by the past.

So teach me, heavenly Father,

To meet each flying hour,

That as they go they may not show

My heart a poison flower!

So, when death brings its shadows,

The hours that linger last

Shall bear my hopes on angels' wings,

Unfettered by the past.

—Christopher Pearse Cranch.

———

The hours of rest are over,The hours of toil begin;The stars above have faded,The moon has ceased to shine.The earth puts on her beautyBeneath the sun's red ray;And I must rise to labor.What is my work to-day?To search for truth and wisdom,To live for Christ alone,To run my race unburdened,The goal my Father's throne;To view by faith the promise,While earthly hopes decay;To serve the Lord with gladness—This is my work to-day.To shun the world's allurements,To bear my cross therein,To turn from all temptation,To conquer every sin;To linger, calm and patient,Where duty bids me stay,To go where God may lead me—This is my work to-day.To keep my troth unshaken,Though others may deceive;To give with willing pleasure,Or still with joy receive;To bring the mourner comfort,To wipe sad tears away;To help the timid doubter—This is my work to-day.To bear another's weakness,To soothe another's pain;To cheer the heart repentant,And to forgive again;To commune with the thoughtful,To guide the young and gay;To profit all in season—This is my work to-day.I think not of to-morrow,Its trial or its task;But still, with childlike spirit,For present mercies ask.With each returning morningI cast old things away;Life's journey lies before me;My prayer is forto-day.

The hours of rest are over,

The hours of toil begin;

The stars above have faded,

The moon has ceased to shine.

The earth puts on her beauty

Beneath the sun's red ray;

And I must rise to labor.

What is my work to-day?

To search for truth and wisdom,To live for Christ alone,To run my race unburdened,The goal my Father's throne;To view by faith the promise,While earthly hopes decay;To serve the Lord with gladness—This is my work to-day.

To search for truth and wisdom,

To live for Christ alone,

To run my race unburdened,

The goal my Father's throne;

To view by faith the promise,

While earthly hopes decay;

To serve the Lord with gladness—

This is my work to-day.

To shun the world's allurements,To bear my cross therein,To turn from all temptation,To conquer every sin;To linger, calm and patient,Where duty bids me stay,To go where God may lead me—This is my work to-day.

To shun the world's allurements,

To bear my cross therein,

To turn from all temptation,

To conquer every sin;

To linger, calm and patient,

Where duty bids me stay,

To go where God may lead me—

This is my work to-day.

To keep my troth unshaken,Though others may deceive;To give with willing pleasure,Or still with joy receive;To bring the mourner comfort,To wipe sad tears away;To help the timid doubter—This is my work to-day.

To keep my troth unshaken,

Though others may deceive;

To give with willing pleasure,

Or still with joy receive;

To bring the mourner comfort,

To wipe sad tears away;

To help the timid doubter—

This is my work to-day.

To bear another's weakness,To soothe another's pain;To cheer the heart repentant,And to forgive again;To commune with the thoughtful,To guide the young and gay;To profit all in season—This is my work to-day.

To bear another's weakness,

To soothe another's pain;

To cheer the heart repentant,

And to forgive again;

To commune with the thoughtful,

To guide the young and gay;

To profit all in season—

This is my work to-day.

I think not of to-morrow,Its trial or its task;But still, with childlike spirit,For present mercies ask.With each returning morningI cast old things away;Life's journey lies before me;My prayer is forto-day.

I think not of to-morrow,

Its trial or its task;

But still, with childlike spirit,

For present mercies ask.

With each returning morning

I cast old things away;

Life's journey lies before me;

My prayer is forto-day.

———

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,There are souls that are pure and true;Then give to the world the best you have.And the best will come back to you.Give love, and love to your life will flow,And strength in your inmost needs;Have faith, and a score of hearts will showTheir faith in your work and deeds.Give truth, and your gifts will be paid in kind,And song a song will meet;And the smile which is sweet will surely findA smile that is just as sweet.Give pity and sorrow to those who mourn;You will gather in flowers againThe scattered seeds from your thought outborne,Though the sowing seemed in vain.For life is the mirror of king and slave,'Tis just what we are and do;Then give to the world the best you haveAnd the best will come back to you.—Madeline S. Bridges.

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,There are souls that are pure and true;Then give to the world the best you have.And the best will come back to you.

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,

There are souls that are pure and true;

Then give to the world the best you have.

And the best will come back to you.

Give love, and love to your life will flow,And strength in your inmost needs;Have faith, and a score of hearts will showTheir faith in your work and deeds.

Give love, and love to your life will flow,

And strength in your inmost needs;

Have faith, and a score of hearts will show

Their faith in your work and deeds.

Give truth, and your gifts will be paid in kind,And song a song will meet;And the smile which is sweet will surely findA smile that is just as sweet.

Give truth, and your gifts will be paid in kind,

And song a song will meet;

And the smile which is sweet will surely find

A smile that is just as sweet.

Give pity and sorrow to those who mourn;You will gather in flowers againThe scattered seeds from your thought outborne,Though the sowing seemed in vain.

Give pity and sorrow to those who mourn;

You will gather in flowers again

The scattered seeds from your thought outborne,

Though the sowing seemed in vain.

For life is the mirror of king and slave,'Tis just what we are and do;Then give to the world the best you haveAnd the best will come back to you.

For life is the mirror of king and slave,

'Tis just what we are and do;

Then give to the world the best you have

And the best will come back to you.

—Madeline S. Bridges.

———

When I have time so many things I'll doTo make life happier and more fairFor those whose lives are crowded now with care;I'll help to lift them from their low despairWhen I have time.When I have time the friend I love so wellShall know no more these weary, toiling days;I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths alwaysAnd cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise,When I have time.When you have time! The friend you hold so dearMay be beyond the reach of all your sweet intent;May never know that you so kindly meantTo fill her life with sweet contentWhen you had time.Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer waitTo scatter loving smiles and words of cheerTo those around whose lives are now so drear;They may not need you in the coming year—Now is the time!

When I have time so many things I'll doTo make life happier and more fairFor those whose lives are crowded now with care;I'll help to lift them from their low despairWhen I have time.

When I have time so many things I'll do

To make life happier and more fair

For those whose lives are crowded now with care;

I'll help to lift them from their low despair

When I have time.

When I have time the friend I love so wellShall know no more these weary, toiling days;I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths alwaysAnd cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise,When I have time.

When I have time the friend I love so well

Shall know no more these weary, toiling days;

I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always

And cheer her heart with words of sweetest praise,

When I have time.

When you have time! The friend you hold so dearMay be beyond the reach of all your sweet intent;May never know that you so kindly meantTo fill her life with sweet contentWhen you had time.

When you have time! The friend you hold so dear

May be beyond the reach of all your sweet intent;

May never know that you so kindly meant

To fill her life with sweet content

When you had time.

Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer waitTo scatter loving smiles and words of cheerTo those around whose lives are now so drear;They may not need you in the coming year—Now is the time!

Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer wait

To scatter loving smiles and words of cheer

To those around whose lives are now so drear;

They may not need you in the coming year—

Now is the time!

———

What though the dark close round, the storm increase,Though friends depart, all earthly comforts cease;Hath He not said, I give my children peace?Believe his word.

What though the dark close round, the storm increase,

Though friends depart, all earthly comforts cease;

Hath He not said, I give my children peace?

Believe his word.

To murmur, fret, repine, lament, bemoan—How sinful, stupid, wrong! God's on the throne,Does all in wisdom, ne'er forgets his own.Be filled with praise.

To murmur, fret, repine, lament, bemoan—

How sinful, stupid, wrong! God's on the throne,

Does all in wisdom, ne'er forgets his own.

Be filled with praise.

Think much of God, 'twill save thy soul from sin;Without his presence let no act begin;Look up, keep vigil, fear not; thou shalt win.See him in all.

Think much of God, 'twill save thy soul from sin;

Without his presence let no act begin;

Look up, keep vigil, fear not; thou shalt win.

See him in all.

He said, "I come, O God, to do thy will."Shall we not, likewise, all his word fulfill,And find a weapon firm 'gainst every ill?Put on the Lord.

He said, "I come, O God, to do thy will."

Shall we not, likewise, all his word fulfill,

And find a weapon firm 'gainst every ill?

Put on the Lord.

Let not the conflict make thee sour or sad;Swerve not from battle: faithful, loyal, glad—The likeness of our Saviour may be had.Aim high, press on!—James Mudge.

Let not the conflict make thee sour or sad;Swerve not from battle: faithful, loyal, glad—The likeness of our Saviour may be had.Aim high, press on!

Let not the conflict make thee sour or sad;

Swerve not from battle: faithful, loyal, glad—

The likeness of our Saviour may be had.

Aim high, press on!

—James Mudge.

———

Forenoon and afternoon and night,—Forenoon,And afternoon, and night,—Forenoon, and—what?The empty song repeats itself. No more?Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime,This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.—Edward Rowland Sill.

Forenoon and afternoon and night,—Forenoon,

And afternoon, and night,—Forenoon, and—what?

The empty song repeats itself. No more?

Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime,

This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,

And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

—Edward Rowland Sill.

———

What shall I pack up to carryFrom the old year to the new?I'll leave out the frets that harry,Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.Angry words—ah, how I rue them!Selfish deeds and choices blind;Any one is welcome to them!I shall leave them all behind.Plans? the trunk would need be double.Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid.Sharp ambitions? last year's stubble!Take them, old year! Keep them hid!All my fears shall be forsaken,All my failures manifold;Nothing gloomy shall be takenTo the new year from the old.But I'll pack the sweet remembranceOf dear Friendship's least delight;All my jokes—I'll carrythemhence;All my store of fancies bright;My contentment—would 'twere greater!All the courage I possess;All my trust—there's not much weight there!All my faith, or more, or less;All my tasks; I'll not abandonOne of these—nay pride, my health;Every trivial or grand oneIs a noble mine of wealth.And I'll pack my choicest treasures:Smiles I've seen and praises heard,Memories of unselfish pleasures,Cheery looks, the kindly word.Ah, my riches silence cavil!To my rags I bid adieu!Like a Crœsus I shall travelFrom the old year to the new!—Amos R. Wells.

What shall I pack up to carryFrom the old year to the new?I'll leave out the frets that harry,Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.

What shall I pack up to carry

From the old year to the new?

I'll leave out the frets that harry,

Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.

Angry words—ah, how I rue them!Selfish deeds and choices blind;Any one is welcome to them!I shall leave them all behind.

Angry words—ah, how I rue them!

Selfish deeds and choices blind;

Any one is welcome to them!

I shall leave them all behind.

Plans? the trunk would need be double.Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid.Sharp ambitions? last year's stubble!Take them, old year! Keep them hid!

Plans? the trunk would need be double.

Hopes? they'd burst the stoutest lid.

Sharp ambitions? last year's stubble!

Take them, old year! Keep them hid!

All my fears shall be forsaken,All my failures manifold;Nothing gloomy shall be takenTo the new year from the old.

All my fears shall be forsaken,

All my failures manifold;

Nothing gloomy shall be taken

To the new year from the old.

But I'll pack the sweet remembranceOf dear Friendship's least delight;All my jokes—I'll carrythemhence;All my store of fancies bright;

But I'll pack the sweet remembrance

Of dear Friendship's least delight;

All my jokes—I'll carrythemhence;

All my store of fancies bright;

My contentment—would 'twere greater!All the courage I possess;All my trust—there's not much weight there!All my faith, or more, or less;

My contentment—would 'twere greater!

All the courage I possess;

All my trust—there's not much weight there!

All my faith, or more, or less;

All my tasks; I'll not abandonOne of these—nay pride, my health;Every trivial or grand oneIs a noble mine of wealth.

All my tasks; I'll not abandon

One of these—nay pride, my health;

Every trivial or grand one

Is a noble mine of wealth.

And I'll pack my choicest treasures:Smiles I've seen and praises heard,Memories of unselfish pleasures,Cheery looks, the kindly word.

And I'll pack my choicest treasures:

Smiles I've seen and praises heard,

Memories of unselfish pleasures,

Cheery looks, the kindly word.

Ah, my riches silence cavil!To my rags I bid adieu!Like a Crœsus I shall travelFrom the old year to the new!

Ah, my riches silence cavil!

To my rags I bid adieu!

Like a Crœsus I shall travel

From the old year to the new!

—Amos R. Wells.

———

The stars shine over the earth,The stars shine over the sea;The stars look up to the mighty God,The stars look down on me.The stars have lived for a million yearsA million years and a day;But God and I shall love and liveWhen the stars have passed away.

The stars shine over the earth,

The stars shine over the sea;

The stars look up to the mighty God,

The stars look down on me.

The stars have lived for a million years

A million years and a day;

But God and I shall love and live

When the stars have passed away.

———

They do me wrong who say I come no moreWhen once I knock and fail to find you in;For every day I stand outside your doorAnd bid you wake and ride to fight and win.Wail not for precious chances passed away,Weep not for golden ages on the wane!Each night I burn the records of the day;At sunrise every soul is born again.Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;My judgments seal the dead past with its deadBut never bind a moment yet to come.Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep;I lend my arm to all who say "I can!"No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deepBut yet might rise and be again a man.Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?Then turn from blotted archives of the pastAnd find the future's pages white as snow.Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven!Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.—Walter Malone.

They do me wrong who say I come no more

When once I knock and fail to find you in;

For every day I stand outside your door

And bid you wake and ride to fight and win.

Wail not for precious chances passed away,

Weep not for golden ages on the wane!

Each night I burn the records of the day;

At sunrise every soul is born again.

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,

To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;

My judgments seal the dead past with its dead

But never bind a moment yet to come.

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep;

I lend my arm to all who say "I can!"

No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep

But yet might rise and be again a man.

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?

Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?

Then turn from blotted archives of the past

And find the future's pages white as snow.

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell!

Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven!

Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,

Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.

—Walter Malone.

———

Though life is made up of mere bubbles'Tis better than many aver,For while we've a whole lot of troublesThe most of them never occur.—Nixon Waterman.

Though life is made up of mere bubbles'Tis better than many aver,For while we've a whole lot of troublesThe most of them never occur.

Though life is made up of mere bubbles

'Tis better than many aver,

For while we've a whole lot of troubles

The most of them never occur.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

A happy lot must sure be his—The lord, not slave, of things—Who values life by what it isAnd not by what it brings.—John Sterling.

A happy lot must sure be his—The lord, not slave, of things—Who values life by what it isAnd not by what it brings.

A happy lot must sure be his—

The lord, not slave, of things—

Who values life by what it is

And not by what it brings.

—John Sterling.

———

"How shall I a habit break?"As you did that habit make.As you gathered you must lose;As you yielded, now refuse.Thread by thread the strands we twistTill they bind us neck and wrist;Thread by thread the patient handMust untwine ere free we stand.As we builded, stone by stone,We must toil—unhelped, alone—Till the wall is overthrown.But remember: as we try,Lighter every test goes by;Wading in, the stream grows deepToward the center's downward sweep;Backward turn—each step ashoreShallower is than that before.Ah, the precious years we wasteLeveling what we raised in haste;Doing what must be undoneEre content or love be won!First across the gulf we castKite-borne threads, till lives are passed,And habit builds the bridge at last!

"How shall I a habit break?"As you did that habit make.As you gathered you must lose;As you yielded, now refuse.

"How shall I a habit break?"

As you did that habit make.

As you gathered you must lose;

As you yielded, now refuse.

Thread by thread the strands we twistTill they bind us neck and wrist;Thread by thread the patient handMust untwine ere free we stand.As we builded, stone by stone,We must toil—unhelped, alone—Till the wall is overthrown.

Thread by thread the strands we twist

Till they bind us neck and wrist;

Thread by thread the patient hand

Must untwine ere free we stand.

As we builded, stone by stone,

We must toil—unhelped, alone—

Till the wall is overthrown.

But remember: as we try,Lighter every test goes by;Wading in, the stream grows deepToward the center's downward sweep;Backward turn—each step ashoreShallower is than that before.

But remember: as we try,

Lighter every test goes by;

Wading in, the stream grows deep

Toward the center's downward sweep;

Backward turn—each step ashore

Shallower is than that before.

Ah, the precious years we wasteLeveling what we raised in haste;Doing what must be undoneEre content or love be won!First across the gulf we castKite-borne threads, till lives are passed,And habit builds the bridge at last!

Ah, the precious years we waste

Leveling what we raised in haste;

Doing what must be undone

Ere content or love be won!

First across the gulf we cast

Kite-borne threads, till lives are passed,

And habit builds the bridge at last!

———

We are building every dayIn a good or evil way,And the structure, as it grows,Will our inmost self disclose,Till in every arch and lineAll our faults and failings shine;It may grow a castle grand,Or a wreck upon the sand.Do you ask what building thisThat can show both pain and bliss,That can be both dark and fair?Lo, its name is character!Build it well, whate'er you do;Build it straight and strong and true;Build it clear and high and broad;Build it for the eye of God.—I. E. Dickenga.

We are building every dayIn a good or evil way,And the structure, as it grows,Will our inmost self disclose,

We are building every day

In a good or evil way,

And the structure, as it grows,

Will our inmost self disclose,

Till in every arch and lineAll our faults and failings shine;It may grow a castle grand,Or a wreck upon the sand.

Till in every arch and line

All our faults and failings shine;

It may grow a castle grand,

Or a wreck upon the sand.

Do you ask what building thisThat can show both pain and bliss,That can be both dark and fair?Lo, its name is character!

Do you ask what building this

That can show both pain and bliss,

That can be both dark and fair?

Lo, its name is character!

Build it well, whate'er you do;Build it straight and strong and true;Build it clear and high and broad;Build it for the eye of God.

Build it well, whate'er you do;

Build it straight and strong and true;

Build it clear and high and broad;

Build it for the eye of God.

—I. E. Dickenga.

———

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livestLive well, how long or short permit to heaven.—John Milton.

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livestLive well, how long or short permit to heaven.

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest

Live well, how long or short permit to heaven.

—John Milton.

———

Slowly fashioned, link by link,Slowly waxing strong,Till the spirit never shrink,Save from touch of wrong.Holy habits are thy wealth,Golden, pleasant chains;Passing earth's prime blessing—health,Endless, priceless gains.Holy habits give thee placeWith the noblest, best,All most godlike of thy race,And with seraphs blest.Holy habits are thy joy,Wisdom's pleasant ways,Yielding good without alloy,Lengthening, too, thy days.Seek them, Christian, night and morn;Seek them noon and even;Seek them till thy soul be bornWithout stains—in heaven.—Thomas Davis.

Slowly fashioned, link by link,Slowly waxing strong,Till the spirit never shrink,Save from touch of wrong.

Slowly fashioned, link by link,

Slowly waxing strong,

Till the spirit never shrink,

Save from touch of wrong.

Holy habits are thy wealth,Golden, pleasant chains;Passing earth's prime blessing—health,Endless, priceless gains.

Holy habits are thy wealth,

Golden, pleasant chains;

Passing earth's prime blessing—health,

Endless, priceless gains.

Holy habits give thee placeWith the noblest, best,All most godlike of thy race,And with seraphs blest.

Holy habits give thee place

With the noblest, best,

All most godlike of thy race,

And with seraphs blest.

Holy habits are thy joy,Wisdom's pleasant ways,Yielding good without alloy,Lengthening, too, thy days.

Holy habits are thy joy,

Wisdom's pleasant ways,

Yielding good without alloy,

Lengthening, too, thy days.

Seek them, Christian, night and morn;Seek them noon and even;Seek them till thy soul be bornWithout stains—in heaven.

Seek them, Christian, night and morn;

Seek them noon and even;

Seek them till thy soul be born

Without stains—in heaven.

—Thomas Davis.

———

Make haste, O man! to live,For thou so soon must die;Time hurries past thee like the breeze;How swift its moments fly.Make haste, O man! to live.Make haste, O man! to doWhatever must be done,Thou hast no time to lose in sloth,Thy day will soon be gone.Make haste, O man! to live.To breathe, and wake, and sleep,To smile, to sigh, to grieve,To move in idleness through earth,This, this is not to live.Make haste, O man! to live.The useful, not the great;The thing that never dies,The silent toil that is not lost,Set these before thine eyes.Make haste, O man! to live.Make haste, O man! to live.Thy time is almost o'er;Oh! sleep not, dream not, but arise,The Judge is at the door.Make haste, O man! to live.—Horatius Bonar.

Make haste, O man! to live,For thou so soon must die;Time hurries past thee like the breeze;How swift its moments fly.Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to live,

For thou so soon must die;

Time hurries past thee like the breeze;

How swift its moments fly.

Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to doWhatever must be done,Thou hast no time to lose in sloth,Thy day will soon be gone.Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to do

Whatever must be done,

Thou hast no time to lose in sloth,

Thy day will soon be gone.

Make haste, O man! to live.

To breathe, and wake, and sleep,To smile, to sigh, to grieve,To move in idleness through earth,This, this is not to live.Make haste, O man! to live.

To breathe, and wake, and sleep,

To smile, to sigh, to grieve,

To move in idleness through earth,

This, this is not to live.

Make haste, O man! to live.

The useful, not the great;The thing that never dies,The silent toil that is not lost,Set these before thine eyes.Make haste, O man! to live.

The useful, not the great;

The thing that never dies,

The silent toil that is not lost,

Set these before thine eyes.

Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to live.Thy time is almost o'er;Oh! sleep not, dream not, but arise,The Judge is at the door.Make haste, O man! to live.

Make haste, O man! to live.

Thy time is almost o'er;

Oh! sleep not, dream not, but arise,

The Judge is at the door.

Make haste, O man! to live.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die—Gently and silently pass away—On earth's long night to close the heavy eyeAnd waken in the glorious realms of day.Teach me that harder lesson—how to live;To serve thee in the darkest paths of life;Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor give,And make me more than conqueror in the strife.Teach me to live thy purpose to fulfill;Bright for thy glory let my taper shine;Each day renew, remold this stubborn will;Closer round thee my heart's affections twine.Teach me to live for self and sin no more;But use the time remaining to me yet;Not mine own pleasure seeking as before,Wasting no precious hours in vain regret.Teach me to live; no idler let me be,But in thy service hand and heart employ.Prepared to do thy bidding cheerfully—Be this my highest and my holiest joy.Teach me to live—my daily cross to bear,Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load.Only be with me, let me feel thee near,Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road.Teach me to live and find my life in thee,Looking from earth and earthly things away.Let me not falter, but untiringlyPress on, and gain new strength and power each day.Teach me to live with kindly words for all,Wearing no cold repulsive brow of gloom,Waiting with cheerful patience till thy callSummons my spirit to her heavenly home.

Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die—Gently and silently pass away—On earth's long night to close the heavy eyeAnd waken in the glorious realms of day.

Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die—

Gently and silently pass away—

On earth's long night to close the heavy eye

And waken in the glorious realms of day.

Teach me that harder lesson—how to live;To serve thee in the darkest paths of life;Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor give,And make me more than conqueror in the strife.

Teach me that harder lesson—how to live;

To serve thee in the darkest paths of life;

Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor give,

And make me more than conqueror in the strife.

Teach me to live thy purpose to fulfill;Bright for thy glory let my taper shine;Each day renew, remold this stubborn will;Closer round thee my heart's affections twine.

Teach me to live thy purpose to fulfill;

Bright for thy glory let my taper shine;

Each day renew, remold this stubborn will;

Closer round thee my heart's affections twine.

Teach me to live for self and sin no more;But use the time remaining to me yet;Not mine own pleasure seeking as before,Wasting no precious hours in vain regret.

Teach me to live for self and sin no more;

But use the time remaining to me yet;

Not mine own pleasure seeking as before,

Wasting no precious hours in vain regret.

Teach me to live; no idler let me be,But in thy service hand and heart employ.Prepared to do thy bidding cheerfully—Be this my highest and my holiest joy.

Teach me to live; no idler let me be,

But in thy service hand and heart employ.

Prepared to do thy bidding cheerfully—

Be this my highest and my holiest joy.

Teach me to live—my daily cross to bear,Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load.Only be with me, let me feel thee near,Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road.

Teach me to live—my daily cross to bear,

Nor murmur though I bend beneath its load.

Only be with me, let me feel thee near,

Thy smile sheds gladness on the darkest road.

Teach me to live and find my life in thee,Looking from earth and earthly things away.Let me not falter, but untiringlyPress on, and gain new strength and power each day.

Teach me to live and find my life in thee,

Looking from earth and earthly things away.

Let me not falter, but untiringly

Press on, and gain new strength and power each day.

Teach me to live with kindly words for all,Wearing no cold repulsive brow of gloom,Waiting with cheerful patience till thy callSummons my spirit to her heavenly home.

Teach me to live with kindly words for all,

Wearing no cold repulsive brow of gloom,

Waiting with cheerful patience till thy call

Summons my spirit to her heavenly home.

———

Master of human destinies am I,Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait,Cities and fields I walk; I penetrateDeserts and seas remote, and, passing byHovel and mart and palace, soon or lateI knock, unbidden, once at every gate!If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise—beforeI turn away. It is the hour of fate,And they who follow me reach every stateMortals desire, and conquer every foeSave death; but those who doubt, or hesitate,Condemned to failure, penury, and woe,Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;I answer not, and I return no more.—John James Ingalls.

Master of human destinies am I,

Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait,

Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate

Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by

Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late

I knock, unbidden, once at every gate!

If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise—before

I turn away. It is the hour of fate,

And they who follow me reach every state

Mortals desire, and conquer every foe

Save death; but those who doubt, or hesitate,

Condemned to failure, penury, and woe,

Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;

I answer not, and I return no more.

—John James Ingalls.

———

So much to do; so little done!Ah! yesternight I saw the sunSink beamless down the vaulted gray—The ghastly ghost of yesterday.So little done; so much to do!Each morning breaks on conflicts new;But eager, brave, I'll join the fray,And fight the battle of to-day.So much to do; so little done!But when it's o'er—the victory won—O then, my soul, this strife and sorrowWill end in that great, glad to-morrow!—James Roberts Gilmore.

So much to do; so little done!Ah! yesternight I saw the sunSink beamless down the vaulted gray—The ghastly ghost of yesterday.

So much to do; so little done!

Ah! yesternight I saw the sun

Sink beamless down the vaulted gray—

The ghastly ghost of yesterday.

So little done; so much to do!Each morning breaks on conflicts new;But eager, brave, I'll join the fray,And fight the battle of to-day.

So little done; so much to do!

Each morning breaks on conflicts new;

But eager, brave, I'll join the fray,

And fight the battle of to-day.

So much to do; so little done!But when it's o'er—the victory won—O then, my soul, this strife and sorrowWill end in that great, glad to-morrow!

So much to do; so little done!

But when it's o'er—the victory won—

O then, my soul, this strife and sorrow

Will end in that great, glad to-morrow!

—James Roberts Gilmore.

———

Three men went out one summer night;No care had they or aim.They dined and drank. Ere we go homeWe'll have, they said, a game.Three girls began that summer nightA life of endless shame,And went through drink, disease, and deathAs swift as racing flame.Lawless, homeless, foul, they died;Rich, loved, and praised, the men.But when they all shall meet with God,And Justice speaks, what then?—Stopford Augustus Brooke.

Three men went out one summer night;No care had they or aim.They dined and drank. Ere we go homeWe'll have, they said, a game.

Three men went out one summer night;

No care had they or aim.

They dined and drank. Ere we go home

We'll have, they said, a game.

Three girls began that summer nightA life of endless shame,And went through drink, disease, and deathAs swift as racing flame.

Three girls began that summer night

A life of endless shame,

And went through drink, disease, and death

As swift as racing flame.

Lawless, homeless, foul, they died;Rich, loved, and praised, the men.But when they all shall meet with God,And Justice speaks, what then?

Lawless, homeless, foul, they died;

Rich, loved, and praised, the men.

But when they all shall meet with God,

And Justice speaks, what then?

—Stopford Augustus Brooke.

———

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;And underneath the cloud, or in it, ragedA furious battle, and men yelled, and swordsShocked upon swords and shields. A prince's bannerWavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.A craven hung along the battle's edge,And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel—That blue blade that the king's son bears—but thisBlunt thing——!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,And lowering crept away and left the field.Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,And ran and snatched it and, with battle-shoutLifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down,And saved a great cause that heroic day.—Edward Rowland Sill.

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:

There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged

A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner

Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.

A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel—

That blue blade that the king's son bears—but this

Blunt thing——!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,

And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,

And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,

Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,

And ran and snatched it and, with battle-shout

Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down,

And saved a great cause that heroic day.

—Edward Rowland Sill.

———

Live while you live, the epicure would say,And seize the pleasures of the passing day!Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries,And give to God each moment as it flies!Lord, in my views let both united be;I live in pleasure when I live to thee.—Philip Doddridge.

Live while you live, the epicure would say,

And seize the pleasures of the passing day!

Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries,

And give to God each moment as it flies!

Lord, in my views let both united be;

I live in pleasure when I live to thee.

—Philip Doddridge.

———

It is bad to have an empty purse,But an empty head is a whole lot worse.—Nixon Waterman.

It is bad to have an empty purse,But an empty head is a whole lot worse.

It is bad to have an empty purse,

But an empty head is a whole lot worse.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Shut your mouth, and open your eyes,And you're sure to learn something to make you wise.—Nixon Waterman.

Shut your mouth, and open your eyes,And you're sure to learn something to make you wise.

Shut your mouth, and open your eyes,

And you're sure to learn something to make you wise.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Once, in the flight of ages past,There lived a man, and who was he?Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,That man resembled thee.Unknown the region of his birth;The land in which he died unknown;His name has perished from the earth;This truth survives alone:That joy and grief and hope and fear,Alternate triumphed in his breast;His bliss and woe—a smile, a tear!Oblivion hides the rest.He suffered—but his pangs are o'er;Enjoyed—but his delights are fled;Had friends—his friends are now no more;And foes—his foes are dead.He saw whatever thou hast seen;Encountered all that troubles thee;He was—whatever thou hast been;He is—what thou shalt be.The rolling seasons, day and night,Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and man,Erewhile his portion, life, and light,To him exist in vain.The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eyeThat once their shades and glory threw,Have left in yonder silent skyNo vestige where they flew.The annals of the human race,Their ruins, since the world began,Of him afford no other traceThan this—there lived a man.—James Montgomery.

Once, in the flight of ages past,There lived a man, and who was he?Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,That man resembled thee.

Once, in the flight of ages past,

There lived a man, and who was he?

Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,

That man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth;The land in which he died unknown;His name has perished from the earth;This truth survives alone:

Unknown the region of his birth;

The land in which he died unknown;

His name has perished from the earth;

This truth survives alone:

That joy and grief and hope and fear,Alternate triumphed in his breast;His bliss and woe—a smile, a tear!Oblivion hides the rest.

That joy and grief and hope and fear,

Alternate triumphed in his breast;

His bliss and woe—a smile, a tear!

Oblivion hides the rest.

He suffered—but his pangs are o'er;Enjoyed—but his delights are fled;Had friends—his friends are now no more;And foes—his foes are dead.

He suffered—but his pangs are o'er;

Enjoyed—but his delights are fled;

Had friends—his friends are now no more;

And foes—his foes are dead.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;Encountered all that troubles thee;He was—whatever thou hast been;He is—what thou shalt be.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;

Encountered all that troubles thee;

He was—whatever thou hast been;

He is—what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and man,Erewhile his portion, life, and light,To him exist in vain.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and man,

Erewhile his portion, life, and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eyeThat once their shades and glory threw,Have left in yonder silent skyNo vestige where they flew.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye

That once their shades and glory threw,

Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,Their ruins, since the world began,Of him afford no other traceThan this—there lived a man.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began,

Of him afford no other trace

Than this—there lived a man.

—James Montgomery.

———

Happy the man, and happy he alone,He who can call to-day his own;He who, secure within, can say,"To-morrow, do thy worst; for I have lived to-day.Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.Not heaven itself upon the past has power,But what has been has been, and I have had my hour."—Horace, tr. by John Dryden.

Happy the man, and happy he alone,

He who can call to-day his own;

He who, secure within, can say,

"To-morrow, do thy worst; for I have lived to-day.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,

The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.

Not heaven itself upon the past has power,

But what has been has been, and I have had my hour."

—Horace, tr. by John Dryden.

———

If this little world to-nightSuddenly should fall through spaceIn a hissing, headlong flight,Shriveling from off its face,As it falls into the sun,In an instant every traceOf the little crawling things—Ants, philosophers, and lice,Cattle, cockroaches, and kings,Beggars, millionaires, and mice,Men and maggots—all as oneAs it falls into the sun—Who can say but at the sameInstant, from some planet far,A child may watch us and exclaim,"See the pretty shooting star!"—Oliver Herford.

If this little world to-night

Suddenly should fall through space

In a hissing, headlong flight,

Shriveling from off its face,

As it falls into the sun,

In an instant every trace

Of the little crawling things—

Ants, philosophers, and lice,

Cattle, cockroaches, and kings,

Beggars, millionaires, and mice,

Men and maggots—all as one

As it falls into the sun—

Who can say but at the same

Instant, from some planet far,

A child may watch us and exclaim,

"See the pretty shooting star!"

—Oliver Herford.

———

Think not alone todoright, and fulfillLife's due perfection by the simple worthOf lawful actions called by justice forth,And thus condone a world confused with ill!But fix the high condition of thy willToberight, that its good's spontaneous birthMay spread like flowers springing from the earthOn which the natural dews of heaven distill;For these require no honors, take no careFor gratitude from men—but more are blessedIn the sweet ignorance that they are fair;And through their proper functions live and rest,Breathing their fragrance out with joyous air,Content with praise of bettering what is best.—William Davies.

Think not alone todoright, and fulfill

Life's due perfection by the simple worth

Of lawful actions called by justice forth,

And thus condone a world confused with ill!

But fix the high condition of thy will

Toberight, that its good's spontaneous birth

May spread like flowers springing from the earth

On which the natural dews of heaven distill;

For these require no honors, take no care

For gratitude from men—but more are blessed

In the sweet ignorance that they are fair;

And through their proper functions live and rest,

Breathing their fragrance out with joyous air,

Content with praise of bettering what is best.

—William Davies.

———

And, since we needs must hunger, better for man's loveThan God's truth! better for companions sweetThan great convictions! let us bear our weightsPreferring dreary hearths to desert souls.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

And, since we needs must hunger, better for man's loveThan God's truth! better for companions sweetThan great convictions! let us bear our weightsPreferring dreary hearths to desert souls.

And, since we needs must hunger, better for man's love

Than God's truth! better for companions sweet

Than great convictions! let us bear our weights

Preferring dreary hearths to desert souls.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

Since all the riches of this worldMay be gifts from the devil and earthly kings,I should suspect that I worshiped the devilIf I thanked my God for worldly things.—William Blake.

Since all the riches of this worldMay be gifts from the devil and earthly kings,I should suspect that I worshiped the devilIf I thanked my God for worldly things.

Since all the riches of this world

May be gifts from the devil and earthly kings,

I should suspect that I worshiped the devil

If I thanked my God for worldly things.

—William Blake.

———

Trust to the Lord to hide thee,Wait on the Lord to guide thee,So shall no ill betide theeDay by day.Rise with his fear before thee,Tell of the love he bore thee,Sleep with his shadow o'er thee,Day by day.

Trust to the Lord to hide thee,

Wait on the Lord to guide thee,

So shall no ill betide thee

Day by day.

Rise with his fear before thee,

Tell of the love he bore thee,

Sleep with his shadow o'er thee,

Day by day.

———

Four things a man must learn to doIf he would make his record true:To think without confusion clearly;To love his fellow-men sincerely;To act from honest motives purely;To trust in God and heaven securely.—Henry van Dyke.

Four things a man must learn to do

If he would make his record true:

To think without confusion clearly;

To love his fellow-men sincerely;

To act from honest motives purely;

To trust in God and heaven securely.

—Henry van Dyke.

———

Each moment holy is, for out from GodEach moment flashes forth a human soul.Holy each moment is, for back to himSome wandering soul each moment home returns.—Richard Watson Gilder.

Each moment holy is, for out from GodEach moment flashes forth a human soul.Holy each moment is, for back to himSome wandering soul each moment home returns.

Each moment holy is, for out from God

Each moment flashes forth a human soul.

Holy each moment is, for back to him

Some wandering soul each moment home returns.

—Richard Watson Gilder.

———

At thirty man suspects himself a fool;Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;At fifty chides his infamous delay,Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;In all the magnanimity of thoughtResolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.—Edward Young.

At thirty man suspects himself a fool;

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;

At fifty chides his infamous delay,

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;

In all the magnanimity of thought

Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

—Edward Young.

———

Abundance is the blessing of the wise;The use of riches in discretion lies;Learn this, ye men of wealth: a heavy purseIn a fool's pocket is a heavy curse.—From the Greek.

Abundance is the blessing of the wise;The use of riches in discretion lies;Learn this, ye men of wealth: a heavy purseIn a fool's pocket is a heavy curse.

Abundance is the blessing of the wise;

The use of riches in discretion lies;

Learn this, ye men of wealth: a heavy purse

In a fool's pocket is a heavy curse.

—From the Greek.

———

Dear is my friend, but my foe tooIs friendly to my good;My friend the thing shows Icando,My foe the thing I should.—Johann C. F. von Schiller.

Dear is my friend, but my foe tooIs friendly to my good;My friend the thing shows Icando,My foe the thing I should.

Dear is my friend, but my foe too

Is friendly to my good;

My friend the thing shows Icando,

My foe the thing I should.

—Johann C. F. von Schiller.

———

How does the soul grow? Not all in a minute;Now it may lose ground, and now it may win it;Now it resolves, and again the will faileth;Now it rejoiceth, and now it bewaileth;Now its hopes fructify, then they are blighted;Now it walks sunnily, now gropes benighted;Fed by discouragements, taught by disaster,So it goes forward, now slower, now faster;Till, all the pain past and failure made whole,It is full grown, and the Lord rules the soul.—Susan Coolidge.

How does the soul grow? Not all in a minute;

Now it may lose ground, and now it may win it;

Now it resolves, and again the will faileth;

Now it rejoiceth, and now it bewaileth;

Now its hopes fructify, then they are blighted;

Now it walks sunnily, now gropes benighted;

Fed by discouragements, taught by disaster,

So it goes forward, now slower, now faster;

Till, all the pain past and failure made whole,

It is full grown, and the Lord rules the soul.

—Susan Coolidge.

———

Life is too short to wasteIn critic peep or cynic bark,Quarrel, or reprimand.'Twill soon be dark;Up! mind thine own aim, andGod speed the mark!—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Life is too short to wasteIn critic peep or cynic bark,Quarrel, or reprimand.'Twill soon be dark;Up! mind thine own aim, andGod speed the mark!

Life is too short to waste

In critic peep or cynic bark,

Quarrel, or reprimand.

'Twill soon be dark;

Up! mind thine own aim, and

God speed the mark!

—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

———

Pleasures are like poppies spread,You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;Or like the snow-fall in the river,A moment white—then melts forever;Or like the borealis race,That flit ere you can point their place;Or like the rainbow's lovely form,Evanishing amid the storm.—Robert Burns.

Pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;

Or like the snow-fall in the river,

A moment white—then melts forever;

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;

Or like the rainbow's lovely form,

Evanishing amid the storm.

—Robert Burns.

———

I saw a farmer plow his land who never came to sow;I saw a student filled with truth to practice never go;In land or mind I never saw the ripened harvest grow.—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

I saw a farmer plow his land who never came to sow;I saw a student filled with truth to practice never go;In land or mind I never saw the ripened harvest grow.

I saw a farmer plow his land who never came to sow;

I saw a student filled with truth to practice never go;

In land or mind I never saw the ripened harvest grow.

—Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

———

To those who prattle of despairSome friend, methinks, might wisely say:Each day, no question, has its care,But also every care its day.—John Sterling.

To those who prattle of despairSome friend, methinks, might wisely say:Each day, no question, has its care,But also every care its day.

To those who prattle of despair

Some friend, methinks, might wisely say:

Each day, no question, has its care,

But also every care its day.

—John Sterling.

———

What importsFasting or feasting? Do thy day's work; dareRefuse no help thereto; since help refusedIs hindrance sought and found.—Robert Browning.

What importsFasting or feasting? Do thy day's work; dareRefuse no help thereto; since help refusedIs hindrance sought and found.

What imports

Fasting or feasting? Do thy day's work; dare

Refuse no help thereto; since help refused

Is hindrance sought and found.

—Robert Browning.

———

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