Why dost thou glare so fierceO Death, as thou wouldst pierce,With thine uplifted dart,My sinking heart?Yet though men fear thee soWherever thou dost go,And tremble at thy feet,Thou art a cheat!Though men thy pity crave,Though naught from thee can save,Thy Master rules above,Thou servest Love.Henry Nehemiah Dodge.
Why dost thou glare so fierceO Death, as thou wouldst pierce,With thine uplifted dart,My sinking heart?Yet though men fear thee soWherever thou dost go,And tremble at thy feet,Thou art a cheat!Though men thy pity crave,Though naught from thee can save,Thy Master rules above,Thou servest Love.
Henry Nehemiah Dodge.
O Thou, who didst not spare Thine own Son, but didst deliver Him up for us all, we cannot ask Thee to withhold us from our Gethsemane nor even from our Calvary. But when Thou callest us to go down into the gloom or up to the cross, remember, O God, that we are dust. Might we so dwell with Thee in Thy secret place, as to abide under Thy shadow! There, sheltered and unafraid, we should sustain the rod as eager for its chastening stroke, praying only for wisdom to learn its lesson and acquire its discipline. With the picture of the crucified Savior before us, we only cry this day as He taught us, Thy will be done. Amen.
C. Ellwood Nash.
Easter
See, in that rock-hewn garden sepulchre,The Holy One of God, despised and slain,With nail-torn hands and feet, and spear-pierced side,His gentle brow by mocking thorns defaced;See where He lies, obedient unto death.Into that pallid face the glow of lifeBegins to steal, while silent and in aweThe heavenly watchers stand. Now they with hasteUnwind the scented wrappings from His formThat fill the place with rich aromas rare,Perfume of spicery and sweet spikenard's breathLingering since Love her alabastron broke,And with her tresses wiped these tear-bathed feet.And then, their joyful faces all aglowLike flashing sunbeams, quickly by a touchThey roll away the stone with jarring shock,As if an earthquake passed, and sitting thereBehold their Lord go forth, Death's Conqueror!Henry Nehemiah Dodge.
See, in that rock-hewn garden sepulchre,The Holy One of God, despised and slain,With nail-torn hands and feet, and spear-pierced side,His gentle brow by mocking thorns defaced;See where He lies, obedient unto death.Into that pallid face the glow of lifeBegins to steal, while silent and in aweThe heavenly watchers stand. Now they with hasteUnwind the scented wrappings from His formThat fill the place with rich aromas rare,Perfume of spicery and sweet spikenard's breathLingering since Love her alabastron broke,And with her tresses wiped these tear-bathed feet.And then, their joyful faces all aglowLike flashing sunbeams, quickly by a touchThey roll away the stone with jarring shock,As if an earthquake passed, and sitting thereBehold their Lord go forth, Death's Conqueror!
Henry Nehemiah Dodge.
O Thou Eternal One, who gatherest our fleeting moments into Thy permanence, when we draw close to Thee the terrors of change and vicissitude pass away, and a sense of the stability and security of all that is good brings us peace. We rejoice to know through Thy gospel that "life is ever lord of death." "Thou didst not suffer Thy Holy One to see corruption," and we trust that because He lives we shall live also. O grant that, believing in Him, we may not see death save as a door to more abounding life, and so realize our privilege daily to be risen with Him in the newness and power of an endless life. Amen.
C. Ellwood Nash.
Thanksgiving
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing.Know ye that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His name.For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His truth endureth to all generations.
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing.
Know ye that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.
Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His name.
For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His truth endureth to all generations.
Psalm 100.
For days of health, for nights of quiet sleep; for seasons of bounty and of beauty, for all earth's contributions to our need through this past year: Good Lord, we thank Thee. For our country's shelter; for our homes; for the joy of faces, and the joy of hearts that love: for the power of great examples; for holy ones who lead us in the ways of life and love: for our powers of growth; for longings to be better and do more; for Ideals that ever rise above our real: for opportunities well used; for opportunities unused, and even those misused: Good Lord, we humbly thank Thee! For our temptations, and for any victory over sins that close beset us; for the gladness that abides with loyalty and the peace of the return: for the blessedness of service and the power to fit ourselves to others' needs: for our necessities to work; for burdens, pain, and disappointments, means of growth; for sorrow; for death: for all that brings us nearer to each other, nearer to ourselves, near to Thee; for Life: We thank Thee, O our Father!
William C. Gannett.
Birth of a Baby
Where did you come from, baby dear?Out of the everywhere into the here.Where did you get your eyes so blue?Out of the sky as I came through.What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?Some of the starry spikes left in.Where did you get that little tear?I found it waiting when I got here.What makes your forehead so smooth and high?A soft hand stroked it as I went by.What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?Something better than anyone knows.Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?Three angels gave me at once a kiss.Where did you get those arms and hands?Love made itself into hooks and bands.Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?From the same box as the cherub's wings.How did they all just come to be you?God thought about me, and so I grew.But how did you come to us, you dear?God thought of You, and so I am here.George MacDonald
Where did you come from, baby dear?Out of the everywhere into the here.Where did you get your eyes so blue?Out of the sky as I came through.What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?Some of the starry spikes left in.Where did you get that little tear?I found it waiting when I got here.What makes your forehead so smooth and high?A soft hand stroked it as I went by.What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?Something better than anyone knows.Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?Three angels gave me at once a kiss.Where did you get those arms and hands?Love made itself into hooks and bands.Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?From the same box as the cherub's wings.How did they all just come to be you?God thought about me, and so I grew.But how did you come to us, you dear?God thought of You, and so I am here.
George MacDonald
Fresh from the Gates of Heaven, our Father, this dear child has come, opening in our hearts springs of new and deeper affection. We thank Thee for this life whose coming has filled our lives with sunshine. Teach us how to live that we may guide it aright, so that as the years pass more and more sunlight shall be radiated. Even as Thine angels kissed the sweet rosebud lips and left a smile thereon, so may we kiss away the tears of life. Heavenly Father, we consecrate this child to Thy service. We pray that the ears may learn to listen for Thy voice, speaking in truth and purity. May the tiny hands be ever ready to do a service of love and may the feet be swift to do Thy bidding. Tenderly guide this precious child, for it needs Thy guidance, and safely guard it through all the years, lest it go astray. This we ask in the name of Him who took little children in His arms and blessed them, saying—"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." Amen.
Florence H. Perin.
A Child's Birthday
A dreary place would be this earth,Were there no little people in it:The song of life would lose its mirth,Were there no children to begin it:No little forms, like buds to grow,And make the admiring heart surrender:No little hands on breast and brow,To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.The sterner souls would grow more stern,Unfeeling nature more inhuman,And man to stoic coldness turn,And woman would be less than woman.Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm,Were there no babies to begin it;A doleful place this world would be,Were there no little people in it.John Greenleaf Whittier.
A dreary place would be this earth,Were there no little people in it:The song of life would lose its mirth,Were there no children to begin it:No little forms, like buds to grow,And make the admiring heart surrender:No little hands on breast and brow,To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.The sterner souls would grow more stern,Unfeeling nature more inhuman,And man to stoic coldness turn,And woman would be less than woman.Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm,Were there no babies to begin it;A doleful place this world would be,Were there no little people in it.
John Greenleaf Whittier.
Our dear Heavenly Father, Thou lookest upon us all as Thy children,—whether our hair be flaxen or brown or white with age. We thank Thee today for the children of our own household, for our children, and all the children, and especially do we thank Thee for the one whose birthday we celebrate here to-day. May Thy blessing be upon him (her), may the skies be bright over his (her) head,—may the birds sing to him (her). May the flowers blossom around his (her) pathway. Thro' all the journey of this life let him (her) have the guidance of Thy Father hand. Amen.
George L. Perin.
A Father's Birthday
The boy enjoyed this kind of a father at the time, and later he came to understand, with a grateful heart, that there is no richer inheritance in all the treasury of unearned blessings. For, after all, the love, the patience, the kindly wisdom of a grown man who can enter into the perplexities and turbulent impulses of a boy's heart, and give him cheerful companionship, and lead him on by free and joyful ways to know and choose the things that are pure and lovely and of good report, make as fair an image as we can find of that loving, patient Wisdom which must be above us all if any good is to come out of our childish race.
The boy enjoyed this kind of a father at the time, and later he came to understand, with a grateful heart, that there is no richer inheritance in all the treasury of unearned blessings. For, after all, the love, the patience, the kindly wisdom of a grown man who can enter into the perplexities and turbulent impulses of a boy's heart, and give him cheerful companionship, and lead him on by free and joyful ways to know and choose the things that are pure and lovely and of good report, make as fair an image as we can find of that loving, patient Wisdom which must be above us all if any good is to come out of our childish race.
Henry Van Dyke.
By Thy very name, our Father, Thou hast ennobled and sanctified the office of parenthood and attracted to it our respect and love. Thou hast commanded us to honor father and mother, that our days may be lengthened. Assured thus of Thy approval, O God, we call upon Thee to hallow our joy and gratitude on this anniversary day. We thank Thee for him whom we honor as "Father in the flesh" and pray Thee to grant him yet many days with health and strength to minister and to be ministered unto, to grow in grace and in favor with God and man, and to taste the sweet tributes of love and the rewards of good deeds finely done. Amen.
C. Ellwood Nash.
A Mother's Birthday
Blessings on the hand of woman!Angels guard her strength and grace;In the cottage, palace, hovel,—O! no matter where the place.Would that never storms assailed it,Rainbows ever gently curled;For the hand that rocks the cradleIs the hand that rules the world.Blessings on the hand of woman!Fathers, sons and daughters cry;And the sacred song is mingledWith the worship in the sky,—Mingles where no tempest darkens,Rainbows evermore are curled;For the hand that rocks the cradleIs the hand that rules the world.John Gray.
Blessings on the hand of woman!Angels guard her strength and grace;In the cottage, palace, hovel,—O! no matter where the place.Would that never storms assailed it,Rainbows ever gently curled;For the hand that rocks the cradleIs the hand that rules the world.Blessings on the hand of woman!Fathers, sons and daughters cry;And the sacred song is mingledWith the worship in the sky,—Mingles where no tempest darkens,Rainbows evermore are curled;For the hand that rocks the cradleIs the hand that rules the world.
John Gray.
Heavenly Father, Thou plantest anew Thine own love in the hearts of Thy children and so multipliest Thyself on the earth. We thank Thee today for the manifold incarnation of Thyself in the hearts of all true mothers. We have known the magic charm of mother love and it relates us anew to Thee. Here we celebrate the birthday of one who has honored us and blessed us by a sacred ministry. We thank Thee, our Father, for all the sweet memories of the past, for all the joy of the present relation with her, and for the hope that these sacred associations may long continue. Wilt Thou bless her whose birthday we honor here. Crown her with long life and happy days and the sweet consciousness of having ministered in love. Amen.
George L. Perin.
General Birthday
Birthdays, what are they? One will say they are mileposts on the highway of life, marking the distance already traveled and suggesting what yet remains of the journey. Another looking into the deeper meaning of the years will suggest that they are memorial tablets recording the service of a passing life. But no matter under what figure you think of them, the coming into this world of a human life with all the magic powers of thought and love and faith and service is a thing of such transcendent moment, as to make it well worth while to mark the passing of the years.
Birthdays, what are they? One will say they are mileposts on the highway of life, marking the distance already traveled and suggesting what yet remains of the journey. Another looking into the deeper meaning of the years will suggest that they are memorial tablets recording the service of a passing life. But no matter under what figure you think of them, the coming into this world of a human life with all the magic powers of thought and love and faith and service is a thing of such transcendent moment, as to make it well worth while to mark the passing of the years.
George L. Perin.
Father of all, it is Thou who hast made us and given us all things richly to enjoy; we thank Thee, therefore, for the birthday to which we have come. We thank Thee for the physical life, and all that makes it glad; for the power of intellect, and all the wealth it feeds upon; for love, and all the forms of love which answer to it; for faith which looks on Thee and heaven; for service, the exercise and opportunity of every gift and grace. Help us to be faithful that our felicity may be secure in Thee, and that we may ever recall the day of our birth with rejoicing. This we ask in Jesus' name. Amen.
Charles R. Tenney.
Transcriber's Note:Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been corrected without comment. Unmatched quotation marks were left as they were in the original.page 76, March 14: "And grass in the green fields" changed to "field".
Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been corrected without comment. Unmatched quotation marks were left as they were in the original.
page 76, March 14: "And grass in the green fields" changed to "field".