Chapter I: Am Content

I am content. In trumpet tones
My song let people know;
And many a mighty man with thrones
And scepter is not so.
And if he is I joyful cry,
Why, then he's just the same as I.

My motto is--Content with this;
Gold--place--I prize not such.
That which I have my measure is:
Wise men desire not much.
Men wish and wish, and have their will,
And wish again as hungry still.

And gold and honor are besides
A very brittle glass;
And time, in his unresting tides
Makes all things change and pass:
Turns riches to a beggar's dole;
Sets glory's race an infant's goal.

Be noble--that is more than wealth;
Do right--that's more than place;
Then in the spirit there is health
And gladness in the face:
Then thou art with thyself at one
And, no man hating, fearest none.

--George Macdonald.

MADAME LOFTY

Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage,
So do I;
She has dappled grays to draw it,
None have I.
She's no prouder of her coachman
Than am I
With my blue-eyed laughing baby
Trundling by.
I hide his face, lest she should see
The cherub boy and envy me.

Her fine husband has white fingers,
Mine has not;
He can give his bride a palace,
Mine a cot.
Hers comes home beneath the starlight,
Ne'er cares she;
Mine comes in the purple twilight,
Kisses me,
And prays that He who turns life's sands
Will hold his loved ones in his hands.

Mrs. Lofty has her jewels,
So have I;
She wears hers upon her bosom,
Inside I.
She will leave hers at Death's portals,
By and by;
I shall bear the treasures with me
When I die--
For I have love, and she has gold;
She counts her wealth, mine can't be told.

She has those who love her station,
None have I,
But I've one true heart beside me;
Glad am I;
I'd not change it for a kingdom,
No, not I;
God will weigh it in a balance,
By and by;
And then the difference he'll define
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine.

So long as life's hope-sparkle glows, 'tis good;
When death delivers from life's woes, 'tis good.
Oh praise the Lord who makes all good, and will;
Whether he life or death bestows, 'tis good.

THE WIND THAT BLOWS, THAT WIND IS BEST

Whichever way the wind doth blow,
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.

My little craft sails not alone;
A thousand fleet from every zone
Are out upon a thousand seas;
And what for me were favoring breeze
Might dash another with the shock
Of doom upon some hidden rock.
And so I do not dare to pray
For winds to waft me on my way;
But leave it to a Higher Will
To stay or speed me, trusting still
That ill is well, and sure that He
Who launched my bark will sail with me
Through storm and calm, and will not fail,
Whatever breezes may prevail,
To land me, every peril past,
Within his sheltering heaven at last.

Then, whatsoever wind doth blow,
My heart is glad to have it so;
And, blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.

--Caroline Atherton Mason.

THE DIFFERENCE

Some murmur, when their sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task
And all things good denied.
Yet hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

Give what Thou canst; without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

--William Cowper.

RICHES AND POWER

Cleon has a million acres,
Ne'er a one have I;
Cleon dwelleth in a palace,
In a cottage I.
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,
Not a penny I;
Yet the poorer of the twain is
Cleon, and not I.

Cleon, true, possesseth acres,
But the landscape I;
Half the charms to me it yieldeth,
Money cannot buy.
Cleon harbors sloth and dullness,
Freshening vigor I;
He in velvet, I in fustian,
Richer man am I.

Cleon is a slave to grandeur,
Free as thought am I;
Cleon fees a score of doctors,
Need of none have I.
Wealth-surrounded, care-environed,
Cleon fears to die.
Death may come, he'll find me ready.
Happier man am I.

Cleon sees no charm in nature,
In a daisy I;
Cleon hears no anthem ringing
In the sea and sky;
Nature sings to me forever,
Earnest listener I!
State for state, with all attendants,
Who would change? Not I.

--Charles Mackay.

ENOUGH

I am so weak, dear Lord, I cannot stand
One moment without thee;
But oh, the tenderness of thine enfolding,
And oh, the faithfulness of thine upholding,
And oh, the strength of thy right hand!
_That strength_ is enough for me.

I am so needy, Lord, and yet I know
All fullness dwells in thee;
And hour by hour that never-failing treasure
Supplies and fills in overflowing measure,
My last, my greatest need. And so
_Thy grace_ is enough for me.

It is so sweet to trust THY WORD alone!
I do not ask to see
The unveiling of thy purpose, or the shining
Of future light or mysteries untwining;
The promise-roll is all my own,
_Thy word_ is enough for me.

The human heart asks love. But now I know
That my heart hath from Thee
All real, and full, and marvelous affection
So near, so human! yet Divine perfection
Thrills gloriously the mighty glow!
_Thy love_ is enough for me.

There were strange soul depths, restless, vast and broad
Unfathomed as the sea.
An infinite craving for some infinite stilling;
But now Thy perfect love is perfect filling!
Lord Jesus Christ, my Lord, my God,
Thou, thou art enough for me!

--Frances Ridley Havergal.

FULLY CONTENT

I know not, and I would not know,
Content, I leave it all with Thee;
'Tis ever best it should be so;
As thou wilt have it let it be.

But this I know: that every day
And every step for me is planned;
I surely cannot lose the Way
While He is holding fast my hand.

And surely, whatsoe'er betide,
I never shall be left alone:
Thou standest ever by my side;
To thee my future all is known.

And wheresoe'er my lot may fall
The way before is marked by Thee;
The windings of my life are all
Unfoldings of thy Love to me.

What matter will it be, O mortal man, when thou art dying,
Whether upon a throne or on the bare earth thou art lying?

--From the Persian.

CONTENT WITH ALL

Content that God's decree
Should order all for thee.
Content with sickness or with health--
Content with poverty or wealth--
Content to walk in humble guise,
And as He wills it sink or rise.

Content to live alone
And call no place thine own.
No sweet reunions day by day.
Thy kindred spirits far away.
And, since God wills to have it so,
Thou wouldst not change for weal or woe.

Content that others rise
Before thy very eyes.
How bright their lot and portion here!
Wealth fills their coffers--friends are near.
Behold their mansions tall and fair!
The timbrel and the dance are there.

Content to toil or rest--
God's peace within thy breast--
To feel thy times are in His hand
Who holds all worlds in his command--
Thy time to laugh--thy time to sigh--
Thy time to live--thy time to die.

And is it so indeed
Thou art with God agreed?
Content 'mid all the ills of life?
Farewell, then, sorrow, pain and strife!
Such high content is heaven begun.
The battle's fought, the victory won!

--Mary Ann W. Cook.

A BLESSED LESSON

Have I learned, in whatsoever
State to be content?
Have I learned this blessed lesson
By my Master sent--
And with joyous acquiescence
Do I greet His will
Even when my own is thwarted
And my hands lie still?

Surely it is best and sweetest
Thus to have Him choose,
Even though some work I've taken
By this choice I lose.
Folded hands need not be idle--
Fold them but in prayer;
Other souls may toil far better
For God's answer there.

They that "reap" receive their "wages,"
Those who "work" their "crown,"
Those who pray throughout the ages
Bring blest answers down;
In "whatever state" abiding
Till the Master call,
They at eventide will find Him
Glorified in all.

What though I can do so little
For my Lord and King,
At His feet I sit and listen,
At His feet I sing.
And, whatever my condition,
All in love is meant;
Sing, my soul, thy recognition,
Sing, and be content!

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Led by kindlier hand than ours,
We journey through this earthly scene,
And should not, in our weary hours,
Turn to regret what might have been.

And yet these hearts, when torn by pain,
Or wrung by disappointment keen,
Will seek relief from present cares
In thoughts of joys that might have been.

But let us still these wishes vain;
We know not that of which we dream.
Our lives might have been sadder yet
God only knows what might have been.

Forgive us, Lord, our little faith;
And help us all, from morn to e'en,
Still to believe that lot were best
Which is--not that which might have been.

And grant we may so pass the days
The cradle and the grave between,
That death's dark hour not darker be
For thoughts of what life might have been.

--George Z. Gray.

Hushing every muttered murmur,
Let your fortitude the firmer
Gird your soul with strength.
While, no treason near her lurking,
Patience in her perfect working,
Shall be Queen at length.

BE CONTENT

Be thou content; be still before
His face at whose right hand doth reign
Fullness of joy for evermore,
Without whom all thy toil is vain;
He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays
Make glad with life and light thy dreary days.
Be thou content.

In him is comfort, light, and grace,
And changeless love beyond our thought;
The sorest pang, the worst disgrace,
If he is there, shall harm thee not.
He can lift off thy cross and loose thy bands,
And calm thy fears; nay, death is in His hands.
Be thou content.

Or art thou friendless and alone--
Hast none in whom thou canst confide?
God careth for thee, lonely one--
Comfort and help he will provide.
He sees thy sorrows, and thy hidden grief,
He knoweth when to send thee quick relief;
Be thou content.

Thy heart's unspoken pain he knows,
Thy secret sighs he hears full well;
What to none else thou darest disclose
To him thou mayest with boldness tell.
He is not far away, but ever nigh,
And answereth willingly the poor man's cry:
Be thou content.

MANNA

'Twas in the night the manna fell
That fed the hosts of Israel.

Enough for each day's fullest store
And largest need; enough, no more.

For willful waste, for prideful show,
God sent not angels' food below.

Still in our nights of deep distress
The manna falls our heart to bless.

And, famished, as we cry for bread,
With heavenly food our lives are fed,

And each day's need finds each day's store
Enough. Dear Lord, what want we more!

--Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.

BLESSINGS NEAR AT HAND

We look too far for blessings;
We seek too far for joys;
We ought to be like children
Who find their chiefest toys

Ofttimes in nearest attic,
Or in some dingy lane--
Their aprons full of weeds or flowers
Gathered in sun or rain.

Within the plainest cottage
Unselfish love may grow;
The sweetest, the divinest gift,
Which mortals ever know.

We ought to count our joys, not woes;
Meet care with winsome grace;
For discontent plows furrows
Upon the loveliest face.

Hope, freedom, sunlight, knowledge,
Come not to wealth alone;
He who looks far for blessings
Will overlook his own.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.