DUTY

He fought a thousand glorious wars,And more than half the world was his,And somewhere, now, in yonder stars,Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is.—William Makepeace Thackeray.

He fought a thousand glorious wars,And more than half the world was his,And somewhere, now, in yonder stars,Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is.

He fought a thousand glorious wars,

And more than half the world was his,

And somewhere, now, in yonder stars,

Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is.

—William Makepeace Thackeray.

———

Howe'er it be, it seems to me'Tis only noble to be good;Kind hearts are more than coronets,And simple faith than Norman blood.—Alfred Tennyson.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me'Tis only noble to be good;Kind hearts are more than coronets,And simple faith than Norman blood.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me

'Tis only noble to be good;

Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed,Not the applauding thunder at its heelsWhich men call fame.—Alexander Smith.

I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed,Not the applauding thunder at its heelsWhich men call fame.

I've learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed,

Not the applauding thunder at its heels

Which men call fame.

—Alexander Smith.

———

It is worth while to live!Be of good cheer;Love casts out fear;Rise up, achieve.—Christina G. Rossetti.

It is worth while to live!Be of good cheer;Love casts out fear;Rise up, achieve.

It is worth while to live!

Be of good cheer;

Love casts out fear;

Rise up, achieve.

—Christina G. Rossetti.

———

No endeavor is in vain;Its reward is in the doing,And the rapture of pursuingIs the prize the vanquished gain.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

No endeavor is in vain;Its reward is in the doing,And the rapture of pursuingIs the prize the vanquished gain.

No endeavor is in vain;

Its reward is in the doing,

And the rapture of pursuing

Is the prize the vanquished gain.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

Far better in its place the lowliest birdShould sing aright to Him the lowliest song,Than that a seraph strayed should take the wordAnd sing His glory wrong.—Jean Ingelow.

Far better in its place the lowliest birdShould sing aright to Him the lowliest song,Than that a seraph strayed should take the wordAnd sing His glory wrong.

Far better in its place the lowliest bird

Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song,

Than that a seraph strayed should take the word

And sing His glory wrong.

—Jean Ingelow.

———

Often ornatenessGoes with greatness.Oftener felicityComes of simplicity.—William Watson.

Often ornatenessGoes with greatness.Oftener felicityComes of simplicity.

Often ornateness

Goes with greatness.

Oftener felicity

Comes of simplicity.

—William Watson.

———

A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust,And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust.—From the Persian.

A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust,And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust.

A jewel is a jewel still, though lying in the dust,

And sand is sand, though up to heaven by the tempest thrust.

—From the Persian.

———

Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush;As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush.—From the Persian.

Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush;As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush.

Vulgar souls surpass a rare one in the headlong rush;

As the hard and worthless stones a precious pearl will crush.

—From the Persian.

———

Be noble! and the nobleness that liesIn other men, sleeping, but never dead,Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.—James Russell Lowell.

Be noble! and the nobleness that liesIn other men, sleeping, but never dead,Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.

Be noble! and the nobleness that lies

In other men, sleeping, but never dead,

Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss,And find a secret gain in others' loss.—John Boyle O'Reilly.

The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss,And find a secret gain in others' loss.

The mean of soul are sure their faults to gloss,

And find a secret gain in others' loss.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

———

Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp,Or what's heaven for?—Robert Browning.

Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp,Or what's heaven for?

Ah, a man's reach should exceed his grasp,

Or what's heaven for?

—Robert Browning.

———

Though thy name be spread abroad,Like winged seed, from shore to shore,What thou art before thy God,That thou art and nothing more.

Though thy name be spread abroad,

Like winged seed, from shore to shore,

What thou art before thy God,

That thou art and nothing more.

———

My business is not to remake myself,But make the absolute best of what God made.—Robert Browning.

My business is not to remake myself,But make the absolute best of what God made.

My business is not to remake myself,

But make the absolute best of what God made.

—Robert Browning.

———

For never land long lease of empire wonWhose sons sat silent when base deeds were done.—James Russell Lowell.

For never land long lease of empire wonWhose sons sat silent when base deeds were done.

For never land long lease of empire won

Whose sons sat silent when base deeds were done.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

He that would free from malice pass his daysMust live obscure and never merit praise.—John Gay.

He that would free from malice pass his daysMust live obscure and never merit praise.

He that would free from malice pass his days

Must live obscure and never merit praise.

—John Gay.

———

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,Before a thousand peering littlenesses.—Alfred Tennyson.

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,Before a thousand peering littlenesses.

Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,

Before a thousand peering littlenesses.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life,Try to be Shakespeare—leave the rest to fate.—Robert Browning.

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life,Try to be Shakespeare—leave the rest to fate.

The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life,

Try to be Shakespeare—leave the rest to fate.

—Robert Browning.

———

Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none.—Alexander Pope.

Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none.

Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;

O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none.

—Alexander Pope.

———

With fame in just proportion envy grows;The man that makes a character makes foes.—Edward Young.

With fame in just proportion envy grows;The man that makes a character makes foes.

With fame in just proportion envy grows;

The man that makes a character makes foes.

—Edward Young.

———

'Tis not what man does which exalts him,But what man would do.—Robert Browning.

'Tis not what man does which exalts him,But what man would do.

'Tis not what man does which exalts him,

But what man would do.

—Robert Browning.

———

Better have failed in the high aim, as I,Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed.—Robert Browning.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I,Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed.

Better have failed in the high aim, as I,

Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed.

—Robert Browning.

———

The simple, silent, selfless manIs worth a world of tonguesters.—Alfred Tennyson.

The simple, silent, selfless manIs worth a world of tonguesters.

The simple, silent, selfless man

Is worth a world of tonguesters.

—Alfred Tennyson.

Stern daughter of the voice of God!O Duty! if that name thou loveWho art a light to guide, a rodTo check the erring and reprove;Thou who art victory and lawWhen empty terrors overawe;From vain temptation dost set free;And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!There are who ask not if thine eyeBe on them; who, in love and truth,Where no misgiving is, relyUpon the genial sense of youth;Glad hearts, without reproach or blot,Who do thy work and know it not:Oh! if through confidence misplacedThey fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.Serene will be our days, and brightAnd happy will our nature be,When love is an unerring light,And joy its own security;And they a blissful course may holdEven now, who, not unwisely bold,Live in the spirit of this creed;Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.I, loving freedom, and untried,No sport of every random gust,Yet being to myself a guide,Too blindly have reposed my trust;And oft, when in my heart was heardThy timely mandate, I deferredThe task, in smoother walks to stray;But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.Through no disturbance of my soul,Or strong compunction in me wrought,I supplicate for thy control,But in the quietness of thought.Me this unchartered freedom tires;I feel the weight of chance desires:My hopes no more must change their name,I long for a repose that ever is the same.Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wearThe Godhead's most benignant grace;Nor know we anything so fairAs is the smile upon thy face:Flowers laugh before thee on their bedsAnd fragrance in thy footing treads;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.To humbler functions, awful Power!I call thee; I myself commendUnto thy guidance from this hour;Oh, let my weakness have an end!Give unto me, made lowly wise,The spirit of self-sacrifice;The confidence of reason give;And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live.—William Wordsworth.

Stern daughter of the voice of God!

O Duty! if that name thou love

Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring and reprove;

Thou who art victory and law

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptation dost set free;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eyeBe on them; who, in love and truth,Where no misgiving is, relyUpon the genial sense of youth;Glad hearts, without reproach or blot,Who do thy work and know it not:Oh! if through confidence misplacedThey fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,

Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth;

Glad hearts, without reproach or blot,

Who do thy work and know it not:

Oh! if through confidence misplaced

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.

Serene will be our days, and brightAnd happy will our nature be,When love is an unerring light,And joy its own security;And they a blissful course may holdEven now, who, not unwisely bold,Live in the spirit of this creed;Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.

Serene will be our days, and bright

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security;

And they a blissful course may hold

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried,No sport of every random gust,Yet being to myself a guide,Too blindly have reposed my trust;And oft, when in my heart was heardThy timely mandate, I deferredThe task, in smoother walks to stray;But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

I, loving freedom, and untried,

No sport of every random gust,

Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust;

And oft, when in my heart was heard

Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,Or strong compunction in me wrought,I supplicate for thy control,But in the quietness of thought.Me this unchartered freedom tires;I feel the weight of chance desires:My hopes no more must change their name,I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,

I supplicate for thy control,

But in the quietness of thought.

Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance desires:

My hopes no more must change their name,

I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wearThe Godhead's most benignant grace;Nor know we anything so fairAs is the smile upon thy face:Flowers laugh before thee on their bedsAnd fragrance in thy footing treads;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear

The Godhead's most benignant grace;

Nor know we anything so fair

As is the smile upon thy face:

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds

And fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!I call thee; I myself commendUnto thy guidance from this hour;Oh, let my weakness have an end!Give unto me, made lowly wise,The spirit of self-sacrifice;The confidence of reason give;And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live.

To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee; I myself commend

Unto thy guidance from this hour;

Oh, let my weakness have an end!

Give unto me, made lowly wise,

The spirit of self-sacrifice;

The confidence of reason give;

And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live.

—William Wordsworth.

———

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,That of our vices we can frameA ladder, if we will but treadBeneath our feet each deed of shame!All common things, each day's events,That with the hour begin and end,Our pleasures and our discontents,Are rounds by which we may ascend.The longing for ignoble things;The strife for triumph more than truth;The hardening of the heart, that bringsIrreverence for the dreams of youth;All thoughts of ill, all evil deedsThat have their root in thoughts of ill;Whatever hinders or impedesThe action of the nobler will;—All these must first be trampled downBeneath our feet, if we would gainIn the bright fields of fair renownThe right of eminent domain.We have not wings, we cannot soar;But we have feet to scale and climbBy slow degrees, by more and more,The cloudy summits of our time.The heights by great men reached and keptWere not attained by sudden flight,But they while their companions sleptWere toiling upward in the night.Standing on what too long we boreWith shoulders bent and downcast eyes,We may discern—unseen before—A path to higher destinies,Nor deem the irrevocable PastAs wholly wasted, wholly vain,If, rising on its wrecks, at lastTo something nobler we attain.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,That of our vices we can frameA ladder, if we will but treadBeneath our feet each deed of shame!

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,

That of our vices we can frame

A ladder, if we will but tread

Beneath our feet each deed of shame!

All common things, each day's events,That with the hour begin and end,Our pleasures and our discontents,Are rounds by which we may ascend.

All common things, each day's events,

That with the hour begin and end,

Our pleasures and our discontents,

Are rounds by which we may ascend.

The longing for ignoble things;The strife for triumph more than truth;The hardening of the heart, that bringsIrreverence for the dreams of youth;

The longing for ignoble things;

The strife for triumph more than truth;

The hardening of the heart, that brings

Irreverence for the dreams of youth;

All thoughts of ill, all evil deedsThat have their root in thoughts of ill;Whatever hinders or impedesThe action of the nobler will;—

All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds

That have their root in thoughts of ill;

Whatever hinders or impedes

The action of the nobler will;—

All these must first be trampled downBeneath our feet, if we would gainIn the bright fields of fair renownThe right of eminent domain.

All these must first be trampled down

Beneath our feet, if we would gain

In the bright fields of fair renown

The right of eminent domain.

We have not wings, we cannot soar;But we have feet to scale and climbBy slow degrees, by more and more,The cloudy summits of our time.

We have not wings, we cannot soar;

But we have feet to scale and climb

By slow degrees, by more and more,

The cloudy summits of our time.

The heights by great men reached and keptWere not attained by sudden flight,But they while their companions sleptWere toiling upward in the night.

The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they while their companions slept

Were toiling upward in the night.

Standing on what too long we boreWith shoulders bent and downcast eyes,We may discern—unseen before—A path to higher destinies,

Standing on what too long we bore

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,

We may discern—unseen before—

A path to higher destinies,

Nor deem the irrevocable PastAs wholly wasted, wholly vain,If, rising on its wrecks, at lastTo something nobler we attain.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past

As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

If, rising on its wrecks, at last

To something nobler we attain.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

The deeds which selfish hearts approveAnd fame's loud trumpet singsSecure no praise where truth and loveAre counted noblest things;And work which godless folly deemsWorthless, obscure, and lowly,To Heaven's ennobling vision seemsMost godlike, grand, and holy.Then murmur not if toils obscureAnd thorny paths be thine;To God be true—they shall secureThe joy of life divineWho in the darkest, sternest sphereFor Him their powers employ;The toils contemned and slighted hereShall yield the purest joy.When endless day dispels the strifeWhich blinds and darkens now,Perchance the brightest crown of lifeShall deck some lowly brow.Then learn, despite thy boding fears,From seed with sorrow sown,In love, obscurity and tearsThe richest sheaves are grown.—Edward Hartley Dewart.

The deeds which selfish hearts approve

And fame's loud trumpet sings

Secure no praise where truth and love

Are counted noblest things;

And work which godless folly deems

Worthless, obscure, and lowly,

To Heaven's ennobling vision seems

Most godlike, grand, and holy.

Then murmur not if toils obscureAnd thorny paths be thine;To God be true—they shall secureThe joy of life divineWho in the darkest, sternest sphereFor Him their powers employ;The toils contemned and slighted hereShall yield the purest joy.

Then murmur not if toils obscure

And thorny paths be thine;

To God be true—they shall secure

The joy of life divine

Who in the darkest, sternest sphere

For Him their powers employ;

The toils contemned and slighted here

Shall yield the purest joy.

When endless day dispels the strifeWhich blinds and darkens now,Perchance the brightest crown of lifeShall deck some lowly brow.Then learn, despite thy boding fears,From seed with sorrow sown,In love, obscurity and tearsThe richest sheaves are grown.

When endless day dispels the strife

Which blinds and darkens now,

Perchance the brightest crown of life

Shall deck some lowly brow.

Then learn, despite thy boding fears,

From seed with sorrow sown,

In love, obscurity and tears

The richest sheaves are grown.

—Edward Hartley Dewart.

———

From an old English parsonageDown by the sea,There came in the twilightA message to me;Its quaint Saxon legendDeeply engraven,Hath as it seems to meTeaching for heaven;And on through the hoursThe quiet words ring,Like a low inspiration,"Doe the nexte thynge."Many a questioning,Many a fear,Many a doubt,Hath guiding here.Moment by momentLet down from heaven,Time, opportunity,Guidance are given.Fear not to-morrow,Child of the King;Trust it with Jesus,"Doe the nexte thynge."O He would have theeDaily more free,Knowing the mightOf thy royal degree;Ever in waiting,Glad for his call,Tranquil in chastening,Trusting through all.Comings and goingsNo turmoil need bring:His all thy future—"Doe the nexte thynge."Do it immediately,Do it with prayer,Do it reliantly,Casting all care:Do it with reverence,Tracing His handWho hath placed it before theeWith earnest command.Stayed on Omnipotence,Safe, 'neath his wing,Leave all resultings,"Doe the nexte thynge."Looking to Jesus,Ever serener,Working or suffering,Be thy demeanor!In the shade of his presence,The rest of his calm,The light of his countenance,Live out thy psalm:Strong in his faithfulness.Praise him and sing,Then as he beckons thee,"Doe the nexte thynge."

From an old English parsonage

Down by the sea,

There came in the twilight

A message to me;

Its quaint Saxon legend

Deeply engraven,

Hath as it seems to me

Teaching for heaven;

And on through the hours

The quiet words ring,

Like a low inspiration,

"Doe the nexte thynge."

Many a questioning,Many a fear,Many a doubt,Hath guiding here.Moment by momentLet down from heaven,Time, opportunity,Guidance are given.Fear not to-morrow,Child of the King;Trust it with Jesus,"Doe the nexte thynge."

Many a questioning,

Many a fear,

Many a doubt,

Hath guiding here.

Moment by moment

Let down from heaven,

Time, opportunity,

Guidance are given.

Fear not to-morrow,

Child of the King;

Trust it with Jesus,

"Doe the nexte thynge."

O He would have theeDaily more free,Knowing the mightOf thy royal degree;Ever in waiting,Glad for his call,Tranquil in chastening,Trusting through all.Comings and goingsNo turmoil need bring:His all thy future—"Doe the nexte thynge."

O He would have thee

Daily more free,

Knowing the might

Of thy royal degree;

Ever in waiting,

Glad for his call,

Tranquil in chastening,

Trusting through all.

Comings and goings

No turmoil need bring:

His all thy future—

"Doe the nexte thynge."

Do it immediately,Do it with prayer,Do it reliantly,Casting all care:Do it with reverence,Tracing His handWho hath placed it before theeWith earnest command.Stayed on Omnipotence,Safe, 'neath his wing,Leave all resultings,"Doe the nexte thynge."

Do it immediately,

Do it with prayer,

Do it reliantly,

Casting all care:

Do it with reverence,

Tracing His hand

Who hath placed it before thee

With earnest command.

Stayed on Omnipotence,

Safe, 'neath his wing,

Leave all resultings,

"Doe the nexte thynge."

Looking to Jesus,Ever serener,Working or suffering,Be thy demeanor!In the shade of his presence,The rest of his calm,The light of his countenance,Live out thy psalm:Strong in his faithfulness.Praise him and sing,Then as he beckons thee,"Doe the nexte thynge."

Looking to Jesus,

Ever serener,

Working or suffering,

Be thy demeanor!

In the shade of his presence,

The rest of his calm,

The light of his countenance,

Live out thy psalm:

Strong in his faithfulness.

Praise him and sing,

Then as he beckons thee,

"Doe the nexte thynge."

———

Go, labor on; spend and be spent,Thy joy to do the Father's will;It is the way the Master went;Should not the servant tread it still?Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught;Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain;Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;The Master praises—what are men?Go, labor on; your hands are weak;Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;Yet falter not; the prize you seekIs near—a kingdom and a crown!Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray!Be wise the erring soul to win;Go forth into the world's highway;Compel the wanderer to come in.Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice:For toil comes rest, for exile home;Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,The midnight peal, "Behold, I come!"—Horatius Bonar.

Go, labor on; spend and be spent,Thy joy to do the Father's will;It is the way the Master went;Should not the servant tread it still?

Go, labor on; spend and be spent,

Thy joy to do the Father's will;

It is the way the Master went;

Should not the servant tread it still?

Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught;Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain;Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;The Master praises—what are men?

Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught;

Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain;

Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;

The Master praises—what are men?

Go, labor on; your hands are weak;Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;Yet falter not; the prize you seekIs near—a kingdom and a crown!

Go, labor on; your hands are weak;

Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;

Yet falter not; the prize you seek

Is near—a kingdom and a crown!

Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray!Be wise the erring soul to win;Go forth into the world's highway;Compel the wanderer to come in.

Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray!

Be wise the erring soul to win;

Go forth into the world's highway;

Compel the wanderer to come in.

Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice:For toil comes rest, for exile home;Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,The midnight peal, "Behold, I come!"

Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice:

For toil comes rest, for exile home;

Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,

The midnight peal, "Behold, I come!"

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps setOn the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret,At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour.When they beheld at a mean cabin's door,A fisher's widow in her mourning clad,Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad,The tear that wet them kept her lids within,Her child to cradle and her flax to spin;Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen,The Master and His friend could see, unseen.An old man ready for his earthly bed,A beggar with a jar upon his head,Came by, and to the mourning spinner thereSaid, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bearUnto a dweller in the hamlet near;But I am weak and bent with many a year;More than a thousand paces yet to goRemain, and, without help, I surely knowI cannot end my task and earn its fee."The woman rose, and not a word said she,Without a pause her distaff laid aside,And left the cradle where the orphan cried,Took up the jar, and with the beggar went."Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,"Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed,In leaving thus her child and her abodeFor the chance-comer that first sought her out;The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,To ease him of his load upon the way."The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay,Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.She went at once, and wisely did in that."And Jesus, having finished speaking, satDown on a bench was in the humble place,And with His blest hands for a moment's space,He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.When she to whom the Lord had given this proofOf good-will came back to her humble roof,She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!—Francois Coppee.

Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set

On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret,

At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour.

When they beheld at a mean cabin's door,

A fisher's widow in her mourning clad,

Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad,

The tear that wet them kept her lids within,

Her child to cradle and her flax to spin;

Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen,

The Master and His friend could see, unseen.

An old man ready for his earthly bed,A beggar with a jar upon his head,Came by, and to the mourning spinner thereSaid, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bearUnto a dweller in the hamlet near;But I am weak and bent with many a year;More than a thousand paces yet to goRemain, and, without help, I surely knowI cannot end my task and earn its fee."

An old man ready for his earthly bed,

A beggar with a jar upon his head,

Came by, and to the mourning spinner there

Said, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bear

Unto a dweller in the hamlet near;

But I am weak and bent with many a year;

More than a thousand paces yet to go

Remain, and, without help, I surely know

I cannot end my task and earn its fee."

The woman rose, and not a word said she,Without a pause her distaff laid aside,And left the cradle where the orphan cried,Took up the jar, and with the beggar went.

The woman rose, and not a word said she,

Without a pause her distaff laid aside,

And left the cradle where the orphan cried,

Took up the jar, and with the beggar went.

"Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,"Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed,In leaving thus her child and her abodeFor the chance-comer that first sought her out;The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,To ease him of his load upon the way."

"Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,"

Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed,

In leaving thus her child and her abode

For the chance-comer that first sought her out;

The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,

To ease him of his load upon the way."

The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay,Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.She went at once, and wisely did in that."

The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay,

Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,

Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.

She went at once, and wisely did in that."

And Jesus, having finished speaking, satDown on a bench was in the humble place,And with His blest hands for a moment's space,He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.

And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat

Down on a bench was in the humble place,

And with His blest hands for a moment's space,

He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.

Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.

When she to whom the Lord had given this proofOf good-will came back to her humble roof,She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!

When she to whom the Lord had given this proof

Of good-will came back to her humble roof,

She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,

The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!

—Francois Coppee.

———

"I cannot do much," said a little star,"To make the dark world bright;My silver beams cannot struggle farThrough the folding gloom of night:But I am a part of God's great plan,And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can.""What is the use," said a fleecy cloud,"Of these dew-drops that I hold?They will hardly bend the lily proud,Though caught in her cup of gold;Yet I am a part of God's great plan,My treasures I'll give as well as I can."A child went merrily forth to play,But a thought, like a silver thread,Kept winding in and out all dayThrough the happy, busy head,"Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can,For you are a part of God's great plan.'"So she helped a younger child along,When the road was rough to the feet;And she sang from her heart a little song,A song that was passing sweet;And her father, a weary, toil-worn man,Said, "I too will do the best that I can."

"I cannot do much," said a little star,

"To make the dark world bright;

My silver beams cannot struggle far

Through the folding gloom of night:

But I am a part of God's great plan,

And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can."

"What is the use," said a fleecy cloud,"Of these dew-drops that I hold?They will hardly bend the lily proud,Though caught in her cup of gold;Yet I am a part of God's great plan,My treasures I'll give as well as I can."

"What is the use," said a fleecy cloud,

"Of these dew-drops that I hold?

They will hardly bend the lily proud,

Though caught in her cup of gold;

Yet I am a part of God's great plan,

My treasures I'll give as well as I can."

A child went merrily forth to play,But a thought, like a silver thread,Kept winding in and out all dayThrough the happy, busy head,"Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can,For you are a part of God's great plan.'"

A child went merrily forth to play,

But a thought, like a silver thread,

Kept winding in and out all day

Through the happy, busy head,

"Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can,

For you are a part of God's great plan.'"

So she helped a younger child along,When the road was rough to the feet;And she sang from her heart a little song,A song that was passing sweet;And her father, a weary, toil-worn man,Said, "I too will do the best that I can."

So she helped a younger child along,

When the road was rough to the feet;

And she sang from her heart a little song,

A song that was passing sweet;

And her father, a weary, toil-worn man,

Said, "I too will do the best that I can."

———

Just where you stand in the conflict,There is your place!Just where you think you are uselessHide not your face!God placed you there for a purpose,Whate'er it be;Think He has chosen you for it—Work loyally.Gird on your armor! Be faithfulAt toil or rest,Whiche'er it be, never doubtingGod's way is best.Out in the fight, or on picket,Stand firm and true;This is the work which your MasterGives you to do.

Just where you stand in the conflict,

There is your place!

Just where you think you are useless

Hide not your face!

God placed you there for a purpose,

Whate'er it be;

Think He has chosen you for it—

Work loyally.

Gird on your armor! Be faithfulAt toil or rest,Whiche'er it be, never doubtingGod's way is best.Out in the fight, or on picket,Stand firm and true;This is the work which your MasterGives you to do.

Gird on your armor! Be faithful

At toil or rest,

Whiche'er it be, never doubting

God's way is best.

Out in the fight, or on picket,

Stand firm and true;

This is the work which your Master

Gives you to do.

———

Who does the best his circumstance allows,Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.—Edward Young.

Who does the best his circumstance allows,Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

Who does the best his circumstance allows,

Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

—Edward Young.

———

When courage fails and faith burns low,And men are timid grown,Hold fast thy loyalty and knowThat Truth still moveth on.For unseen messengers she hath,To work her will and ways,And even human scorn and wrathGod turneth to her praise.She can both meek and lordly be,In heavenly might secure;With her is pledge of victory,And patience to endure.The race is not unto the swift,The battle to the strong,When dawn her judgment-days that siftThe claims of right and wrong.And more than thou canst do for TruthCan she on thee confer,If thou, O heart, but give thy youthAnd manhood unto her.For she can make thee inly bright,Thy self-love purge away,And lead thee in the path whose lightShines to the perfect day.Who follow her, though men deride,In her strength shall be strong;Shall see their shame become their pride,And share her triumph song!—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

When courage fails and faith burns low,And men are timid grown,Hold fast thy loyalty and knowThat Truth still moveth on.

When courage fails and faith burns low,

And men are timid grown,

Hold fast thy loyalty and know

That Truth still moveth on.

For unseen messengers she hath,To work her will and ways,And even human scorn and wrathGod turneth to her praise.

For unseen messengers she hath,

To work her will and ways,

And even human scorn and wrath

God turneth to her praise.

She can both meek and lordly be,In heavenly might secure;With her is pledge of victory,And patience to endure.

She can both meek and lordly be,

In heavenly might secure;

With her is pledge of victory,

And patience to endure.

The race is not unto the swift,The battle to the strong,When dawn her judgment-days that siftThe claims of right and wrong.

The race is not unto the swift,

The battle to the strong,

When dawn her judgment-days that sift

The claims of right and wrong.

And more than thou canst do for TruthCan she on thee confer,If thou, O heart, but give thy youthAnd manhood unto her.

And more than thou canst do for Truth

Can she on thee confer,

If thou, O heart, but give thy youth

And manhood unto her.

For she can make thee inly bright,Thy self-love purge away,And lead thee in the path whose lightShines to the perfect day.

For she can make thee inly bright,

Thy self-love purge away,

And lead thee in the path whose light

Shines to the perfect day.

Who follow her, though men deride,In her strength shall be strong;Shall see their shame become their pride,And share her triumph song!

Who follow her, though men deride,

In her strength shall be strong;

Shall see their shame become their pride,

And share her triumph song!

—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

———

I am Liberty—God's daughter!My symbols—a law and a torch;Not a sword to threaten slaughter,Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch;But a light that the world may see,And a truth that shall make men free.I am the sister of Duty,And I am the sister of Faith;To-day adored for my beauty,To-morrow led forth for death.I am she whom ages prayed for;Heroes suffered undismayed for;Whom the martyrs were betrayed for.—John Boyle O'Reilly.

I am Liberty—God's daughter!My symbols—a law and a torch;Not a sword to threaten slaughter,Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch;But a light that the world may see,And a truth that shall make men free.

I am Liberty—God's daughter!

My symbols—a law and a torch;

Not a sword to threaten slaughter,

Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch;

But a light that the world may see,

And a truth that shall make men free.

I am the sister of Duty,And I am the sister of Faith;To-day adored for my beauty,To-morrow led forth for death.I am she whom ages prayed for;Heroes suffered undismayed for;Whom the martyrs were betrayed for.

I am the sister of Duty,

And I am the sister of Faith;

To-day adored for my beauty,

To-morrow led forth for death.

I am she whom ages prayed for;

Heroes suffered undismayed for;

Whom the martyrs were betrayed for.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

———

My soul was stirred; I prayed, "Let meDo some great work, so purely,To right life's wrongs, that I shall knowThat I have loved Thee surely."My lips sent forth their eager cry,The while my heart beat faster,"For some great deed to prove my loveSend me; send me, my Master!"From out the silence came a voice,Saying: "If God thou fearest,Rise up and do, thy whole life through,The duty that lies nearest.The friendly word, the kindly deed,Though small the act in seeming,Shall in the end unto thy soulProve mightier than thy dreaming.The cup of water to the faint,Or rest unto the weary,The light thou giv'st another's life,Shall make thine own less dreary.And boundless realms of faith and loveWill wait for thy possessing;Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst winUnto thy soul a blessing."And so I wait with peaceful heart,Content to do His pleasure;Not caring if the world shall mockAt smallness of the measureOf thoughts or deeds or daily life.He knows the true endeavor—To do His will, to seek His face—And He will fail me never.—Sarah A. Gibbs.

My soul was stirred; I prayed, "Let me

Do some great work, so purely,

To right life's wrongs, that I shall know

That I have loved Thee surely."

My lips sent forth their eager cry,

The while my heart beat faster,

"For some great deed to prove my love

Send me; send me, my Master!"

From out the silence came a voice,Saying: "If God thou fearest,Rise up and do, thy whole life through,The duty that lies nearest.The friendly word, the kindly deed,Though small the act in seeming,Shall in the end unto thy soulProve mightier than thy dreaming.

From out the silence came a voice,

Saying: "If God thou fearest,

Rise up and do, thy whole life through,

The duty that lies nearest.

The friendly word, the kindly deed,

Though small the act in seeming,

Shall in the end unto thy soul

Prove mightier than thy dreaming.

The cup of water to the faint,Or rest unto the weary,The light thou giv'st another's life,Shall make thine own less dreary.And boundless realms of faith and loveWill wait for thy possessing;Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst winUnto thy soul a blessing."

The cup of water to the faint,

Or rest unto the weary,

The light thou giv'st another's life,

Shall make thine own less dreary.

And boundless realms of faith and love

Will wait for thy possessing;

Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst win

Unto thy soul a blessing."

And so I wait with peaceful heart,Content to do His pleasure;Not caring if the world shall mockAt smallness of the measureOf thoughts or deeds or daily life.He knows the true endeavor—To do His will, to seek His face—And He will fail me never.

And so I wait with peaceful heart,

Content to do His pleasure;

Not caring if the world shall mock

At smallness of the measure

Of thoughts or deeds or daily life.

He knows the true endeavor—

To do His will, to seek His face—

And He will fail me never.

—Sarah A. Gibbs.

———

Hide not thy talent in the earth;However small it be,Its faithful use, its utmost worth,God will require of thee.The humblest service rendered hereHe will as truly ownAs Paul's in his exalted sphere,Or Gabriel's near the throne.The cup of water kindly given,The widow's cheerful mites,Are worthier in the eye of heavenThan pride's most costly rites.His own, which He hath lent on trust,He asks of thee again;Little or much, the claim is just,And thine excuses vain.Go, then, and strive to do thy part—Though humble it may be;The ready hand, the willing heart,Are all heaven asks of thee.—William Cutler.

Hide not thy talent in the earth;However small it be,Its faithful use, its utmost worth,God will require of thee.

Hide not thy talent in the earth;

However small it be,

Its faithful use, its utmost worth,

God will require of thee.

The humblest service rendered hereHe will as truly ownAs Paul's in his exalted sphere,Or Gabriel's near the throne.

The humblest service rendered here

He will as truly own

As Paul's in his exalted sphere,

Or Gabriel's near the throne.

The cup of water kindly given,The widow's cheerful mites,Are worthier in the eye of heavenThan pride's most costly rites.

The cup of water kindly given,

The widow's cheerful mites,

Are worthier in the eye of heaven

Than pride's most costly rites.

His own, which He hath lent on trust,He asks of thee again;Little or much, the claim is just,And thine excuses vain.

His own, which He hath lent on trust,

He asks of thee again;

Little or much, the claim is just,

And thine excuses vain.

Go, then, and strive to do thy part—Though humble it may be;The ready hand, the willing heart,Are all heaven asks of thee.

Go, then, and strive to do thy part—

Though humble it may be;

The ready hand, the willing heart,

Are all heaven asks of thee.

—William Cutler.

———

(Matt.xxv.18)

In a napkin smooth and white,Hidden from all mortal sight,My one talent lies to-night.Mine to hoard, or mine to use;Mine to keep, or mine to lose;May I not do what I choose?Ah! the gift was only lentWith the Giver's known intentThat it should be wisely spent.And I know he will demandEvery farthing at my hand,When I in his presence stand.What will be my grief and shameWhen I hear my humble nameAnd cannot repay his claim!One poor talent—nothing more!All the years that have gone o'erHave not added to the store.Some will double what they hold,Others add to it tenfoldAnd pay back the shining gold.Would that I had toiled like them!All my sloth I now condemn;Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.Lord, oh teach me what to do.Make me faithful, make me true,And the sacred trust renew.Help me, ere too late it be,Something yet to do for Thee,Thou who hast done all for me.

In a napkin smooth and white,Hidden from all mortal sight,My one talent lies to-night.

In a napkin smooth and white,

Hidden from all mortal sight,

My one talent lies to-night.

Mine to hoard, or mine to use;Mine to keep, or mine to lose;May I not do what I choose?

Mine to hoard, or mine to use;

Mine to keep, or mine to lose;

May I not do what I choose?

Ah! the gift was only lentWith the Giver's known intentThat it should be wisely spent.

Ah! the gift was only lent

With the Giver's known intent

That it should be wisely spent.

And I know he will demandEvery farthing at my hand,When I in his presence stand.

And I know he will demand

Every farthing at my hand,

When I in his presence stand.

What will be my grief and shameWhen I hear my humble nameAnd cannot repay his claim!

What will be my grief and shame

When I hear my humble name

And cannot repay his claim!

One poor talent—nothing more!All the years that have gone o'erHave not added to the store.

One poor talent—nothing more!

All the years that have gone o'er

Have not added to the store.

Some will double what they hold,Others add to it tenfoldAnd pay back the shining gold.

Some will double what they hold,

Others add to it tenfold

And pay back the shining gold.

Would that I had toiled like them!All my sloth I now condemn;Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.

Would that I had toiled like them!

All my sloth I now condemn;

Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.

Lord, oh teach me what to do.Make me faithful, make me true,And the sacred trust renew.

Lord, oh teach me what to do.

Make me faithful, make me true,

And the sacred trust renew.

Help me, ere too late it be,Something yet to do for Thee,Thou who hast done all for me.

Help me, ere too late it be,

Something yet to do for Thee,

Thou who hast done all for me.

———

Art thou little? Do thy little well;And for thy comfort knowGreat men can do their greatest workNo better than just so.—Johann W. von Goethe.

Art thou little? Do thy little well;And for thy comfort knowGreat men can do their greatest workNo better than just so.

Art thou little? Do thy little well;

And for thy comfort know

Great men can do their greatest work

No better than just so.

—Johann W. von Goethe.

———

Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how—By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.From the palace to the city on the business of thy KingThou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand:Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gazeIs on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities;Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.And know this—at thy returning thou wilt surely find the KingWith an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one dayReap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how—By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.

Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how—

By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.

From the palace to the city on the business of thy KingThou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.

From the palace to the city on the business of thy King

Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.

Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand:Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.

Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand:

Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.

Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?

Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?

Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?

Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gazeIs on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.

Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze

Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.

Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities;Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.

Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities;

Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.

And know this—at thy returning thou wilt surely find the KingWith an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.

And know this—at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King

With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.

Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one dayReap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.

Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day

Reap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

Not once or twice in our fair island-storyThe path of duty was the way to glory.He, that ever following her commands,On with toil of heart and knees and hands,Thro' the long gorge to the far light has wonHis path upward, and prevailed,Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaledAre close upon the shining table-landsTo which our God himself is moon and sun.—Alfred Tennyson.

Not once or twice in our fair island-story

The path of duty was the way to glory.

He, that ever following her commands,

On with toil of heart and knees and hands,

Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won

His path upward, and prevailed,

Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled

Are close upon the shining table-lands

To which our God himself is moon and sun.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true,But what's the use of sighing?They're soonest with their duties throughWho bravely keep on trying.There's no advantage to be foundIn sorrowing or shirking;They with success are soonest crownedWho just go right on working.Strive patiently and with a willThat shall not be defeated;Keep singing at your task untilYou see it stand completed.Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near,Your sky's glad sunshine murking;Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer,And just go right on working.—Nixon Waterman.

Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true,

But what's the use of sighing?

They're soonest with their duties through

Who bravely keep on trying.

There's no advantage to be found

In sorrowing or shirking;

They with success are soonest crowned

Who just go right on working.

Strive patiently and with a willThat shall not be defeated;Keep singing at your task untilYou see it stand completed.Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near,Your sky's glad sunshine murking;Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer,And just go right on working.

Strive patiently and with a will

That shall not be defeated;

Keep singing at your task until

You see it stand completed.

Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near,

Your sky's glad sunshine murking;

Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer,

And just go right on working.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!Even if he wrongeth thee in aught,Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.But let none wist! Live, day by day,With little and with little swellingThy tale of duty done—the wayThe wise ant-people build their dwelling;Not harming any living thing;That thou may'st have—at time of dying—A Hand to hold thee, and to bringThy footsteps safe; and, so relying,Pass to the farther world. For noneSave Justice leads there! Father, mother,Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,Nor friends, nor kin; nor any otherSave only Justice! All aloneEach entereth here, and each one leavethThis life alone; and every oneThe fruit of all his deeds receivethAlone—alone; bad deeds and good!That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,A thing committed to the burning.But Justice shall not quit thee then,If thou hast served her, therefore neverCease serving; that shall hold thee whenThe darkness falls which falls forever,Which hath no star, nor way and guide.But Justice knows the road; and midnightIs noon to her. Man at her sideGoes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.And he who loved her more than all,Who purged by sorrow his offenses,Shall shine, in realms celestial,With glory, quit of sins and senses.—Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.

Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!Even if he wrongeth thee in aught,Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.

Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!

When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!

Even if he wrongeth thee in aught,

Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.

But let none wist! Live, day by day,With little and with little swellingThy tale of duty done—the wayThe wise ant-people build their dwelling;

But let none wist! Live, day by day,

With little and with little swelling

Thy tale of duty done—the way

The wise ant-people build their dwelling;

Not harming any living thing;That thou may'st have—at time of dying—A Hand to hold thee, and to bringThy footsteps safe; and, so relying,

Not harming any living thing;

That thou may'st have—at time of dying—

A Hand to hold thee, and to bring

Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,

Pass to the farther world. For noneSave Justice leads there! Father, mother,Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other

Pass to the farther world. For none

Save Justice leads there! Father, mother,

Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,

Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other

Save only Justice! All aloneEach entereth here, and each one leavethThis life alone; and every oneThe fruit of all his deeds receiveth

Save only Justice! All alone

Each entereth here, and each one leaveth

This life alone; and every one

The fruit of all his deeds receiveth

Alone—alone; bad deeds and good!That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,A thing committed to the burning.

Alone—alone; bad deeds and good!

That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,

Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,

A thing committed to the burning.

But Justice shall not quit thee then,If thou hast served her, therefore neverCease serving; that shall hold thee whenThe darkness falls which falls forever,

But Justice shall not quit thee then,

If thou hast served her, therefore never

Cease serving; that shall hold thee when

The darkness falls which falls forever,

Which hath no star, nor way and guide.But Justice knows the road; and midnightIs noon to her. Man at her sideGoes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.

Which hath no star, nor way and guide.

But Justice knows the road; and midnight

Is noon to her. Man at her side

Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.

And he who loved her more than all,Who purged by sorrow his offenses,Shall shine, in realms celestial,With glory, quit of sins and senses.

And he who loved her more than all,

Who purged by sorrow his offenses,

Shall shine, in realms celestial,

With glory, quit of sins and senses.

—Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.

———

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;""I will repay," saith the Lord;Ours be the anger divine,Lit by the flash of his word.How shall his vengeance be done?How, when his purpose is clear?Must he come down from the throne?Hath he no instruments here?Sleep not in imbecile trust,Waiting for God to begin;While, growing strong in the dust,Rests the bruised serpent of sin.Right and Wrong—both cannot liveDeath-grappled. Which shall we see?Strike! Only Justice can giveSafety to all that shall be.Shame! to stand faltering thus,Tricked by the balancing odds;Strike! God is waiting for us!Strike! for the vengeance is God's!—John Hay.

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;""I will repay," saith the Lord;Ours be the anger divine,Lit by the flash of his word.

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;"

"I will repay," saith the Lord;

Ours be the anger divine,

Lit by the flash of his word.

How shall his vengeance be done?How, when his purpose is clear?Must he come down from the throne?Hath he no instruments here?

How shall his vengeance be done?

How, when his purpose is clear?

Must he come down from the throne?

Hath he no instruments here?

Sleep not in imbecile trust,Waiting for God to begin;While, growing strong in the dust,Rests the bruised serpent of sin.

Sleep not in imbecile trust,

Waiting for God to begin;

While, growing strong in the dust,

Rests the bruised serpent of sin.

Right and Wrong—both cannot liveDeath-grappled. Which shall we see?Strike! Only Justice can giveSafety to all that shall be.

Right and Wrong—both cannot live

Death-grappled. Which shall we see?

Strike! Only Justice can give

Safety to all that shall be.

Shame! to stand faltering thus,Tricked by the balancing odds;Strike! God is waiting for us!Strike! for the vengeance is God's!

Shame! to stand faltering thus,

Tricked by the balancing odds;

Strike! God is waiting for us!

Strike! for the vengeance is God's!

—John Hay.

———

Bear a lily in thy hand;Gates of brass cannot withstandOne touch of that magic wand.Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,In thy heart the dew of youth,On thy lips the smile of truth.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Bear a lily in thy hand;Gates of brass cannot withstandOne touch of that magic wand.

Bear a lily in thy hand;

Gates of brass cannot withstand

One touch of that magic wand.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,In thy heart the dew of youth,On thy lips the smile of truth.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,

In thy heart the dew of youth,

On thy lips the smile of truth.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

One stitch dropped as the weaver droveHis nimble shuttle to and fro,In and out, beneath, above,Till the pattern seemed to bud and growAs if the fairies had helping been;One small stitch which could scarce be seen,But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;And the perfect pattern was marred for ayeBy the one small stitch that was dropped that day.One small life in God's great plan,How futile it seems as the ages roll,Do what it may or strive how it canTo alter the sweep of the infinite whole!A single stitch in an endless web,A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;And each life that fails of its true intentMars the perfect plan that its Master meant.—Susan Coolidge.

One stitch dropped as the weaver drove

His nimble shuttle to and fro,

In and out, beneath, above,

Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow

As if the fairies had helping been;

One small stitch which could scarce be seen,

But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,

And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;

And the perfect pattern was marred for aye

By the one small stitch that was dropped that day.

One small life in God's great plan,How futile it seems as the ages roll,Do what it may or strive how it canTo alter the sweep of the infinite whole!A single stitch in an endless web,A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;And each life that fails of its true intentMars the perfect plan that its Master meant.

One small life in God's great plan,

How futile it seems as the ages roll,

Do what it may or strive how it can

To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!

A single stitch in an endless web,

A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!

But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,

Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;

And each life that fails of its true intent

Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.

—Susan Coolidge.

———

An angel came from the courts of gold,With gifts and tidings manifold;With blessings many to crown the oneWhose work of life was the noblest done.He came to a rich man's gilded door;Where a beautiful lady stood beforeHis vision, fair as the saints are fair,With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.He needed not to be told her life—The pure young mother, the tender wife;He needed not to be told that she,In home of sorrow and poverty,Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;He thought her worthy in heaven to stand."No! no!" a voice to the angel heartSpoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."He found a door that was worn and old;The night was damp and the wind was cold.A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;The midnight lamp to her features lentA paler look as she toiled the while,But yet the mouth had a restful smile.Doing her duty with honest pride;Breasting temptation on every side."For her the blessings," the angel said,And touched with pity the girlish head."No time nor money for alms has she,But duty is higher than charity."—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

An angel came from the courts of gold,With gifts and tidings manifold;With blessings many to crown the oneWhose work of life was the noblest done.

An angel came from the courts of gold,

With gifts and tidings manifold;

With blessings many to crown the one

Whose work of life was the noblest done.

He came to a rich man's gilded door;Where a beautiful lady stood beforeHis vision, fair as the saints are fair,With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.

He came to a rich man's gilded door;

Where a beautiful lady stood before

His vision, fair as the saints are fair,

With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.

He needed not to be told her life—The pure young mother, the tender wife;He needed not to be told that she,In home of sorrow and poverty,

He needed not to be told her life—

The pure young mother, the tender wife;

He needed not to be told that she,

In home of sorrow and poverty,

Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;He thought her worthy in heaven to stand."No! no!" a voice to the angel heartSpoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."

Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;

He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.

"No! no!" a voice to the angel heart

Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."

He found a door that was worn and old;The night was damp and the wind was cold.A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;The midnight lamp to her features lent

He found a door that was worn and old;

The night was damp and the wind was cold.

A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;

The midnight lamp to her features lent

A paler look as she toiled the while,But yet the mouth had a restful smile.Doing her duty with honest pride;Breasting temptation on every side.

A paler look as she toiled the while,

But yet the mouth had a restful smile.

Doing her duty with honest pride;

Breasting temptation on every side.

"For her the blessings," the angel said,And touched with pity the girlish head."No time nor money for alms has she,But duty is higher than charity."

"For her the blessings," the angel said,

And touched with pity the girlish head.

"No time nor money for alms has she,

But duty is higher than charity."

—Sarah Knowles Bolton.

———

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