LOVE

Would'st thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?Balm would'st thou gather for corroding grief?Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.

Would'st thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?

Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?

Balm would'st thou gather for corroding grief?

Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.

———

Art thou weary, tender heart?Be glad of pain;In sorrow sweetest things will growAs flowers in rain.God watches; and thou wilt have sunWhen clouds their perfect work have done.—Lucy Larcom.

Art thou weary, tender heart?Be glad of pain;In sorrow sweetest things will growAs flowers in rain.God watches; and thou wilt have sunWhen clouds their perfect work have done.

Art thou weary, tender heart?

Be glad of pain;

In sorrow sweetest things will grow

As flowers in rain.

God watches; and thou wilt have sun

When clouds their perfect work have done.

—Lucy Larcom.

———

'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,Whose golden rounds are our calamitiesWhereon our firm feet planting nearer GodThe spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.—James Russell Lowell.

'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,Whose golden rounds are our calamitiesWhereon our firm feet planting nearer GodThe spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.

'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,

Whose golden rounds are our calamities

Whereon our firm feet planting nearer God

The spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

In the pleasant orchard closes,"God bless all our gains," say we;But "May God bless all our losses,"Better suits with our degree.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

In the pleasant orchard closes,"God bless all our gains," say we;But "May God bless all our losses,"Better suits with our degree.

In the pleasant orchard closes,

"God bless all our gains," say we;

But "May God bless all our losses,"

Better suits with our degree.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness,Our burden is our boon;The curse of earth's gray morning isThe blessing of its noon.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness,Our burden is our boon;The curse of earth's gray morning isThe blessing of its noon.

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness,

Our burden is our boon;

The curse of earth's gray morning is

The blessing of its noon.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

I hold it true, whate'er befall,I feel it, when I sorrow most;'Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.—Alfred Tennyson.

I hold it true, whate'er befall,I feel it, when I sorrow most;'Tis better to have loved and lostThan never to have loved at all.

I hold it true, whate'er befall,

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

The fountain of joy is fed by tears,And love is lit by the breath of sighs;The deepest griefs and the wildest fearsHave holiest ministries.—Josiah Gilbert Holland.

The fountain of joy is fed by tears,And love is lit by the breath of sighs;The deepest griefs and the wildest fearsHave holiest ministries.

The fountain of joy is fed by tears,

And love is lit by the breath of sighs;

The deepest griefs and the wildest fears

Have holiest ministries.

—Josiah Gilbert Holland.

———

I held it truth, with him who singsTo one clear harp in divers tonesThat men may rise on stepping stonesOf their dead selves to higher things.—Alfred Tennyson.

I held it truth, with him who singsTo one clear harp in divers tonesThat men may rise on stepping stonesOf their dead selves to higher things.

I held it truth, with him who sings

To one clear harp in divers tones

That men may rise on stepping stones

Of their dead selves to higher things.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

When God afflicts thee, think he hews a rugged stone,Which must be shaped or else aside as useless thrown.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

When God afflicts thee, think he hews a rugged stone,Which must be shaped or else aside as useless thrown.

When God afflicts thee, think he hews a rugged stone,

Which must be shaped or else aside as useless thrown.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

My sorrows have not been so lightThy chastening hand I could not trace,Nor have my blessings been so greatThat they have hid my Father's face.

My sorrows have not been so light

Thy chastening hand I could not trace,

Nor have my blessings been so great

That they have hid my Father's face.

———

Put pain from out the world, what room were leftFor thanks to God, for love to man?—Robert Browning.

Put pain from out the world, what room were leftFor thanks to God, for love to man?

Put pain from out the world, what room were left

For thanks to God, for love to man?

—Robert Browning.

———

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,But most chastises those whom most he likes.—John Pomfret.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,But most chastises those whom most he likes.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,

But most chastises those whom most he likes.

—John Pomfret.

———

The good are better made by ill,As odors crushed are sweeter still.—Samuel Rogers.

The good are better made by ill,As odors crushed are sweeter still.

The good are better made by ill,

As odors crushed are sweeter still.

—Samuel Rogers.

———

Only those are crowned and saintedWho with grief have been acquainted.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Only those are crowned and saintedWho with grief have been acquainted.

Only those are crowned and sainted

Who with grief have been acquainted.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

O Love is weakWhich counts the answers and the gains,Weighs all the losses and the pains,And eagerly each fond word drainsA joy to seek.When Love is strongIt never tarries to take heed,Or know if its return exceedIts gifts; in its sweet haste no greed,No strifes belong.It hardly asksIf it be loved at all; to takeSo barren seems, when it can makeSuch bliss, for the belovèd's sake,Of bitter tasks.Its ecstacyCould find hard death so beauteous,It sees through tears how Christ loved us,And speaks, in saying "I love thus,"No blasphemy.So much we missIf love is weak, so much we gainIf love is strong, God thinks no painToo sharp or lasting to ordainTo teach us this.—Helen Hunt Jackson.

O Love is weakWhich counts the answers and the gains,Weighs all the losses and the pains,And eagerly each fond word drainsA joy to seek.

O Love is weak

Which counts the answers and the gains,

Weighs all the losses and the pains,

And eagerly each fond word drains

A joy to seek.

When Love is strongIt never tarries to take heed,Or know if its return exceedIts gifts; in its sweet haste no greed,No strifes belong.

When Love is strong

It never tarries to take heed,

Or know if its return exceed

Its gifts; in its sweet haste no greed,

No strifes belong.

It hardly asksIf it be loved at all; to takeSo barren seems, when it can makeSuch bliss, for the belovèd's sake,Of bitter tasks.

It hardly asks

If it be loved at all; to take

So barren seems, when it can make

Such bliss, for the belovèd's sake,

Of bitter tasks.

Its ecstacyCould find hard death so beauteous,It sees through tears how Christ loved us,And speaks, in saying "I love thus,"No blasphemy.

Its ecstacy

Could find hard death so beauteous,

It sees through tears how Christ loved us,

And speaks, in saying "I love thus,"

No blasphemy.

So much we missIf love is weak, so much we gainIf love is strong, God thinks no painToo sharp or lasting to ordainTo teach us this.

So much we miss

If love is weak, so much we gain

If love is strong, God thinks no pain

Too sharp or lasting to ordain

To teach us this.

—Helen Hunt Jackson.

———

If suddenly upon the streetMy gracious Saviour I should meet,And he should say, "As I love thee,What love hast thou to offer me?"Then what could this poor heart of mineDare offer to that heart divine?His eye would pierce my outward show,His thought my inmost thought would know;And if I said, "I love thee, Lord,"He would not heed my spoken word,Because my daily life would tellIf verily I loved him well.If on the day or in the placeWherein he met me face to faceMy life could show some kindness done,Some purpose formed, some work begun,For his dear sake, then, it were meetLove's gift to lay at Jesus' feet.—Charles Francis Richardson.

If suddenly upon the street

My gracious Saviour I should meet,

And he should say, "As I love thee,

What love hast thou to offer me?"

Then what could this poor heart of mine

Dare offer to that heart divine?

His eye would pierce my outward show,His thought my inmost thought would know;And if I said, "I love thee, Lord,"He would not heed my spoken word,Because my daily life would tellIf verily I loved him well.

His eye would pierce my outward show,

His thought my inmost thought would know;

And if I said, "I love thee, Lord,"

He would not heed my spoken word,

Because my daily life would tell

If verily I loved him well.

If on the day or in the placeWherein he met me face to faceMy life could show some kindness done,Some purpose formed, some work begun,For his dear sake, then, it were meetLove's gift to lay at Jesus' feet.

If on the day or in the place

Wherein he met me face to face

My life could show some kindness done,

Some purpose formed, some work begun,

For his dear sake, then, it were meet

Love's gift to lay at Jesus' feet.

—Charles Francis Richardson.

———

It is not the deed we do—Tho' the deed be never so fair—But thelovethat the dear Lord looketh forHidden with holy careIn the heart of the deed so fair.The love is the priceless thing,The treasure our treasure must holdOr ever our Lord will take the gift,Or tell the worth of the goldBy the love that cannot be told.Behold us—the rich and the poor—Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;One consecrateth a precious coin,One droppeth only a tear;Look, Master, the love is here!—Harriet McEwen Kimball.

It is not the deed we do—Tho' the deed be never so fair—But thelovethat the dear Lord looketh forHidden with holy careIn the heart of the deed so fair.

It is not the deed we do—

Tho' the deed be never so fair—

But thelovethat the dear Lord looketh for

Hidden with holy care

In the heart of the deed so fair.

The love is the priceless thing,The treasure our treasure must holdOr ever our Lord will take the gift,Or tell the worth of the goldBy the love that cannot be told.

The love is the priceless thing,

The treasure our treasure must hold

Or ever our Lord will take the gift,

Or tell the worth of the gold

By the love that cannot be told.

Behold us—the rich and the poor—Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;One consecrateth a precious coin,One droppeth only a tear;Look, Master, the love is here!

Behold us—the rich and the poor—

Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;

One consecrateth a precious coin,

One droppeth only a tear;

Look, Master, the love is here!

—Harriet McEwen Kimball.

———

True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tearsShall wash thy love, and it will live again.—John Boyle O'Reilly.

True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tearsShall wash thy love, and it will live again.

True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,

For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;

Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tears

Shall wash thy love, and it will live again.

—John Boyle O'Reilly.

———

Faith, Hope and Love were questioned what they thoughtOf future glory which religion taught;Now Faithbelievedit to be firmly true,And Hopeexpectedso to find it too;Love answered, smiling with unconscious glow,"Believe? expect? Iknowit to be so."—John Wesley.

Faith, Hope and Love were questioned what they thought

Of future glory which religion taught;

Now Faithbelievedit to be firmly true,

And Hopeexpectedso to find it too;

Love answered, smiling with unconscious glow,

"Believe? expect? Iknowit to be so."

—John Wesley.

———

Could we with ink the ocean fill,Were the whole world of parchment made,Were every single stick a quill,Were every man a scribe by trade;To write the love of God aloneWould drain the ocean dry;Nor could the scroll contain the wholeThough stretched from sky to sky.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

Were the whole world of parchment made,

Were every single stick a quill,

Were every man a scribe by trade;

To write the love of God alone

Would drain the ocean dry;

Nor could the scroll contain the whole

Though stretched from sky to sky.

———

I say to thee—do thou repeatTo the first man thou mayest meetIn lane, highway, or open street—That he, and we, and all men moveUnder a canopy of loveAs broad as the blue sky above;That doubt and trouble, fear and painAnd anguish, all are shadows vain;That death itself shall not remain;That weary deserts we may tread,A dreary labyrinth may thread,Through dark ways under ground be led,Yet, if we will our Guide obey,The dreariest path, the darkest way,Shall issue out in heavenly day,And we, on divers shores now cast,Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,All in our Father's house at last.And, ere thou leave him, say thou thisYet one word more: They only missThe winning of that final blissWho will not count it true that love,Blessing, not cursing, rules above,And that in it we live and move.And one thing further make him know:That to believe these things are so,This firm faith never to forego,Despite of all that seems at strifeWith blessing, all with curses rife,Thatthisis blessing,thisis life.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

I say to thee—do thou repeatTo the first man thou mayest meetIn lane, highway, or open street—

I say to thee—do thou repeat

To the first man thou mayest meet

In lane, highway, or open street—

That he, and we, and all men moveUnder a canopy of loveAs broad as the blue sky above;

That he, and we, and all men move

Under a canopy of love

As broad as the blue sky above;

That doubt and trouble, fear and painAnd anguish, all are shadows vain;That death itself shall not remain;

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain

And anguish, all are shadows vain;

That death itself shall not remain;

That weary deserts we may tread,A dreary labyrinth may thread,Through dark ways under ground be led,

That weary deserts we may tread,

A dreary labyrinth may thread,

Through dark ways under ground be led,

Yet, if we will our Guide obey,The dreariest path, the darkest way,Shall issue out in heavenly day,

Yet, if we will our Guide obey,

The dreariest path, the darkest way,

Shall issue out in heavenly day,

And we, on divers shores now cast,Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,All in our Father's house at last.

And we, on divers shores now cast,

Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,

All in our Father's house at last.

And, ere thou leave him, say thou thisYet one word more: They only missThe winning of that final bliss

And, ere thou leave him, say thou this

Yet one word more: They only miss

The winning of that final bliss

Who will not count it true that love,Blessing, not cursing, rules above,And that in it we live and move.

Who will not count it true that love,

Blessing, not cursing, rules above,

And that in it we live and move.

And one thing further make him know:That to believe these things are so,This firm faith never to forego,

And one thing further make him know:

That to believe these things are so,

This firm faith never to forego,

Despite of all that seems at strifeWith blessing, all with curses rife,Thatthisis blessing,thisis life.

Despite of all that seems at strife

With blessing, all with curses rife,

Thatthisis blessing,thisis life.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

Thou grace divine, encircling all,A soundless, shoreless seaWherein at last our souls shall fall;O love of God most free,When over dizzy steeps we goOne soft hand blinds our eyes,The other leads us, safe and slow,O love of God, most wise!And though we turn us from thy face,And wander wide and long,Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,O love of God most strong!The saddened heart, the restless soul,The toil-worn frame and mind,Alike confess thy sweet control,O love of God most kind!But not alone thy care we claimOur wayward steps to win;We know thee by a dearer name,O love of God, within!And filled and quickened by thy breathOur souls are strong and freeTo rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,O love of God, to thee!—Eliza Scudder.

Thou grace divine, encircling all,A soundless, shoreless seaWherein at last our souls shall fall;O love of God most free,

Thou grace divine, encircling all,

A soundless, shoreless sea

Wherein at last our souls shall fall;

O love of God most free,

When over dizzy steeps we goOne soft hand blinds our eyes,The other leads us, safe and slow,O love of God, most wise!

When over dizzy steeps we go

One soft hand blinds our eyes,

The other leads us, safe and slow,

O love of God, most wise!

And though we turn us from thy face,And wander wide and long,Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,O love of God most strong!

And though we turn us from thy face,

And wander wide and long,

Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,

O love of God most strong!

The saddened heart, the restless soul,The toil-worn frame and mind,Alike confess thy sweet control,O love of God most kind!

The saddened heart, the restless soul,

The toil-worn frame and mind,

Alike confess thy sweet control,

O love of God most kind!

But not alone thy care we claimOur wayward steps to win;We know thee by a dearer name,O love of God, within!

But not alone thy care we claim

Our wayward steps to win;

We know thee by a dearer name,

O love of God, within!

And filled and quickened by thy breathOur souls are strong and freeTo rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,O love of God, to thee!

And filled and quickened by thy breath

Our souls are strong and free

To rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,

O love of God, to thee!

—Eliza Scudder.

———

Ah, how skillful grows the handThat obeyeth Love's command!It is the heart, and not the brain,That to the highest doth attain,And he who followeth Love's behestFar excelleth all the rest.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Ah, how skillful grows the handThat obeyeth Love's command!It is the heart, and not the brain,That to the highest doth attain,And he who followeth Love's behestFar excelleth all the rest.

Ah, how skillful grows the hand

That obeyeth Love's command!

It is the heart, and not the brain,

That to the highest doth attain,

And he who followeth Love's behest

Far excelleth all the rest.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

If I truly love the OneAll the loves are mine;Alien to my heart is noneAnd life grows divine.

If I truly love the One

All the loves are mine;

Alien to my heart is none

And life grows divine.

———

There's a wideness in God's mercyLike the wideness of the sea;There's a kindness in his justiceWhich is more than liberty.There is welcome for the sinner,And more graces for the good;There is mercy with the Saviour;There is healing in his blood.There is no place where earth's sorrowsAre more felt than up in heaven;There is no place where earth's failingsHave such kindly judgment given.There is plentiful redemptionIn the blood that has been shed;There is joy for all the membersIn the sorrows of the Head.For the love of God is broaderThan the measure of man's mind,And the heart of the EternalIs most wonderfully kind.If our love were but more simple,We should take him at his word,And our lives would be all sunshineIn the sweetness of our Lord.—Frederick William Faber.

There's a wideness in God's mercy

Like the wideness of the sea;

There's a kindness in his justice

Which is more than liberty.

There is welcome for the sinner,

And more graces for the good;

There is mercy with the Saviour;

There is healing in his blood.

There is no place where earth's sorrowsAre more felt than up in heaven;There is no place where earth's failingsHave such kindly judgment given.There is plentiful redemptionIn the blood that has been shed;There is joy for all the membersIn the sorrows of the Head.

There is no place where earth's sorrows

Are more felt than up in heaven;

There is no place where earth's failings

Have such kindly judgment given.

There is plentiful redemption

In the blood that has been shed;

There is joy for all the members

In the sorrows of the Head.

For the love of God is broaderThan the measure of man's mind,And the heart of the EternalIs most wonderfully kind.If our love were but more simple,We should take him at his word,And our lives would be all sunshineIn the sweetness of our Lord.

For the love of God is broader

Than the measure of man's mind,

And the heart of the Eternal

Is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more simple,

We should take him at his word,

And our lives would be all sunshine

In the sweetness of our Lord.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art,That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest;Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;I know the voice that speaks the "It is I."And in these well-known words of heavenly cheerI hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross;Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;All meaner love is perishable dross,But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.It blesses now, and shall forever bless;It saves me now, and shall forever save;It holds me up in days of helplessness,It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.Girt with the love of God on every side,Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air,I work or wait, still following my Guide,Braving each foe, escaping every snare.'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God,That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song;Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod,Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.I am all want and hunger; this faint heartPines for a fullness which it finds not here,Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart,Make room within for something yet more dear.More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hourMore of thy glory, O my God and Lord!More of thyself in all thy grace and powerMore of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.

Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art,That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest;Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.

Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art,

That, that alone, can be my soul's true rest;

Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,

And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.

It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;I know the voice that speaks the "It is I."And in these well-known words of heavenly cheerI hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.

It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;

I know the voice that speaks the "It is I."

And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer

I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.

Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross;Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;All meaner love is perishable dross,But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.

Thy name is Love! I hear it from the Cross;

Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;

All meaner love is perishable dross,

But this shall light me through time's thickest gloom.

It blesses now, and shall forever bless;It saves me now, and shall forever save;It holds me up in days of helplessness,It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.

It blesses now, and shall forever bless;

It saves me now, and shall forever save;

It holds me up in days of helplessness,

It bears me safely o'er each swelling wave.

Girt with the love of God on every side,Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air,I work or wait, still following my Guide,Braving each foe, escaping every snare.

Girt with the love of God on every side,

Breathing that love as heaven's own healing air,

I work or wait, still following my Guide,

Braving each foe, escaping every snare.

'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God,That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song;Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod,Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.

'Tis what I know of thee my Lord and God,

That fills my soul with peace, my lips with song;

Thou art my health, my joy, my staff, my rod,

Leaning on thee, in weakness I am strong.

I am all want and hunger; this faint heartPines for a fullness which it finds not here,Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart,Make room within for something yet more dear.

I am all want and hunger; this faint heart

Pines for a fullness which it finds not here,

Dear ones are leaving, and as they depart,

Make room within for something yet more dear.

More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hourMore of thy glory, O my God and Lord!More of thyself in all thy grace and powerMore of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.

More of thyself, oh, show me hour by hour

More of thy glory, O my God and Lord!

More of thyself in all thy grace and power

More of thy love and truth, Incarnate Word.

———

Love that asketh love againFinds the barter naught but pain;Love that giveth in full store,Aye receives as much, and more.Love, exacting nothing back,Never knoweth any lack;Love, compelling love to pay,Sees him bankrupt every day.—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

Love that asketh love againFinds the barter naught but pain;Love that giveth in full store,Aye receives as much, and more.

Love that asketh love again

Finds the barter naught but pain;

Love that giveth in full store,

Aye receives as much, and more.

Love, exacting nothing back,Never knoweth any lack;Love, compelling love to pay,Sees him bankrupt every day.

Love, exacting nothing back,

Never knoweth any lack;

Love, compelling love to pay,

Sees him bankrupt every day.

—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

———

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraintAnd purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.—James Russell Lowell.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraintAnd purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint

And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

Surrounded by unnumbered foes,Against my soul the battle goes!Yet, though I weary, sore distrest,I know that I shall reach my rest.I lift my tearful eyes above;His banner over me is love.Its sword my spirit will not yield,Though flesh may faint upon the field;He waves before my fading sightThe branch of palm—the crown of light;I lift my brightening eyes above,His banner over me is love.My cloud of battle-dust may dim,His veil of splendor curtain him,And in the midnight of my fearI may not feel him standing near;But, as I lift mine eyes above,His banner over me is love.—Gerald Massey.

Surrounded by unnumbered foes,Against my soul the battle goes!Yet, though I weary, sore distrest,I know that I shall reach my rest.I lift my tearful eyes above;His banner over me is love.

Surrounded by unnumbered foes,

Against my soul the battle goes!

Yet, though I weary, sore distrest,

I know that I shall reach my rest.

I lift my tearful eyes above;

His banner over me is love.

Its sword my spirit will not yield,Though flesh may faint upon the field;He waves before my fading sightThe branch of palm—the crown of light;I lift my brightening eyes above,His banner over me is love.

Its sword my spirit will not yield,

Though flesh may faint upon the field;

He waves before my fading sight

The branch of palm—the crown of light;

I lift my brightening eyes above,

His banner over me is love.

My cloud of battle-dust may dim,His veil of splendor curtain him,And in the midnight of my fearI may not feel him standing near;But, as I lift mine eyes above,His banner over me is love.

My cloud of battle-dust may dim,

His veil of splendor curtain him,

And in the midnight of my fear

I may not feel him standing near;

But, as I lift mine eyes above,

His banner over me is love.

—Gerald Massey.

———

His courtiers of the caliph crave:"O say how this may be,That of thy slaves this Ethiop slaveIs best beloved by thee?"For he is hideous as the night:Yet when has ever choseA nightingale for its delightA hueless, scentless rose?"The caliph then: "No features fair,No comely mien are his;Love is the beauty he doth wear;And love his glory is."Once when a camel of my trainThere fell, in narrow street,From broken casket rolled amainRich pearls before my feet."I nodding to my slaves that IWould freely give them these,At once upon the spoil they flyThe costly boon to seize."One only at my side remained—Beside this Ethiop none;He, moveless as the steed he reined,Behind me sat alone."'What will thy gain, good fellow, be,Thus lingering at my side?''My king, that I shall faithfullyHave guarded thee,' he cried."True servant's title he may wear,He only, who has not,For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,His lord himself forgot!"So thou alone dost walk beforeThy God with perfect aim,From him desiring nothing moreBeside himself to claim.For if thou not to him aspire,But to his gifts alone,Not love, but covetous desire,Has brought thee to his throne.While such thy prayer; it climbs aboveIn vain—the golden keyOf God's rich treasure-house of loveThine own will never be.—Saadi, tr. by Richard Chenevix Trench.

His courtiers of the caliph crave:"O say how this may be,That of thy slaves this Ethiop slaveIs best beloved by thee?

His courtiers of the caliph crave:

"O say how this may be,

That of thy slaves this Ethiop slave

Is best beloved by thee?

"For he is hideous as the night:Yet when has ever choseA nightingale for its delightA hueless, scentless rose?"

"For he is hideous as the night:

Yet when has ever chose

A nightingale for its delight

A hueless, scentless rose?"

The caliph then: "No features fair,No comely mien are his;Love is the beauty he doth wear;And love his glory is.

The caliph then: "No features fair,

No comely mien are his;

Love is the beauty he doth wear;

And love his glory is.

"Once when a camel of my trainThere fell, in narrow street,From broken casket rolled amainRich pearls before my feet.

"Once when a camel of my train

There fell, in narrow street,

From broken casket rolled amain

Rich pearls before my feet.

"I nodding to my slaves that IWould freely give them these,At once upon the spoil they flyThe costly boon to seize.

"I nodding to my slaves that I

Would freely give them these,

At once upon the spoil they fly

The costly boon to seize.

"One only at my side remained—Beside this Ethiop none;He, moveless as the steed he reined,Behind me sat alone.

"One only at my side remained—

Beside this Ethiop none;

He, moveless as the steed he reined,

Behind me sat alone.

"'What will thy gain, good fellow, be,Thus lingering at my side?''My king, that I shall faithfullyHave guarded thee,' he cried.

"'What will thy gain, good fellow, be,

Thus lingering at my side?'

'My king, that I shall faithfully

Have guarded thee,' he cried.

"True servant's title he may wear,He only, who has not,For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,His lord himself forgot!"

"True servant's title he may wear,

He only, who has not,

For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,

His lord himself forgot!"

So thou alone dost walk beforeThy God with perfect aim,From him desiring nothing moreBeside himself to claim.

So thou alone dost walk before

Thy God with perfect aim,

From him desiring nothing more

Beside himself to claim.

For if thou not to him aspire,But to his gifts alone,Not love, but covetous desire,Has brought thee to his throne.

For if thou not to him aspire,

But to his gifts alone,

Not love, but covetous desire,

Has brought thee to his throne.

While such thy prayer; it climbs aboveIn vain—the golden keyOf God's rich treasure-house of loveThine own will never be.

While such thy prayer; it climbs above

In vain—the golden key

Of God's rich treasure-house of love

Thine own will never be.

—Saadi, tr. by Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

For some the narrow lane of "must,"Be mine the big, broad "may";Better to love—be happy—trust,Than simply to obey.O troubled over many things,Choose thou the better part;Service unconscious of itself,And childlikeness of heart.Why cast your burden on the LordAnd strive to drag it, too?Call work an opportunityTill it grows joy to you."Ought" is a servant's work, not mine;I sign no grudging pledge;I am a child and son; my toilIs only privilege.Who'd be a thrall to vain debatesOf "were this right or wrong,"When he might toss these cares to GodAnd catch instead a song!Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere,Forgetful we can fly,When the high zenith, "God is Love,"Allures us to the sky?The virtues hide their vanquished firesWithin that whiter flame,Till conscience grows irrelevant,And duty but a name!—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

For some the narrow lane of "must,"Be mine the big, broad "may";Better to love—be happy—trust,Than simply to obey.

For some the narrow lane of "must,"

Be mine the big, broad "may";

Better to love—be happy—trust,

Than simply to obey.

O troubled over many things,Choose thou the better part;Service unconscious of itself,And childlikeness of heart.

O troubled over many things,

Choose thou the better part;

Service unconscious of itself,

And childlikeness of heart.

Why cast your burden on the LordAnd strive to drag it, too?Call work an opportunityTill it grows joy to you.

Why cast your burden on the Lord

And strive to drag it, too?

Call work an opportunity

Till it grows joy to you.

"Ought" is a servant's work, not mine;I sign no grudging pledge;I am a child and son; my toilIs only privilege.

"Ought" is a servant's work, not mine;

I sign no grudging pledge;

I am a child and son; my toil

Is only privilege.

Who'd be a thrall to vain debatesOf "were this right or wrong,"When he might toss these cares to GodAnd catch instead a song!

Who'd be a thrall to vain debates

Of "were this right or wrong,"

When he might toss these cares to God

And catch instead a song!

Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere,Forgetful we can fly,When the high zenith, "God is Love,"Allures us to the sky?

Why breathe earth's heavy atmosphere,

Forgetful we can fly,

When the high zenith, "God is Love,"

Allures us to the sky?

The virtues hide their vanquished firesWithin that whiter flame,Till conscience grows irrelevant,And duty but a name!

The virtues hide their vanquished fires

Within that whiter flame,

Till conscience grows irrelevant,

And duty but a name!

—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

———

Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,It will not fail untilThou failest vessels to provideWhich it may freely fill.But then, when such are found no more,Though flowing broad and freeTill then, and nourished from on high,It straightway stanched will be.Dig channels for the streams of love,Where they may broadly run;And love has overflowing streamsTo fill them every one.But if at any time thou ceaseSuch channels to provide,The very founts of love for theeWill soon be parched and dried.For we must share, if we would keep,That good thing from above;Ceasing to give, we cease to have;Such is the law of love.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,It will not fail untilThou failest vessels to provideWhich it may freely fill.

Pour forth the oil, pour boldly forth,

It will not fail until

Thou failest vessels to provide

Which it may freely fill.

But then, when such are found no more,Though flowing broad and freeTill then, and nourished from on high,It straightway stanched will be.

But then, when such are found no more,

Though flowing broad and free

Till then, and nourished from on high,

It straightway stanched will be.

Dig channels for the streams of love,Where they may broadly run;And love has overflowing streamsTo fill them every one.

Dig channels for the streams of love,

Where they may broadly run;

And love has overflowing streams

To fill them every one.

But if at any time thou ceaseSuch channels to provide,The very founts of love for theeWill soon be parched and dried.

But if at any time thou cease

Such channels to provide,

The very founts of love for thee

Will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep,That good thing from above;Ceasing to give, we cease to have;Such is the law of love.

For we must share, if we would keep,

That good thing from above;

Ceasing to give, we cease to have;

Such is the law of love.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

Lord and Father, great and holy!Fearing naught, we come to thee;Fearing naught, though weak and lowly,For thy love has made us free.By the blue sky bending o'er us,By the green earth's flowery zone,Teach us, Lord, the angel chorus,"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"Though the worlds in flame should perish,Suns and stars in ruin fall,Trust in thee our hearts should cherish,Thou to us be all in all.And though heavens thy name are praising,Seraphs hymn no sweeter toneThan the strains our hearts are raising,"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"—Frederic William Farrar.

Lord and Father, great and holy!

Fearing naught, we come to thee;

Fearing naught, though weak and lowly,

For thy love has made us free.

By the blue sky bending o'er us,

By the green earth's flowery zone,

Teach us, Lord, the angel chorus,

"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"

Though the worlds in flame should perish,Suns and stars in ruin fall,Trust in thee our hearts should cherish,Thou to us be all in all.And though heavens thy name are praising,Seraphs hymn no sweeter toneThan the strains our hearts are raising,"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"

Though the worlds in flame should perish,

Suns and stars in ruin fall,

Trust in thee our hearts should cherish,

Thou to us be all in all.

And though heavens thy name are praising,

Seraphs hymn no sweeter tone

Than the strains our hearts are raising,

"Thou art Love, and Love alone!"

—Frederic William Farrar.

———

That love for one from which there doth not springWide love for all is but a worthless thing.—James Russell Lowell.

That love for one from which there doth not springWide love for all is but a worthless thing.

That love for one from which there doth not spring

Wide love for all is but a worthless thing.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

A voice by Jordan's shore!A summons stern and clear:Reform! be just! and sin no more!God's judgment draweth near!A voice by Galilee,A holier voice I hear;Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see,God's mercy draweth near!O voice of Duty, stillSpeak forth; I hear with awe.In thee I own the sovereign will,Obey the sovereign law.Thou higher voice of Love!Yet speak thy word in me;Through Duty let me upward moveTo thy pure liberty!—Samuel Longfellow.

A voice by Jordan's shore!A summons stern and clear:Reform! be just! and sin no more!God's judgment draweth near!

A voice by Jordan's shore!

A summons stern and clear:

Reform! be just! and sin no more!

God's judgment draweth near!

A voice by Galilee,A holier voice I hear;Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see,God's mercy draweth near!

A voice by Galilee,

A holier voice I hear;

Love God! thy neighbor love! for, see,

God's mercy draweth near!

O voice of Duty, stillSpeak forth; I hear with awe.In thee I own the sovereign will,Obey the sovereign law.

O voice of Duty, still

Speak forth; I hear with awe.

In thee I own the sovereign will,

Obey the sovereign law.

Thou higher voice of Love!Yet speak thy word in me;Through Duty let me upward moveTo thy pure liberty!

Thou higher voice of Love!

Yet speak thy word in me;

Through Duty let me upward move

To thy pure liberty!

—Samuel Longfellow.

———

I pray you, do not use this thingFor vengeance; but if questioningWhat wound, when dealt your humankind,Goes deepest—surely he shall findWho wrongs you, lovinghimno less—There's nothing hurts like tenderness.—James Whitcomb Riley.

I pray you, do not use this thing

For vengeance; but if questioning

What wound, when dealt your humankind,

Goes deepest—surely he shall find

Who wrongs you, lovinghimno less—

There's nothing hurts like tenderness.

—James Whitcomb Riley.

———

When on the fragrant sandal-treeThe woodman's axe descends,And she who bloomed so beauteouslyBeneath the keen stroke bends,E'en on the edge that wrought her deathDying she breathed her sweetest breath,As if to token, in her fall,Peace to her foes, and love to all.How hardly man this lesson learns,To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;To see the blow, to feel the pain,But render only love again!This spirit not to earth is given—Onehad it, but he came from heaven.Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,No curse he breathed, no plaint he made,But when in death's deep pang he sighedPrayed for his murderers, and died.

When on the fragrant sandal-tree

The woodman's axe descends,

And she who bloomed so beauteously

Beneath the keen stroke bends,

E'en on the edge that wrought her death

Dying she breathed her sweetest breath,

As if to token, in her fall,

Peace to her foes, and love to all.

How hardly man this lesson learns,To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;To see the blow, to feel the pain,But render only love again!This spirit not to earth is given—Onehad it, but he came from heaven.Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,No curse he breathed, no plaint he made,But when in death's deep pang he sighedPrayed for his murderers, and died.

How hardly man this lesson learns,

To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;

To see the blow, to feel the pain,

But render only love again!

This spirit not to earth is given—

Onehad it, but he came from heaven.

Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,

No curse he breathed, no plaint he made,

But when in death's deep pang he sighed

Prayed for his murderers, and died.

———

There is an ancient story, simply told,As ever were the holy things of old,Of one who served through many a toiling yearTo earn at last the joy he held most dear;A weary term, to others strangely lost.What mattered it? Love counteth not the cost.Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skiesThe faithful life hath, patient, won its prize;Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swellThe soul, some Rachel waits beside the well;For her the load is borne, the desert crossed.What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.This then of man—and what, dear Lord, of thee,Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane—Come from those regions infinite with peace,To buy with such a price the world's release?Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed,"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who standBeneath the pressure of thy gracious hand—What is the service thou wouldst have from me?What is the burden to be borne for thee?I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust,"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

There is an ancient story, simply told,

As ever were the holy things of old,

Of one who served through many a toiling year

To earn at last the joy he held most dear;

A weary term, to others strangely lost.

What mattered it? Love counteth not the cost.

Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skiesThe faithful life hath, patient, won its prize;Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swellThe soul, some Rachel waits beside the well;For her the load is borne, the desert crossed.What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.

Yet not alone beneath far Eastern skies

The faithful life hath, patient, won its prize;

Whenever hearts beat high and brave hopes swell

The soul, some Rachel waits beside the well;

For her the load is borne, the desert crossed.

What matters it? Love counteth not the cost.

This then of man—and what, dear Lord, of thee,Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane—Come from those regions infinite with peace,To buy with such a price the world's release?Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed,"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

This then of man—and what, dear Lord, of thee,

Bowed in the midnight of Gethsemane—

Come from those regions infinite with peace,

To buy with such a price the world's release?

Thy voice descends, through ages tempest-tossed,

"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who standBeneath the pressure of thy gracious hand—What is the service thou wouldst have from me?What is the burden to be borne for thee?I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust,"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

O Christ, Redeemer, Master! I who stand

Beneath the pressure of thy gracious hand—

What is the service thou wouldst have from me?

What is the burden to be borne for thee?

I, too, would say, though care and fear exhaust,

"What matters it? Love counteth not the cost."

———

Thy voice is heard through rolling drumsThat beat to battle where he stands;Thy face across his fancy comes,And gives the battle to his hands.A moment, while the trumpets blow,He sees his brood about thy knee;The next, like fire he meets the foe,And strikes him dead for thine and thee.—Alfred Tennyson.

Thy voice is heard through rolling drums

That beat to battle where he stands;

Thy face across his fancy comes,

And gives the battle to his hands.

A moment, while the trumpets blow,

He sees his brood about thy knee;

The next, like fire he meets the foe,

And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Comes a message from above—"As thyself thy neighbor love."With myself so vexed I grow—Of my weakness weary so;Easier may I tolerateMy neighbor than myself not hate.Take not part of thee for whole;Thou art neighbor to thy soul;The ray from heaven that gilds the clodLove thou, for it comes from God.Bear thou with thy human clay,Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.—Edward Sandford Martin.

Comes a message from above—"As thyself thy neighbor love."With myself so vexed I grow—Of my weakness weary so;Easier may I tolerateMy neighbor than myself not hate.

Comes a message from above—

"As thyself thy neighbor love."

With myself so vexed I grow—

Of my weakness weary so;

Easier may I tolerate

My neighbor than myself not hate.

Take not part of thee for whole;Thou art neighbor to thy soul;The ray from heaven that gilds the clodLove thou, for it comes from God.Bear thou with thy human clay,Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.

Take not part of thee for whole;

Thou art neighbor to thy soul;

The ray from heaven that gilds the clod

Love thou, for it comes from God.

Bear thou with thy human clay,

Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.

—Edward Sandford Martin.

———

Through love to light! oh wonderful the wayThat leads from darkness to the perfect day!From darkness and from sorrow of the nightTo morning that comes singing o'er the sea,Through love to light! Through light, O God, to thee,Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light.—Richard Watson Gilder.

Through love to light! oh wonderful the way

That leads from darkness to the perfect day!

From darkness and from sorrow of the night

To morning that comes singing o'er the sea,

Through love to light! Through light, O God, to thee,

Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light.

—Richard Watson Gilder.

———

O Love divine, that stooped to shareOur sharpest pang, our bitterest tear!On thee we cast each earthborn care;We smile at pain while thou art near.Though long the weary way we tread,And sorrow crown each lingering year,No path we shun, no darkness dread,Our hearts still whispering, "Thou art near!"When drooping pleasure turns to griefAnd trembling faith is changed to fear,The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near!"On thee we fling our burdening woe,O Love divine, forever dear;Content to suffer while we know,Living and dying, thou art near!—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

O Love divine, that stooped to shareOur sharpest pang, our bitterest tear!On thee we cast each earthborn care;We smile at pain while thou art near.

O Love divine, that stooped to share

Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear!

On thee we cast each earthborn care;

We smile at pain while thou art near.

Though long the weary way we tread,And sorrow crown each lingering year,No path we shun, no darkness dread,Our hearts still whispering, "Thou art near!"

Though long the weary way we tread,

And sorrow crown each lingering year,

No path we shun, no darkness dread,

Our hearts still whispering, "Thou art near!"

When drooping pleasure turns to griefAnd trembling faith is changed to fear,The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near!"

When drooping pleasure turns to grief

And trembling faith is changed to fear,

The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,

Shall softly tell us, "Thou art near!"

On thee we fling our burdening woe,O Love divine, forever dear;Content to suffer while we know,Living and dying, thou art near!

On thee we fling our burdening woe,

O Love divine, forever dear;

Content to suffer while we know,

Living and dying, thou art near!

—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

———

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.—Alfred Tennyson.

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;

Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

For, lo! in hidden deep accordThe servant may be like his Lord.And thy love, our love shining through,May tell the world that thou art true,Till those who see us see thee too.—Anna Letitia Waring.

For, lo! in hidden deep accordThe servant may be like his Lord.And thy love, our love shining through,May tell the world that thou art true,Till those who see us see thee too.

For, lo! in hidden deep accord

The servant may be like his Lord.

And thy love, our love shining through,

May tell the world that thou art true,

Till those who see us see thee too.

—Anna Letitia Waring.

———

Who loves, no law can ever bind;He'd cleave to God as wellWere there no golden heaven's reward,And no dark cave of hell.—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Who loves, no law can ever bind;He'd cleave to God as wellWere there no golden heaven's reward,And no dark cave of hell.

Who loves, no law can ever bind;

He'd cleave to God as well

Were there no golden heaven's reward,

And no dark cave of hell.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win?Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win?Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.

To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thou win?

Oft knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

———

For others' sake to make life sweetThough thorns may pierce your weary feet;For others' sake to walk each dayAs if joy helped you all the way,While in the heart may be a graveThat makes it hard to be so brave.Herein, I think, is love.

For others' sake to make life sweet

Though thorns may pierce your weary feet;

For others' sake to walk each day

As if joy helped you all the way,

While in the heart may be a grave

That makes it hard to be so brave.

Herein, I think, is love.

———

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returningBack to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returningBack to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

———

Ah, yes! I would a phœnix be,And burn my heart in Deity!Then I should dwell by his dear side,And in the self of God abide.—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Ah, yes! I would a phœnix be,And burn my heart in Deity!Then I should dwell by his dear side,And in the self of God abide.

Ah, yes! I would a phœnix be,

And burn my heart in Deity!

Then I should dwell by his dear side,

And in the self of God abide.

—Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

———

The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe:Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe:Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.

The man is happy, Lord, who love like this doth owe:

Loves thee, his friend in thee, and, for thy sake, his foe.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

High hopes that burned like stars sublimeGo down the heavens of freedom,And true hearts perish in the timeWe bitterliest need them;But never sit we down and say,There's nothing left but sorrow—We walk the wilderness to-day,The Promised Land to-morrow.Our birds of song are silent now,There are no flowers blooming,But life beats in the frozen boughAnd freedom's spring is coming.And freedom's tide comes up alwayThough we may stand in sorrow;And our good bark, aground to-day,Shall float again to-morrow.Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyesWith shining futures glisten;Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies:Lean out your souls and listen!The earth rolls freedom's radiant way,And ripens with her sorrow;And 'tis the martyrdom to-dayBrings victory to-morrow.Through all the long night of the yearsThe people's cry ascended;The earth was wet with blood and tearsEre their meek sufferings ended.The few shall not forever sway,The many toil in sorrow,The bars of hell are strong to-dayBut Christ shall rise to-morrow.'Tis weary watching wave on wave,But still the tide heaves onward;We climb like corals, grave on grave,But build a pathway sunward;We're beaten back in many a fray,But strength divine will borrow—And where our vanguard rests to-dayOur rear shall march to-morrow.Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire;With energies immortal,To many a haven of desireYour yearning opes a portal.And though age wearies by the way,And hearts break in the furrow,We sow the golden grain to-day—The harvest comes to-morrow.—Gerald Massey.

High hopes that burned like stars sublime

Go down the heavens of freedom,

And true hearts perish in the time

We bitterliest need them;

But never sit we down and say,

There's nothing left but sorrow—

We walk the wilderness to-day,

The Promised Land to-morrow.

Our birds of song are silent now,There are no flowers blooming,But life beats in the frozen boughAnd freedom's spring is coming.And freedom's tide comes up alwayThough we may stand in sorrow;And our good bark, aground to-day,Shall float again to-morrow.

Our birds of song are silent now,

There are no flowers blooming,

But life beats in the frozen bough

And freedom's spring is coming.

And freedom's tide comes up alway

Though we may stand in sorrow;

And our good bark, aground to-day,

Shall float again to-morrow.

Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyesWith shining futures glisten;Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies:Lean out your souls and listen!The earth rolls freedom's radiant way,And ripens with her sorrow;And 'tis the martyrdom to-dayBrings victory to-morrow.

Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes

With shining futures glisten;

Lo! now the dawn bursts up the skies:

Lean out your souls and listen!

The earth rolls freedom's radiant way,

And ripens with her sorrow;

And 'tis the martyrdom to-day

Brings victory to-morrow.

Through all the long night of the yearsThe people's cry ascended;The earth was wet with blood and tearsEre their meek sufferings ended.The few shall not forever sway,The many toil in sorrow,The bars of hell are strong to-dayBut Christ shall rise to-morrow.

Through all the long night of the years

The people's cry ascended;

The earth was wet with blood and tears

Ere their meek sufferings ended.

The few shall not forever sway,

The many toil in sorrow,

The bars of hell are strong to-day

But Christ shall rise to-morrow.

'Tis weary watching wave on wave,But still the tide heaves onward;We climb like corals, grave on grave,But build a pathway sunward;We're beaten back in many a fray,But strength divine will borrow—And where our vanguard rests to-dayOur rear shall march to-morrow.

'Tis weary watching wave on wave,

But still the tide heaves onward;

We climb like corals, grave on grave,

But build a pathway sunward;

We're beaten back in many a fray,

But strength divine will borrow—

And where our vanguard rests to-day

Our rear shall march to-morrow.

Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire;With energies immortal,To many a haven of desireYour yearning opes a portal.And though age wearies by the way,And hearts break in the furrow,We sow the golden grain to-day—The harvest comes to-morrow.

Then, Youth! flame-earnest, still aspire;

With energies immortal,

To many a haven of desire

Your yearning opes a portal.

And though age wearies by the way,

And hearts break in the furrow,

We sow the golden grain to-day—

The harvest comes to-morrow.

—Gerald Massey.

———

O it is hard to work for God,To rise and take his partUpon this battle-field of earth,And not sometimes lose heart!He hides himself so wondrously,As though there were no God;He is least seen when all the powersOf ill are most abroad.Or He deserts us at the hourThe fight is all but lost;And seems to leave us to ourselvesJust when we need him most.Yes, there is less to try our faith,In our mysterious creed,Than in the godless look of earthIn these our hours of need.Ill masters good, good seems to changeTo ill with greatest ease;And, worst of all, the good with goodIs at cross purposes.It is not so, but so it looks,And we lose courage then;And doubts will come if God hath keptHis promises to men.Ah! God is other than we think;His ways are far above;Far beyond reason's height, and reachedOnly by childlike love.The look, the fashion, of God's waysLove's lifelong study are;She can be bold, and guess, and actWhen reason would not dare.She has a prudence of her own;Her step is firm and free.Yet there is cautious science, tooIn her simplicity.Workman of God! oh, lose not heart,But learn what God is like,And in the darkest battle-field,Thou shalt know where to strike.Thrice blest is he to whom is givenThe instinct that can tellThat God is on the field when heIs most invisible.Blest, too, is he who can divineWhere real right doth lie,And dares to take the side that seemsWrong to man's blindfold eye.Then learn to scorn the praise of menAnd learn to lose with God;For Jesus won the world through shameAnd beckons thee his road.God's glory is a wondrous thing,Most strange in all its ways,And, of all things on earth, least likeWhat men agree to praise.God's justice is a bed where weOur anxious hearts may lay,And, weary with ourselves, may sleepOur discontent away.For right is right, since God is God,And right the day must win;To doubt would be disloyalty,To falter would be sin.—Frederick William Faber.

O it is hard to work for God,To rise and take his partUpon this battle-field of earth,And not sometimes lose heart!

O it is hard to work for God,

To rise and take his part

Upon this battle-field of earth,

And not sometimes lose heart!

He hides himself so wondrously,As though there were no God;He is least seen when all the powersOf ill are most abroad.

He hides himself so wondrously,

As though there were no God;

He is least seen when all the powers

Of ill are most abroad.

Or He deserts us at the hourThe fight is all but lost;And seems to leave us to ourselvesJust when we need him most.

Or He deserts us at the hour

The fight is all but lost;

And seems to leave us to ourselves

Just when we need him most.

Yes, there is less to try our faith,In our mysterious creed,Than in the godless look of earthIn these our hours of need.

Yes, there is less to try our faith,

In our mysterious creed,

Than in the godless look of earth

In these our hours of need.

Ill masters good, good seems to changeTo ill with greatest ease;And, worst of all, the good with goodIs at cross purposes.

Ill masters good, good seems to change

To ill with greatest ease;

And, worst of all, the good with good

Is at cross purposes.

It is not so, but so it looks,And we lose courage then;And doubts will come if God hath keptHis promises to men.

It is not so, but so it looks,

And we lose courage then;

And doubts will come if God hath kept

His promises to men.

Ah! God is other than we think;His ways are far above;Far beyond reason's height, and reachedOnly by childlike love.

Ah! God is other than we think;

His ways are far above;

Far beyond reason's height, and reached

Only by childlike love.

The look, the fashion, of God's waysLove's lifelong study are;She can be bold, and guess, and actWhen reason would not dare.

The look, the fashion, of God's ways

Love's lifelong study are;

She can be bold, and guess, and act

When reason would not dare.

She has a prudence of her own;Her step is firm and free.Yet there is cautious science, tooIn her simplicity.

She has a prudence of her own;

Her step is firm and free.

Yet there is cautious science, too

In her simplicity.

Workman of God! oh, lose not heart,But learn what God is like,And in the darkest battle-field,Thou shalt know where to strike.

Workman of God! oh, lose not heart,

But learn what God is like,

And in the darkest battle-field,

Thou shalt know where to strike.

Thrice blest is he to whom is givenThe instinct that can tellThat God is on the field when heIs most invisible.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given

The instinct that can tell

That God is on the field when he

Is most invisible.

Blest, too, is he who can divineWhere real right doth lie,And dares to take the side that seemsWrong to man's blindfold eye.

Blest, too, is he who can divine

Where real right doth lie,

And dares to take the side that seems

Wrong to man's blindfold eye.

Then learn to scorn the praise of menAnd learn to lose with God;For Jesus won the world through shameAnd beckons thee his road.

Then learn to scorn the praise of men

And learn to lose with God;

For Jesus won the world through shame

And beckons thee his road.

God's glory is a wondrous thing,Most strange in all its ways,And, of all things on earth, least likeWhat men agree to praise.

God's glory is a wondrous thing,

Most strange in all its ways,

And, of all things on earth, least like

What men agree to praise.

God's justice is a bed where weOur anxious hearts may lay,And, weary with ourselves, may sleepOur discontent away.

God's justice is a bed where we

Our anxious hearts may lay,

And, weary with ourselves, may sleep

Our discontent away.

For right is right, since God is God,And right the day must win;To doubt would be disloyalty,To falter would be sin.

For right is right, since God is God,

And right the day must win;

To doubt would be disloyalty,

To falter would be sin.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

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