HUMILITY

There is peace in power; the men who speakWith the loudest tongues do least;And the surest sign of a mind that is weakIs its want of the power to rest.—John Boyle O'Reilly.

There is peace in power; the men who speakWith the loudest tongues do least;And the surest sign of a mind that is weakIs its want of the power to rest.

There is peace in power; the men who speak

With the loudest tongues do least;

And the surest sign of a mind that is weak

Is its want of the power to rest.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

———

Tost on a sea of troubles, Soul, my Soul,Thyself do thou control;And to the weapons of advancing foesA stubborn breast oppose:Undaunted 'mid the hostile mightOf squadrons burning for the fightThine be no boasting when the victor's crownWins thee deserved renown;Thine no dejected sorrow, when defeatWould urge a base retreat;Rejoice in joyous things—nor overmuchLet grief thy bosom touch'Midst evil, and still bear in mindHow changeful are the ways of humankind.—Archilochos, tr. by William Hay.

Tost on a sea of troubles, Soul, my Soul,

Thyself do thou control;

And to the weapons of advancing foes

A stubborn breast oppose:

Undaunted 'mid the hostile might

Of squadrons burning for the fight

Thine be no boasting when the victor's crown

Wins thee deserved renown;

Thine no dejected sorrow, when defeat

Would urge a base retreat;

Rejoice in joyous things—nor overmuch

Let grief thy bosom touch

'Midst evil, and still bear in mind

How changeful are the ways of humankind.

—Archilochos, tr. by William Hay.

———

Grant us Thy peace, down from thy presence falling,As on the thirsty earth cool night-dews sweet;Grant us thy peace, to thy pure paths recalling,From devious ways, our worn and wandering feet.Grant us Thy peace, through winning and through losing,Through gloom and gladness of our pilgrim way;Grant us thy peace, safe in thy love's enclosing,Thou who all things in heaven and earth dost sway.Give us Thy peace, not as the world has given,In momentary rays that fitful gleamed,But calm, deep, sure, the peace of spirits shriven,Of hearts surrendered and of souls redeemed.Grant us thy peace, that like a deepening riverSwells ever outward to the sea of praise.O thou of peace the only Lord and Giver,Grant us thy peace, O Saviour, all our days.—Eliza Scudder.

Grant us Thy peace, down from thy presence falling,As on the thirsty earth cool night-dews sweet;Grant us thy peace, to thy pure paths recalling,From devious ways, our worn and wandering feet.

Grant us Thy peace, down from thy presence falling,

As on the thirsty earth cool night-dews sweet;

Grant us thy peace, to thy pure paths recalling,

From devious ways, our worn and wandering feet.

Grant us Thy peace, through winning and through losing,Through gloom and gladness of our pilgrim way;Grant us thy peace, safe in thy love's enclosing,Thou who all things in heaven and earth dost sway.

Grant us Thy peace, through winning and through losing,

Through gloom and gladness of our pilgrim way;

Grant us thy peace, safe in thy love's enclosing,

Thou who all things in heaven and earth dost sway.

Give us Thy peace, not as the world has given,In momentary rays that fitful gleamed,But calm, deep, sure, the peace of spirits shriven,Of hearts surrendered and of souls redeemed.

Give us Thy peace, not as the world has given,

In momentary rays that fitful gleamed,

But calm, deep, sure, the peace of spirits shriven,

Of hearts surrendered and of souls redeemed.

Grant us thy peace, that like a deepening riverSwells ever outward to the sea of praise.O thou of peace the only Lord and Giver,Grant us thy peace, O Saviour, all our days.

Grant us thy peace, that like a deepening river

Swells ever outward to the sea of praise.

O thou of peace the only Lord and Giver,

Grant us thy peace, O Saviour, all our days.

—Eliza Scudder.

———

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,While these hot breezes blow;Be like the night-dew's cooling balmUpon earth's fevered brow.Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,Soft resting on thy breast;Soothe me with holy hymn and psalmAnd bid my spirit rest.Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rudeThe sounds my ear that greet;Calm in the closet's solitude,Calm in the bustling street;Calm in the hour of buoyant health,Calm in my hour of pain,Calm in my poverty or wealth,Calm in my loss or gain;Calm when the great world's news with powerMy listening spirit stir;Let not the tidings of the hourE'er find too fond an ear;Calm as the ray of sun or starWhich storms assail in vain;Moving unruffled through earth's war,The eternal calm to gain.—Horatius Bonar.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,While these hot breezes blow;Be like the night-dew's cooling balmUpon earth's fevered brow.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,

While these hot breezes blow;

Be like the night-dew's cooling balm

Upon earth's fevered brow.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,Soft resting on thy breast;Soothe me with holy hymn and psalmAnd bid my spirit rest.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,

Soft resting on thy breast;

Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm

And bid my spirit rest.

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rudeThe sounds my ear that greet;Calm in the closet's solitude,Calm in the bustling street;

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude

The sounds my ear that greet;

Calm in the closet's solitude,

Calm in the bustling street;

Calm in the hour of buoyant health,Calm in my hour of pain,Calm in my poverty or wealth,Calm in my loss or gain;

Calm in the hour of buoyant health,

Calm in my hour of pain,

Calm in my poverty or wealth,

Calm in my loss or gain;

Calm when the great world's news with powerMy listening spirit stir;Let not the tidings of the hourE'er find too fond an ear;

Calm when the great world's news with power

My listening spirit stir;

Let not the tidings of the hour

E'er find too fond an ear;

Calm as the ray of sun or starWhich storms assail in vain;Moving unruffled through earth's war,The eternal calm to gain.

Calm as the ray of sun or star

Which storms assail in vain;

Moving unruffled through earth's war,

The eternal calm to gain.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Father, take not awayThe burden of the day,But help me that I bear itAs Christ his burden boreWhen cross and thorn he woreAnd none with him could share it;In his name help I pray!I only ask for graceTo see that patient faceAnd my impatient one;Ask that mine grow like His—Sign of an inward peaceFrom trust in thee alone,Unchanged by time or place.

Father, take not awayThe burden of the day,But help me that I bear itAs Christ his burden boreWhen cross and thorn he woreAnd none with him could share it;In his name help I pray!

Father, take not away

The burden of the day,

But help me that I bear it

As Christ his burden bore

When cross and thorn he wore

And none with him could share it;

In his name help I pray!

I only ask for graceTo see that patient faceAnd my impatient one;Ask that mine grow like His—Sign of an inward peaceFrom trust in thee alone,Unchanged by time or place.

I only ask for grace

To see that patient face

And my impatient one;

Ask that mine grow like His—

Sign of an inward peace

From trust in thee alone,

Unchanged by time or place.

———

And they who do their souls no wrong,But keep at eve the faith of morn,Shall daily hear the angel-song,To-day the Prince of Peace is born.—James Russell Lowell.

And they who do their souls no wrong,But keep at eve the faith of morn,Shall daily hear the angel-song,To-day the Prince of Peace is born.

And they who do their souls no wrong,

But keep at eve the faith of morn,

Shall daily hear the angel-song,

To-day the Prince of Peace is born.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

Drop thy still dews of quietness,Till all our strivings cease;Take from our souls the strain and stress,And let our ordered lives confessThe beauty of thy peace.Breathe through the heats of our desireThy coolness and thy balm;Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,O still, small voice of calm!—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Drop thy still dews of quietness,Till all our strivings cease;Take from our souls the strain and stress,And let our ordered lives confessThe beauty of thy peace.

Drop thy still dews of quietness,

Till all our strivings cease;

Take from our souls the strain and stress,

And let our ordered lives confess

The beauty of thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desireThy coolness and thy balm;Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,O still, small voice of calm!

Breathe through the heats of our desire

Thy coolness and thy balm;

Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;

Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,

O still, small voice of calm!

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

As flows the river calm and deep.In silence toward the sea,So floweth ever, and ceaseth never,The love of God to me.What peace He bringeth to my heart,Deep as the soundless sea;How sweetly singeth the soul that clingeth,My loving Lord, to thee.

As flows the river calm and deep.In silence toward the sea,So floweth ever, and ceaseth never,The love of God to me.

As flows the river calm and deep.

In silence toward the sea,

So floweth ever, and ceaseth never,

The love of God to me.

What peace He bringeth to my heart,Deep as the soundless sea;How sweetly singeth the soul that clingeth,My loving Lord, to thee.

What peace He bringeth to my heart,

Deep as the soundless sea;

How sweetly singeth the soul that clingeth,

My loving Lord, to thee.

———

He fails never.If He cannot work by us He will work through us.Let our souls be calm.We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars,Impatient that we're nothing.Get work, get work; be sure 'tis betterThan what you work to get.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

He fails never.

If He cannot work by us He will work through us.

Let our souls be calm.

We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars,

Impatient that we're nothing.

Get work, get work; be sure 'tis better

Than what you work to get.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

Calm Soul of all things, make it mineTo feel amid the city's jar,That there abides a peace of thineMan did not make and cannot mar.The will to neither strive nor cry,The power to feel with others give;Calm, calm me more, nor let me dieBefore I have begun to live.—Matthew Arnold.

Calm Soul of all things, make it mine

To feel amid the city's jar,

That there abides a peace of thine

Man did not make and cannot mar.

The will to neither strive nor cry,

The power to feel with others give;

Calm, calm me more, nor let me die

Before I have begun to live.

—Matthew Arnold.

———

What secret trouble stirs thy heart?Why all this fret and flurry?Dost thou not know that what is bestIn this too restless world is restFrom over-work and hurry?—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

What secret trouble stirs thy heart?Why all this fret and flurry?Dost thou not know that what is bestIn this too restless world is restFrom over-work and hurry?

What secret trouble stirs thy heart?

Why all this fret and flurry?

Dost thou not know that what is best

In this too restless world is rest

From over-work and hurry?

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

We bless thee for thy peace, O God,Deep as the boundless sea,It falls like sunshine on the road,Of those who trust in thee;That peace which suffers and is strong,Trusts where it cannot see:Deems not the trial way too long,But leaves the end with thee.

We bless thee for thy peace, O God,

Deep as the boundless sea,

It falls like sunshine on the road,

Of those who trust in thee;

That peace which suffers and is strong,

Trusts where it cannot see:

Deems not the trial way too long,

But leaves the end with thee.

———

Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makesError a fault, and truth discourtesy.Why should I feel another man's mistakesMore than his sicknesses or poverty?In love I should; but anger is not love,Nor wisdom, neither; therefore gently move.—George Herbert.

Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes

Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.

Why should I feel another man's mistakes

More than his sicknesses or poverty?

In love I should; but anger is not love,

Nor wisdom, neither; therefore gently move.

—George Herbert.

———

Why fret thee, soul,For things beyond thy small control?But do thy part, and thou shalt seeHeaven will have charge of them and thee.Sow then thy seed, and wait in peaceThe Lord's increase.

Why fret thee, soul,

For things beyond thy small control?

But do thy part, and thou shalt see

Heaven will have charge of them and thee.

Sow then thy seed, and wait in peace

The Lord's increase.

———

What is the use of worryingAnd flurrying and scurryingAnd breaking up one's rest;When all the world is teaching usAnd praying and beseeching usThat quiet ways are best.

What is the use of worrying

And flurrying and scurrying

And breaking up one's rest;

When all the world is teaching us

And praying and beseeching us

That quiet ways are best.

———

I feel within meA peace above all earthly dignitiesA still and quiet conscience.—William Shakespeare.

I feel within meA peace above all earthly dignitiesA still and quiet conscience.

I feel within me

A peace above all earthly dignities

A still and quiet conscience.

—William Shakespeare.

———

The stormy blast is strong, but mightier stillThe calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will.—John Sterling.

The stormy blast is strong, but mightier stillThe calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will.

The stormy blast is strong, but mightier still

The calm that binds the storm beneath its peaceful will.

—John Sterling.

———

As running water cleanseth bodies dropped thereinSo heavenly truth doth cleanse the secret heart from sin.—From the Sanskrit, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

As running water cleanseth bodies dropped thereinSo heavenly truth doth cleanse the secret heart from sin.

As running water cleanseth bodies dropped therein

So heavenly truth doth cleanse the secret heart from sin.

—From the Sanskrit, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam,As men go forth who find unquietness at home.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam,As men go forth who find unquietness at home.

From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam,

As men go forth who find unquietness at home.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

A mind from every evil thought set freeI count the noblest gift of Deity.—Æschylus, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

A mind from every evil thought set freeI count the noblest gift of Deity.

A mind from every evil thought set free

I count the noblest gift of Deity.

—Æschylus, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

A stone makes not great rivers turbid grow;When saints are vexed their shallowness they show.—Saadi.

A stone makes not great rivers turbid grow;When saints are vexed their shallowness they show.

A stone makes not great rivers turbid grow;

When saints are vexed their shallowness they show.

—Saadi.

———

Yes, Lord, one great eternal yesTo all my Lord shall say;To what I know, or yet shall know,In all the untried way.

Yes, Lord, one great eternal yes

To all my Lord shall say;

To what I know, or yet shall know,

In all the untried way.

———

Good strivingBrings thriving.Better a dog who worksThan a lion who shirks.—From the Persian.

Good strivingBrings thriving.Better a dog who worksThan a lion who shirks.

Good striving

Brings thriving.

Better a dog who works

Than a lion who shirks.

—From the Persian.

Father, I scarcely dare to pray,So clear I see, now it is done,That I have wasted half my dayAnd left my work but just begun.So clear I see that things I thoughtWere right, or harmless, were a sin;So clear I see that I have soughtUnconscious, selfish aims to win;So clear I see that I have hurtThe souls I might have helped to save;That I have slothful been, inert,Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave.In outskirts of thy kingdom vast,Father, the humblest spot give me;Set me the lowliest task thou hast;Let me, repentant, work for thee.—Helen Hunt Jackson.

Father, I scarcely dare to pray,So clear I see, now it is done,That I have wasted half my dayAnd left my work but just begun.

Father, I scarcely dare to pray,

So clear I see, now it is done,

That I have wasted half my day

And left my work but just begun.

So clear I see that things I thoughtWere right, or harmless, were a sin;So clear I see that I have soughtUnconscious, selfish aims to win;

So clear I see that things I thought

Were right, or harmless, were a sin;

So clear I see that I have sought

Unconscious, selfish aims to win;

So clear I see that I have hurtThe souls I might have helped to save;That I have slothful been, inert,Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave.

So clear I see that I have hurt

The souls I might have helped to save;

That I have slothful been, inert,

Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave.

In outskirts of thy kingdom vast,Father, the humblest spot give me;Set me the lowliest task thou hast;Let me, repentant, work for thee.

In outskirts of thy kingdom vast,

Father, the humblest spot give me;

Set me the lowliest task thou hast;

Let me, repentant, work for thee.

—Helen Hunt Jackson.

———

Thy home is with the humble, Lord!The simplest are the best,Thy lodging is in childlike hearts:Thou makest there thy rest.Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!If thou wilt stay with me,Of lowly thoughts and simple waysI'll build a house for thee.Who made this beating heart of mineBut Thou, my heavenly guest?Let no one have it, then, but thee,And let it be thy rest.—Lyra Catholica.

Thy home is with the humble, Lord!The simplest are the best,Thy lodging is in childlike hearts:Thou makest there thy rest.

Thy home is with the humble, Lord!

The simplest are the best,

Thy lodging is in childlike hearts:

Thou makest there thy rest.

Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!If thou wilt stay with me,Of lowly thoughts and simple waysI'll build a house for thee.

Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!

If thou wilt stay with me,

Of lowly thoughts and simple ways

I'll build a house for thee.

Who made this beating heart of mineBut Thou, my heavenly guest?Let no one have it, then, but thee,And let it be thy rest.

Who made this beating heart of mine

But Thou, my heavenly guest?

Let no one have it, then, but thee,

And let it be thy rest.

—Lyra Catholica.

———

Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light,But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light,But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight.

Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light,

But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

The Man who Loved the Names of ThingsWent forth beneath the skiesAnd named all things that he beheld,And people called him wise.An unseen presence walked with himForever by his side,The wedded mistress of his soul—For Knowledge was his bride;She named the flowers, the weeds, the trees,And all the growths of all the seas.She told him all the rocks by name,The winds and whence they blew;She told him how the seas were formed,And how the mountains grew.She numbered all the stars for him;And all the rounded skiesWere mapped and charted for the gazeOf his devouring eyes.Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;They praised—and he was very proud.

The Man who Loved the Names of Things

Went forth beneath the skies

And named all things that he beheld,

And people called him wise.

An unseen presence walked with him

Forever by his side,

The wedded mistress of his soul—

For Knowledge was his bride;

She named the flowers, the weeds, the trees,

And all the growths of all the seas.

She told him all the rocks by name,The winds and whence they blew;She told him how the seas were formed,And how the mountains grew.She numbered all the stars for him;And all the rounded skiesWere mapped and charted for the gazeOf his devouring eyes.Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;They praised—and he was very proud.

She told him all the rocks by name,

The winds and whence they blew;

She told him how the seas were formed,

And how the mountains grew.

She numbered all the stars for him;

And all the rounded skies

Were mapped and charted for the gaze

Of his devouring eyes.

Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;

They praised—and he was very proud.

The Man who Loved the Soul of ThingsWent forth serene and glad,And mused upon the mighty world,And people called him mad.An unseen presence walked with himForever by his side,The wedded mistress of his soul—For Wisdom was his bride.She showed him all this mighty frame,And bade him feel—but named no name.She stood with him upon the hillsRinged by the azure sky,And shamed his lowly thought with starsAnd bade it climb as high.And all the birds he could not name,The nameless stars that roll,The unnamed blossoms at his feetTalked with him soul to soul;He heard the Nameless Glory speakIn silence—and was very meek.—Sam Walter Foss.

The Man who Loved the Soul of Things

Went forth serene and glad,

And mused upon the mighty world,

And people called him mad.

An unseen presence walked with him

Forever by his side,

The wedded mistress of his soul—

For Wisdom was his bride.

She showed him all this mighty frame,

And bade him feel—but named no name.

She stood with him upon the hillsRinged by the azure sky,And shamed his lowly thought with starsAnd bade it climb as high.And all the birds he could not name,The nameless stars that roll,The unnamed blossoms at his feetTalked with him soul to soul;He heard the Nameless Glory speakIn silence—and was very meek.

She stood with him upon the hills

Ringed by the azure sky,

And shamed his lowly thought with stars

And bade it climb as high.

And all the birds he could not name,

The nameless stars that roll,

The unnamed blossoms at his feet

Talked with him soul to soul;

He heard the Nameless Glory speak

In silence—and was very meek.

—Sam Walter Foss.

———

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter!I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought!Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost heart portrayed!I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest,And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of shining gold.

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!

I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter!

I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought!

Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost heart portrayed!

I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest,And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of shining gold.

I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!

Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!

Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest,

And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of shining gold.

———

He that is down need fear no fall;He that is low, no pride;He that is humble ever shallHave God to be his guide.I am content with what I have,Little be it, or much;And, Lord, contentment still I crave,Because thou savest such.Fullness to such a burden isThat go on pilgrimage;Here little, and hereafter bliss,Is best from age to age.—John Bunyan.

He that is down need fear no fall;He that is low, no pride;He that is humble ever shallHave God to be his guide.

He that is down need fear no fall;

He that is low, no pride;

He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,Little be it, or much;And, Lord, contentment still I crave,Because thou savest such.

I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much;

And, Lord, contentment still I crave,

Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden isThat go on pilgrimage;Here little, and hereafter bliss,Is best from age to age.

Fullness to such a burden is

That go on pilgrimage;

Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best from age to age.

—John Bunyan.

———

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.Submit thyself to God for preparation,Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord;Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.Satan is pleased when man dictates to God.Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trampleOn each self-flattering fancy that appears;Did not the Lord himself, for our example,Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?

O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?

Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?

Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.

Submit thyself to God for preparation,Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord;Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.Satan is pleased when man dictates to God.

Submit thyself to God for preparation,

Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord;

Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.

Satan is pleased when man dictates to God.

Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trampleOn each self-flattering fancy that appears;Did not the Lord himself, for our example,Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?

Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample

On each self-flattering fancy that appears;

Did not the Lord himself, for our example,

Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?

———

God of our fathers, known of old—Lord of our far-flung battle-line—Beneath whose awful hand we holdDominion over palm and pine—Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.The tumult and the shouting dies—The Captains and the Kings depart—Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,An humble and a contrite heart.Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.Far-called our navies melt away—On dune and headland sinks the fire—Lo, all our pomp of yesterdayIs one with Nineveh and Tyre.Judge of the nations, spare us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.If, drunk with sight of power, we looseWild tongues that have not thee in awe—Such boastings as the Gentiles use,Or lesser breeds without the Law—Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.For heathen heart that puts her trustIn reeking tube and iron shard—All valiant dust that builds on dust,And guarding calls not Thee to guard.For frantic boast and foolish word,Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.—Rudyard Kipling.

God of our fathers, known of old—Lord of our far-flung battle-line—Beneath whose awful hand we holdDominion over palm and pine—Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.

God of our fathers, known of old—

Lord of our far-flung battle-line—

Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine—

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies—The Captains and the Kings depart—Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,An humble and a contrite heart.Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies—

The Captains and the Kings depart—

Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget.

Far-called our navies melt away—On dune and headland sinks the fire—Lo, all our pomp of yesterdayIs one with Nineveh and Tyre.Judge of the nations, spare us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.

Far-called our navies melt away—

On dune and headland sinks the fire—

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.

Judge of the nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget.

If, drunk with sight of power, we looseWild tongues that have not thee in awe—Such boastings as the Gentiles use,Or lesser breeds without the Law—Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,Lest we forget—lest we forget.

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not thee in awe—

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget.

For heathen heart that puts her trustIn reeking tube and iron shard—All valiant dust that builds on dust,And guarding calls not Thee to guard.For frantic boast and foolish word,Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard—

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard.

For frantic boast and foolish word,

Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.

—Rudyard Kipling.

———

In humbleness, O Lord, I askThat thou bestow on meThe will and strength to do some taskFor growth of love for thee;Some task, not of my chosen will—For wisdom is not mine—But let my frailsome life fulfillSome perfect thought of thine.

In humbleness, O Lord, I ask

That thou bestow on me

The will and strength to do some task

For growth of love for thee;

Some task, not of my chosen will—

For wisdom is not mine—

But let my frailsome life fulfill

Some perfect thought of thine.

———

I cannot think but God must knowAbout the thing I long for so;I know he is so good, so kind,I cannot think but he will findSome way to help, some way to showMe to the thing I long for so.I stretch my hand; it lies so near,It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,"Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me knowIf it is wrong to want it so!"He only smiles, he does not speak;My heart grows weaker and more weakWith looking at the thing so dear,Which lies so far, and yet so near.Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feetThis thing which looks so near, so sweet;I will not seek, I will not long;I almost fear I have been wrong;I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,And wait, till by some loud, clear wordThou callest me to thy loved feetTo take this thing so dear, so sweet.—Saxe Holm.

I cannot think but God must knowAbout the thing I long for so;I know he is so good, so kind,I cannot think but he will findSome way to help, some way to showMe to the thing I long for so.

I cannot think but God must know

About the thing I long for so;

I know he is so good, so kind,

I cannot think but he will find

Some way to help, some way to show

Me to the thing I long for so.

I stretch my hand; it lies so near,It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,"Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me knowIf it is wrong to want it so!"He only smiles, he does not speak;My heart grows weaker and more weakWith looking at the thing so dear,Which lies so far, and yet so near.

I stretch my hand; it lies so near,

It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,

"Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know

If it is wrong to want it so!"

He only smiles, he does not speak;

My heart grows weaker and more weak

With looking at the thing so dear,

Which lies so far, and yet so near.

Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feetThis thing which looks so near, so sweet;I will not seek, I will not long;I almost fear I have been wrong;I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,And wait, till by some loud, clear wordThou callest me to thy loved feetTo take this thing so dear, so sweet.

Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet

This thing which looks so near, so sweet;

I will not seek, I will not long;

I almost fear I have been wrong;

I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,

And wait, till by some loud, clear word

Thou callest me to thy loved feet

To take this thing so dear, so sweet.

—Saxe Holm.

———

Others shall sing the song,Others shall right the wrong,Finish what I begin,And all I fail of win.What matter, I or they,Mine or another's day,So the right word be said,And life the sweeter made?Ring, bells in unreared steeples,The joy of unborn peoples!Sound, trumpets far-off blown,Your triumph is my own.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Others shall sing the song,Others shall right the wrong,Finish what I begin,And all I fail of win.

Others shall sing the song,

Others shall right the wrong,

Finish what I begin,

And all I fail of win.

What matter, I or they,Mine or another's day,So the right word be said,And life the sweeter made?

What matter, I or they,

Mine or another's day,

So the right word be said,

And life the sweeter made?

Ring, bells in unreared steeples,The joy of unborn peoples!Sound, trumpets far-off blown,Your triumph is my own.

Ring, bells in unreared steeples,

The joy of unborn peoples!

Sound, trumpets far-off blown,

Your triumph is my own.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be;Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the skyShoots higher much than he that means a tree.A grain of glory mixed with humblenessCures both a fever and lethargickness.—George Herbert.

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;

So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be;

Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky

Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.

A grain of glory mixed with humbleness

Cures both a fever and lethargickness.

—George Herbert.

———

Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;For we are weak and need some deep revealingOf trust, and strength, and calmness from above.Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,And thou hast made each step an onward one;And we will ever trust each unknown morrow—Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.In the heart's depths a peace serene and holyAbides; and when pain seems to have its will,Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowlyStronger than agony, and we be still!Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.—Samuel Johnson.

Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;For we are weak and need some deep revealingOf trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,

Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;

For we are weak and need some deep revealing

Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,And thou hast made each step an onward one;And we will ever trust each unknown morrow—Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.

Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,

And thou hast made each step an onward one;

And we will ever trust each unknown morrow—

Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.

In the heart's depths a peace serene and holyAbides; and when pain seems to have its will,Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowlyStronger than agony, and we be still!

In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy

Abides; and when pain seems to have its will,

Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly

Stronger than agony, and we be still!

Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,

Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;

Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,

Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

—Samuel Johnson.

———

Half feeling our own weakness,We place our hands in Thine—Knowing but half our darknessWe ask for light divine.Then, when Thy strong arm holds us,Our weakness most we feel,And thy love and light around usOur darkness must reveal.Too oft, when faithless doubtingsAround our spirits press,We cry, "Can hands so feebleGrasp such almightiness?"While thus we doubt and trembleOur hold still looser grows;While on our darkness gazingVainly thy radiance glows.Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,And guide us by thy hand,In thy light teach us light to see,In thy strength strong to stand.Then though our hands be feeble,If they but touch thine arm,Thy light and power shall lead us,And keep us strong and calm.

Half feeling our own weakness,

We place our hands in Thine—

Knowing but half our darkness

We ask for light divine.

Then, when Thy strong arm holds us,

Our weakness most we feel,

And thy love and light around us

Our darkness must reveal.

Too oft, when faithless doubtingsAround our spirits press,We cry, "Can hands so feebleGrasp such almightiness?"While thus we doubt and trembleOur hold still looser grows;While on our darkness gazingVainly thy radiance glows.

Too oft, when faithless doubtings

Around our spirits press,

We cry, "Can hands so feeble

Grasp such almightiness?"

While thus we doubt and tremble

Our hold still looser grows;

While on our darkness gazing

Vainly thy radiance glows.

Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,And guide us by thy hand,In thy light teach us light to see,In thy strength strong to stand.Then though our hands be feeble,If they but touch thine arm,Thy light and power shall lead us,And keep us strong and calm.

Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,

And guide us by thy hand,

In thy light teach us light to see,

In thy strength strong to stand.

Then though our hands be feeble,

If they but touch thine arm,

Thy light and power shall lead us,

And keep us strong and calm.

———

I would not ask Thee that my daysShould flow quite smoothly on and on,Lest I should learn to love the worldToo well, ere all my time was done.I would not ask Thee that my workShould never bring me pain nor fear;Lest I should learn to work alone,And never wish thy presence near.I would not ask Thee that my friendsShould always kind and constant be;Lest I should learn to lay my faithIn them alone, and not in thee.But I would ask a humble heart,A changeless will to work and wake,A firm faith in Thy providence,The rest—'tis thine to give or take.—Alfred Norris.

I would not ask Thee that my daysShould flow quite smoothly on and on,Lest I should learn to love the worldToo well, ere all my time was done.

I would not ask Thee that my days

Should flow quite smoothly on and on,

Lest I should learn to love the world

Too well, ere all my time was done.

I would not ask Thee that my workShould never bring me pain nor fear;Lest I should learn to work alone,And never wish thy presence near.

I would not ask Thee that my work

Should never bring me pain nor fear;

Lest I should learn to work alone,

And never wish thy presence near.

I would not ask Thee that my friendsShould always kind and constant be;Lest I should learn to lay my faithIn them alone, and not in thee.

I would not ask Thee that my friends

Should always kind and constant be;

Lest I should learn to lay my faith

In them alone, and not in thee.

But I would ask a humble heart,A changeless will to work and wake,A firm faith in Thy providence,The rest—'tis thine to give or take.

But I would ask a humble heart,

A changeless will to work and wake,

A firm faith in Thy providence,

The rest—'tis thine to give or take.

—Alfred Norris.

———

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwellsIn heads replete with thoughts of other men;Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,The mere material with which Wisdom builds,Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.—William Cowper.

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,

Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells

In heads replete with thoughts of other men;

Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.

Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,

The mere material with which Wisdom builds,

Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,

Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.

Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,

Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

—William Cowper.

———

Humble we must be if to heaven we go;High is the roof there; but the gate is low.—Robert Herrick.

Humble we must be if to heaven we go;High is the roof there; but the gate is low.

Humble we must be if to heaven we go;

High is the roof there; but the gate is low.

—Robert Herrick.

———

It is not mine to run, with eager feet,Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.It is not mine to pour the oil and wineOr bring the purple robe and linen fine.It is not mine to break at his dear feetThe alabaster box of ointment sweet.It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.He hath no need of me in grand affairs,Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flowerBloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;May speak one quiet word when all is still,Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;Or sing some high, clear song on which may soarSome glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.—Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.

It is not mine to run, with eager feet,Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.

It is not mine to run, with eager feet,

Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.

It is not mine to pour the oil and wineOr bring the purple robe and linen fine.

It is not mine to pour the oil and wine

Or bring the purple robe and linen fine.

It is not mine to break at his dear feetThe alabaster box of ointment sweet.

It is not mine to break at his dear feet

The alabaster box of ointment sweet.

It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.

It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,

Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.

It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.

It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,

Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.

He hath no need of me in grand affairs,Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.

He hath no need of me in grand affairs,

Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.

Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flowerBloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;

Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flower

Bloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;

If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;

If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,

May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;

May speak one quiet word when all is still,Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;

May speak one quiet word when all is still,

Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;

Or sing some high, clear song on which may soarSome glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.

Or sing some high, clear song on which may soar

Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.

—Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.

———

Christ wants the best. He in the far-off agesOnce claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat;And still he asks his own with gentlest pleadingTo lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet.He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love;He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have.

Christ wants the best. He in the far-off ages

Once claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat;

And still he asks his own with gentlest pleading

To lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet.

He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love;

He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have.

———

My sins and follies, Lord, by theeFrom others hidden are,That such good words are spoke of meAs now and then I hear;For sure if others know me such,Such as myself I know,I should have been dispraised as muchAs I am praisèd now.The praise, therefore, which I have heard,Delights not so my mind,As those things make my heart afeardWhich in myself I find;And I had rather to be blamed,So I were blameless made,Than for much virtue to be famedWhen I no virtues had.Though slanders to an innocentSometimes do bitter grow,Their bitterness procures content,If clear himself he know.And when a virtuous man hath erredIf praised himself he hear,It makes him grieve and more afeardThan if he slandered were.Lord, therefore make my heart upright,Whate'er my deeds do seem;And righteous rather in thy sight,Than in the world's esteem.And if aught good appears to beIn any act of mine,Let thankfulness be found in me,And all the praise be thine.—George Wither (1588-1667).

My sins and follies, Lord, by thee

From others hidden are,

That such good words are spoke of me

As now and then I hear;

For sure if others know me such,

Such as myself I know,

I should have been dispraised as much

As I am praisèd now.

The praise, therefore, which I have heard,Delights not so my mind,As those things make my heart afeardWhich in myself I find;And I had rather to be blamed,So I were blameless made,Than for much virtue to be famedWhen I no virtues had.

The praise, therefore, which I have heard,

Delights not so my mind,

As those things make my heart afeard

Which in myself I find;

And I had rather to be blamed,

So I were blameless made,

Than for much virtue to be famed

When I no virtues had.

Though slanders to an innocentSometimes do bitter grow,Their bitterness procures content,If clear himself he know.And when a virtuous man hath erredIf praised himself he hear,It makes him grieve and more afeardThan if he slandered were.

Though slanders to an innocent

Sometimes do bitter grow,

Their bitterness procures content,

If clear himself he know.

And when a virtuous man hath erred

If praised himself he hear,

It makes him grieve and more afeard

Than if he slandered were.

Lord, therefore make my heart upright,Whate'er my deeds do seem;And righteous rather in thy sight,Than in the world's esteem.And if aught good appears to beIn any act of mine,Let thankfulness be found in me,And all the praise be thine.

Lord, therefore make my heart upright,

Whate'er my deeds do seem;

And righteous rather in thy sight,

Than in the world's esteem.

And if aught good appears to be

In any act of mine,

Let thankfulness be found in me,

And all the praise be thine.

—George Wither (1588-1667).

———

One part, one little part, we dimly scan,Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,If but that little part incongruous seem.Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem,Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.O then renounce that impious self-esteemThat aims to trace the secrets of the skies;For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.—James Beattie.

One part, one little part, we dimly scan,

Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;

Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,

If but that little part incongruous seem.

Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem,

Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.

O then renounce that impious self-esteem

That aims to trace the secrets of the skies;

For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.

—James Beattie.

———

O humble me! I cannot bide the joyThat in my Saviour's presence ever flows;May I be lowly, lest it may destroyThe peace his childlike spirit ever knows.I would not speak thy word, but by thee standWhile thou dost to thine erring children speak;O help me but to keep his own command,And in my strength to feel me ever weak;Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay,Nor lose the life of love he came to give;And find at last the life, the truth, the wayTo where with him thy blessed servants live;And walk forever in the path of truth—A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth.—Jones Very.

O humble me! I cannot bide the joy

That in my Saviour's presence ever flows;

May I be lowly, lest it may destroy

The peace his childlike spirit ever knows.

I would not speak thy word, but by thee stand

While thou dost to thine erring children speak;

O help me but to keep his own command,

And in my strength to feel me ever weak;

Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay,

Nor lose the life of love he came to give;

And find at last the life, the truth, the way

To where with him thy blessed servants live;

And walk forever in the path of truth—

A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth.

—Jones Very.

———

This is the highest learning,The hardest and the best—From self to keep still turning,And honor all the rest.If one should break the letter,Yea, spirit of command,Think not that thou art better;Thou may'st not always stand!We all are weak—but weakerHold no one than thou art;Then, as thou growest meeker,Higher will go thy heart.—George Macdonald.

This is the highest learning,The hardest and the best—From self to keep still turning,And honor all the rest.

This is the highest learning,

The hardest and the best—

From self to keep still turning,

And honor all the rest.

If one should break the letter,Yea, spirit of command,Think not that thou art better;Thou may'st not always stand!

If one should break the letter,

Yea, spirit of command,

Think not that thou art better;

Thou may'st not always stand!

We all are weak—but weakerHold no one than thou art;Then, as thou growest meeker,Higher will go thy heart.

We all are weak—but weaker

Hold no one than thou art;

Then, as thou growest meeker,

Higher will go thy heart.

—George Macdonald.

———

In proud humility a pious man went through the field;The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,"Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay."—From the Persian.

In proud humility a pious man went through the field;

The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;

He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,

"Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay."

—From the Persian.

———

Moses, the patriot fierce, becameThe meekest man on earth,To show us how love's quickening flameCan give our souls new birth.Moses, the man of meekest heart,Lost Canaan by self-will,To show, where grace has done its part,How sin defiles us still.Thou who hast taught me in thy fear,Yet seest me frail at best,Oh, grant me loss with Moses here,To gain his future rest.—John Henry Newman.

Moses, the patriot fierce, becameThe meekest man on earth,To show us how love's quickening flameCan give our souls new birth.

Moses, the patriot fierce, became

The meekest man on earth,

To show us how love's quickening flame

Can give our souls new birth.

Moses, the man of meekest heart,Lost Canaan by self-will,To show, where grace has done its part,How sin defiles us still.

Moses, the man of meekest heart,

Lost Canaan by self-will,

To show, where grace has done its part,

How sin defiles us still.

Thou who hast taught me in thy fear,Yet seest me frail at best,Oh, grant me loss with Moses here,To gain his future rest.

Thou who hast taught me in thy fear,

Yet seest me frail at best,

Oh, grant me loss with Moses here,

To gain his future rest.

—John Henry Newman.

———

Let praise devote thy work, and skill employThy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy.Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thoughtHumility, that thy best done is naught.Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small,Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all.For God requires no more than thou hast done,And takes thy work to bless it for his own.—Robert Bridges.

Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ

Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy.

Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thought

Humility, that thy best done is naught.

Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small,

Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all.

For God requires no more than thou hast done,

And takes thy work to bless it for his own.

—Robert Bridges.

———

"A commonplace life," we say, and we sigh;But why should we sigh as we say?The commonplace sun in the commonplace skyMakes up the commonplace day.The moon and the stars are commonplace things,And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings,But dark were the world and sad our lotIf the flowers failed and the sun shone not;And God, who studies each separate soulOut of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.

"A commonplace life," we say, and we sigh;

But why should we sigh as we say?

The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky

Makes up the commonplace day.

The moon and the stars are commonplace things,

And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings,

But dark were the world and sad our lot

If the flowers failed and the sun shone not;

And God, who studies each separate soul

Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.

———

Humility, that low, sweet rootFrom which all heavenly virtues shoot.—Thomas Moore.

Humility, that low, sweet rootFrom which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Humility, that low, sweet root

From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

—Thomas Moore.

———

Up and away, like the dew of the morningThat soars from the earth to its home in the sun,So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,Only remembered by what I have done.My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,The brief race of time well and patiently run,So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,Only remembered by what I have done.Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,Up to the crown that for me has been won;Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises;Only remembered by what I have done.Up and away, like the odors of sunset,That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on,So be my life—a thing felt but not noticed,—And I but remembered by what I have done.Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshnessWhen the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone.So would I be to this world's weary dwellersOnly remembered by what I have done.I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing(As its summer and autumn move silently on)The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;I shall still be remembered by what I have done.Needs there the praise of the love-written record,The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?The things we have lived for—let them be our story—We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.I need not be missed if another succeed me,To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown;He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,He is only remembered by what he has done.Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,Shall pass on to ages—all about me forgotten,Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.So let my living be, so be my dying;So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown;Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered;Yes, but remembered for what I have done.—Horatius Bonar.

Up and away, like the dew of the morningThat soars from the earth to its home in the sun,So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,Only remembered by what I have done.

Up and away, like the dew of the morning

That soars from the earth to its home in the sun,

So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,

Only remembered by what I have done.

My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,The brief race of time well and patiently run,So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,Only remembered by what I have done.

My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,

The brief race of time well and patiently run,

So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,

Only remembered by what I have done.

Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,Up to the crown that for me has been won;Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises;Only remembered by what I have done.

Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,

Up to the crown that for me has been won;

Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises;

Only remembered by what I have done.

Up and away, like the odors of sunset,That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on,So be my life—a thing felt but not noticed,—And I but remembered by what I have done.

Up and away, like the odors of sunset,

That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on,

So be my life—a thing felt but not noticed,—

And I but remembered by what I have done.

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshnessWhen the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone.So would I be to this world's weary dwellersOnly remembered by what I have done.

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness

When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone.

So would I be to this world's weary dwellers

Only remembered by what I have done.

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing(As its summer and autumn move silently on)The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;I shall still be remembered by what I have done.

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing

(As its summer and autumn move silently on)

The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;

I shall still be remembered by what I have done.

Needs there the praise of the love-written record,The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?The things we have lived for—let them be our story—We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.

Needs there the praise of the love-written record,

The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?

The things we have lived for—let them be our story—

We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.

I need not be missed if another succeed me,To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown;He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,He is only remembered by what he has done.

I need not be missed if another succeed me,

To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown;

He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,

He is only remembered by what he has done.

Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,Shall pass on to ages—all about me forgotten,Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.

Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,

Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,

Shall pass on to ages—all about me forgotten,

Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.

So let my living be, so be my dying;So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown;Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered;Yes, but remembered for what I have done.

So let my living be, so be my dying;

So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown;

Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered;

Yes, but remembered for what I have done.

—Horatius Bonar.

———

Back to Index Next