Chapter I: Do Not Ask, O Lord (1)

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road;
I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load.

I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:
Lead me aright.
Though strength should falter and though heart should bleed,
Through peace to light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here;
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.

I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;
Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,
And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night.
Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine
Through peace to light.

--Adelaide Anne Procter.

ANGELS OF GRIEF

With silence only as their benediction
God's angels come,
Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,
The soul sits dumb.

Yet would we say, what every heart approveth,
Our Father's will,
Calling to him the dear ones whom he loveth,
Is mercy still.

Not upon us or ours the solemn angel
Hath evil wrought;
The funeral anthem is a glad evangel--
The good die not!

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly
What he has given;
They live on earth in thought and deed as truly
As in his heaven.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

FURNACE AND HAMMER

Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow;
And all my heart in anguish shivers
And trembles at the fiery glow;
And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_"
And in his hottest fire stand still.

He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it
With his great hammer, blow on blow;
And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_"
And at his heaviest blows hold still.

He takes my softened heart and beats it;
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow;
And yet I whisper--"_As God will!_"
And in his mighty hand hold still.

Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will to-morrow,
When God has done his work in me;
So I say trusting--"_As God will!_"
And, trusting to the end, hold still.

--Julius Sturm.

WITH SELF DISSATISFIED

Not when with self dissatisfied,
O Lord, I lowly lie,
So much I need thy grace to guide,
And thy reproving eye,

As when the sound of human praise
Grows pleasant to my ear,
And in its light my broken ways
Fair and complete appear.

By failure and defeat made wise,
We come to know, at length,
What strength within our weakness lies,
What weakness in our strength;

What inward peace is born of strife
What power of being spent;
What wings unto our upward life
Is noble discontent.

O Lord, we need thy shaming look
That burns all low desire;
The discipline of thy rebuke
Shall be refining fire!

--Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

TOO MUCH SELF

Some evil upon Rabia fell;
And one who loved and knew her well
Murmured that God with pain undue
Should strike a child so fond and true.
But she replied, "Believe and trust
That all I suffer is most just.
I had, in contemplation, striven
To realize the joys of heaven;
I had extended fancy's flights
Through all that region of delights,
Had counted, till the numbers failed,
The pleasures on the blest entailed.
Had sounded the ecstatic rest
I should enjoy on Allah's breast--
And for these thoughts I now atone;
They were of something of my own,
And were not thoughts of him alone."

--From the Arabian.

THE GAIN OF LOSS

O thou so weary of thy self-denials,
And so impatient of thy little cross,
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,
And count all earthly things a gainful loss?

Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription,
"Behold, we count them happy which endure"?
What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,
Repass the stormy water to secure?

And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise
For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford?
No hand can take away the treasure from us
That rests within the keeping of the Lord.

A STRANGE BOON

Oft when of God we ask
For fuller, happier life,
He sets us some new task
Involving care and strife;
Is this the boon for which we sought?
Has prayer new trouble on us brought?

This is indeed the boon,
Though strange to us it seems;
We pierce the rock, and soon
The blessing on us streams;
For when we are the most athirst,
Then the clear waters on us burst.

We toil as in the field
Wherein, to us unknown,
A treasure lies concealed
Which may be all our own.
And shall we of the toil complain
That speedily will bring such gain?

We dig the wells of life,
And God the waters gives;
We win our way by strife,
Then he within us lives;
And only war could make us meet
For peace so sacred and so sweet.

--Thomas Toke Lynch.

STILL HOPE! STILL ACT!

Still hope! still act! Be sure that life
The source and strength of every good,
Wastes down in feeling's empty strife,
And dies in dreaming's sickly mood.

To toil in tasks however mean
For all we know of right and true--
In this alone our worth is seen,
'Tis this we were ordained to do.

So shalt thou find, in work and thought:
The peace that sorrow cannot give;
Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,
By thee let others nobler live.

Oh, wait not in the darksome forest,
Where thou must needs be left alone,
But e'en when memory is sorest,
Seek out a path and journey on!

Thou wilt have angels near above
By whom invisible aid is given;
They journey still on tasks of love,
And never rest except in heaven.

--John Sterling.

THEY SHALL NOT OVERFLOW

In the floods of tribulation,
While the billows o'er me roll,
Jesus whispers consolation
And supports my fainting soul;
Sweet affliction
That brings Jesus to my soul.

Thus the lion yields me honey,
From the eater food is given;
Strengthened thus I still press forward,
Singing on my way to heaven.
Sweet affliction,
Helping speed me on to heaven.

So in darkest dispensations
Doth my faithful Lord appear,
With his richest consolations
To reanimate and cheer;
Sweet affliction,
Thus to bring my Saviour near.

Floods of tribulation heighten,
Billows still around me roar;
Those who know not Christ they frighten;
But my soul defies their power:
Sweet affliction,
Thus to bring my Saviour near.

In the sacred page recorded,
Thus His word securely stands;
"Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee,
Naught shall pluck thee from my hands."
Sweet affliction,
Every word my love demands.

All I meet, I find, assists me
In my path to heavenly joy,
Where, though trials now attend me,
Trials never more annoy.
Sweet affliction,
Every promise gives me joy.

Wearing there a weight of glory,
Still the path I'll ne'er forget,
But, exulting, cry it led me
To my blessed Saviour's seat;
Sweet affliction,
Which hath brought me to his feet.

--Pearce.

Glory to God--to God! he saith,
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by death.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

HIS WAYS

I asked for grace to lift me high,
Above the world's depressing cares.
God sent me sorrows,--with a sigh
I said, He has not heard my prayers.

I asked for light, that I might see
My path along life's thorny road;
But clouds and darkness shadowed me
When I expected light from God.

I asked for peace, that I might rest
To think my sacred duties o'er,
When lo! such horrors filled my breast
As I had never felt before.

And O, I cried, can this be prayer
Whose plaints the steadfast mountains move?
Can this be heaven's prevailing care?
And, O my God, is this thy love?

But soon I found that sorrow, worn
As duty's garment, strength supplies,
And out of darkness meekly borne
Unto the righteous light doth rise.

And soon I found that fears which stirred
My startled soul God's will to do,
On me more real peace conferred
Than in life's calm I ever knew.

Then, Lord, in thy mysterious ways
Lead my dependent spirit on,
And whensoe'er it kneels and prays,
Teach it to say, "Thy will be done!"

Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer,
Thine image seek, thy glory see;
Let every other wish and care
Be left confidingly to thee.

--John Samuel Bewley Monsell.

COMPENSATION

Not in each shell the diver brings to air
Is found the priceless pearl, but only where
Mangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death,
The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath.
O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain;
The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain.

--Caroline Atherton Mason.

THE DARK ANGEL

Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou
With courtesy receive him, rise and bow,
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave,
Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow
Or mar thy hospitality; no wave
Of mortal tumult to obliterate
Thy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be,
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate;
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;
Strong to consume small troubles, to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.

--Aubrey Thomas De Vere.

SONG--SERMON

Lord, what is man,
That thou art mindful of him?
Though in creation's van,
Lord, what is man?
He wills less than he can,
Lets his ideal scoff him!
Lord, what is man,
That thou art mindful of him?

--George Macdonald.

Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us?
Our sins breathe fire; thy fire returns to purge us.
Lord, what an alchemist art thou, whose skill
Transmutes to perfect good from perfect ill!

--Francis Quarles.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveler e'er reached that blest abode
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.

--William Cowper.

TAKE AWAY PAIN

The cry of man's anguish went up unto God:
"Lord, take away pain--
The shadow that darkens the world thou hast made,
The close-coiling chain
That strangles the heart, the burden that weighs
On the wings that would soar--
Lord, take away pain from the world thou hast made,
That it love thee the more!"

Then answered the Lord to the cry of his world:
"Shall I take away pain
And with it the power of the soul to endure,
Made strong by the strain?
Shall I take away pity, that knits heart to heart,
And sacrifice high?
Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fire
White brows to the sky?
Shall I take away love, that redeems with a price
And smiles at its loss?
Can ye spare from your lives, that would climb unto mine,
The Christ on his cross?"

'Tis not alone in the sunshine
Our lives grow pure and true;
There is growth as well in the shadow,
And pain has a work to do.

So it comes to me more and more
As I enter upon each new day:
The love of the Father eternal
Is over us all the way.

"In pastures green"? Not always; sometimes he
Who knoweth best in kindness leadeth me
In weary ways where heavy shadows be.

But where He leads me I can safely go,
And in the blest hereafter I shall know
Why in his wisdom he hath led me so.

A SONG OF SOLACE

Thou sweet hand of God, that so woundest my heart,
Thou makest me smile while thou mak'st me to smart;
It seems as if God were at ball-play; and I,
The harder he strikes me the higher I fly.

I own it, he bruises, he pierces me sore;
But the hammer and chisel afflict me no more.
Shall I tell you the reason? It is that I see
The Sculptor will carve out an angel for me.

I shrink from no suffering, how painful soe'er,
When once I can feel that my God's hand is there;
For soft on the anvil the iron shall glow
When the Smith with his hammer deals blow upon blow.

God presses me hard, but he gives patience, too!
And I say to myself, "'Tis no more than my due,"
And no tone from the organ can swell on the breeze
Till the organist's fingers press down on the keys.

So come, then, and welcome the blow and the pain!
Without them no mortal to heaven can attain;
For what can the sheaves on the barn floor avail
Till the thresher shall beat out the chaff with his flail?

'Tis only a moment God chastens with pain;
Joy follows on sorrow like sunshine on rain.
Then bear thou what God on thy spirit shall lay;
Be dumb; but, when tempted to murmur, then pray.

--From the German.

When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent,
What time will then remain for murmurs or lament?

We must live through the weary winter
If we would value the spring;
And the woods must be cold and silent
Before the robins sing.
The flowers must lie buried in darkness
Before they can bud and bloom;
And the sweetest and warmest sunshine
Comes after the storm and gloom.

--Agnes L. Pratt.

We look along the shining ways,
To see the angel faces;
They come to us in darkest days
And in the blackest places.
The strongest hearts have strongest need,
To them the fiery trial;
Who walks a saint in word and deed
Is saint by self-denial.

Is it true, O Christ in heaven,
That the strongest suffer most,
That the wisest wander farthest,
And most hopelessly are lost?
That the mark of rank in nature
Is capacity for pain,
That the anguish of the singer
Makes the sweetness of the strain?

O, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor,
Lifelong we build these human natures up
Into a temple fit for freedom's shrine.
And trial ever consecrates the cup
Wherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.

--James Russell Lowell.

But all God's angels come to us disguised;
Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,
One after other lift their frowning masks,
And we behold the seraph's face beneath
All radiant with the glory and the calm
Of having looked upon the front of God.

--James Russell Lowell.

The man whom God delights to bless
He never curses with success.
Thrice happy loss which makes me see
My happiness is all in thee.

--Charles Wesley.

Who ne'er has suffered, he has lived but half.
Who never failed, he never strove or sought.
Who never wept is stranger to a laugh
And he who never doubted never thought.

--J. B. Goode.

I thank thee, Lord, that all my joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
That thorns remain;
So that earth's bliss may be my guide,
And not my chain.

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 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 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.

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 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 fears
Have holiest ministries.

--Josiah Gilbert Holland.

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.

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 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.

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

--Samuel Rogers.

Only those are crowned and sainted
Who with grief have been acquainted.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

LOVE

DIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS

LOVE'S FULFILLING

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 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 asks
If it be loved at all; to take
So barren seems, when it can make
Such bliss, for the beloved's sake,
Of bitter tasks.

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 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.

LOVE

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 tell
If verily I loved him well.

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.

THE COMMON OFFERING

It is not the deed we do--
Tho' the deed be never so fair--
But the _love_ that 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 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!

--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 tears
Shall wash thy love, and it will live again.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

EXPECTING AND KNOWING

Faith, Hope and Love were questioned what they thought
Of future glory which religion taught;
Now Faith _believed_ it to be firmly true,
And Hope _expected_ so to find it too;
Love answered, smiling with unconscious glow,
"Believe? expect? I _know_ it to be so."

--John Wesley.

THE LOVE OF GOD

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.

THE KINGDOM OF GOD

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 move
Under a canopy of love
As broad as the blue sky above;

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,

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 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.

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 strife
With blessing, all with curses rife,
That _this_ is blessing, _this_ is life.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

GOD'S ALL-EMBRACING LOVE

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 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!

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 claim
Our wayward steps to win;
We know thee by a dearer name,
O love of God, within!

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 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 One
All the loves are mine;
Alien to my heart is none
And life grows divine.

GOD'S MERCY

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 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 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.

THE LOVE THAT PASSETH KNOWLEDGE

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 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.

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 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 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 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.

--Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

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

--James Russell Lowell.

HIS BANNER OVER ME

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 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 fear
I may not feel him standing near;
But, as I lift mine eyes above,
His banner over me is love.

--Gerald Massey.

THE SPILT PEARLS

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 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.

"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 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.

"'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!"

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.

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.

THE HIGHER PRIVILEGE

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 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 toil
Is only privilege.

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?

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

--Frederic Lawrence Knowles.

THE WIDOW'S OIL

2 Kings 4. 1-6

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 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 streams
To fill them every one.

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.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

ONLY LOVE

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 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 spring
Wide love for all is but a worthless thing.

--James Russell Lowell.

JOHN AND JESUS

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, 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 move
To thy pure liberty!

--Samuel Longfellow.

WHAT REDRESS?

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, loving _him_ no less--
There's nothing hurts like tenderness.

--James Whitcomb Riley.

FORGIVENESS

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--
ONE had 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.

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 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."

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."

LOVE OF HOME

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.

BE KIND TO THYSELF

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 clod
Love thou, for it comes from God.
Bear thou with thy human clay,
Lest thou miss the heaven-sent ray.

--Edward Sandford Martin.

LOVE AND LIGHT

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.

SYMPATHETIC LOVE

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!"

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!

--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.

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 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.

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

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Ah, yes! I would a phoenix 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.

HOPE

PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM

THE PROMISED LAND--TO-MORROW

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 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 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 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-day
Our rear shall march 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.

THE RIGHT MUST WIN

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 powers
Of ill are most abroad.

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 earth
In these our hours of need.

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 kept
His promises to men.

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 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, 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.

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 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 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 like
What men agree to praise.

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.

--Frederick William Faber.

Let us believe
That there is hope for all the hearts that grieve;
That somewhere night
Drifts to a morning beautiful with light,
And that the wrong
Though now it triumphs, wields no scepter long.
But right will reign
Throned where the waves of error beat in vain.

--Frank L. Stanton.

To change and change is life; to move and never rest;
Not what we are, but what we hope, is best.

--James Russell Lowell.

HAVE HOPE

Have Hope! it is the brightest star
That lights life's pathway down:
A richer, purer gem than decks
An Eastern monarch's crown.
The Midas that may turn to joy
The grief-fount of the soul;
That paints the prize and bids thee press
With fervor to the goal.

Have Hope! as the tossed mariner
Upon the wild sea driven
With rapture hails the polar star--
His guiding light to haven--
So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide
Along life's stormy road,
And as a sacred beacon stand
To point thee to thy God.

--B. A. G. Fuller.

WAITING

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind or tide or sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For, lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown
And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own, and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good, with equal law,
Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time nor space, nor deep nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.

--John Burroughs.

THE LARGER HOPE

O, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream; but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope through darkness up to God.

I stretch lame hands of faith and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.

--Alfred Tennyson.

DESPONDENCY REBUKED

Say not, the struggle naught availeth;
The labor and the wounds are vain;
The enemy faints not, nor faileth;
And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be--in yon smoke concealed--
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes, silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow--how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!

--Arthur Hugh Clough.

COMMIT THY WAY

Commit thy way to God,
The weight which makes thee faint;
Worlds are to him no load,
To him breathe thy complaint.
He who for winds and clouds
Maketh a pathway free,
Through wastes or hostile crowds,
Can make a way for thee.

Thou must in him be blest
Ere bliss can be secure;
On his works must thou rest
If thy work shall endure.
To anxious, prying thought,
And weary, fretting care,
The highest yieldeth naught:
He giveth all to prayer.

Father, thy faithful love,
Thy mercy, wise and mild,
Sees what will blessing prove,
Or what will hurt thy child;
And what thy wise foreseeing
Doth for thy children choose
Thou bringest into being,
Nor sufferest them to lose.

Hope, then, though woes be doubled;
Hope and be undismayed;
Let not thy heart be troubled,
Nor let it be afraid.
This prison where thou art--
Thy God will break it soon,
And flood with light thy heart
In his own blessed noon.

Up! up! the day is breaking;
Say to thy cares, Good night!
Thy troubles from thee shaking
Like dreams in day's fresh light.
Thou wearest not the crown,
Nor the best course can tell;
God sitteth on the throne
And guideth all things well.

--Paul Gerhardt, tr. by Elizabeth Rundle Charles.

THE SILVER LINING

There's never a day so sunny
But a little cloud appears,
There's never a life so happy
But has its time of tears;
Yet the sun shines out the brighter
Whenever the tempest clears.

There's never a garden growing
With roses in every plot;
There's never a heart so hardened
But has one tender spot;
We have only to prune the border
To find the forget-me-not.

There's never a sun that rises
But we know 'twill set at night;
The tints that gleam in the morning
At evening are just as bright;
And the hour that is the sweetest
Is between the dark and light.

There is never a cup so pleasant
But has bitter with the sweet;
There is never a path so rugged,
Bearing not the print of feet,
But we have a helper furnished
For the trials we may meet.

There is never a way so narrow
But the entrance is made straight,
There is always a guide to point us
To the "little wicket gate."
And the angels will be nearest
To a soul that's desolate.

There is never a heart so haughty
But will some day bow and kneel;
There is never a heart so wounded
That the Saviour cannot heal;
There is many a lowly forehead
Bearing now the hidden seal.

There's never a dream so happy
But the waking makes us sad;
There's never a dream of sorrow
But the waking makes us glad;
We shall look some day with wonder
At the troubles we have had.

Yet sometimes glimmers on my sight,
Through present wrong, the eternal right;
And, step by step, since time began,
I see the steady gain of man.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

FARTHER ON

I hear it singing, singing sweetly,
Softly in an undertone,
Singing as if God had taught it,
"It is better farther on!"

Night and day it sings the song,
Sings it while I sit alone,
Sings so that the heart may hear it,
"It is better farther on!"

Sits upon the grave and sings it,
Sings it when the heart would groan,
Sings it when the shadows darken,
"It is better farther on!"

Farther on? How much farther?
Count the milestones one by one?
No! no counting--only trusting,
"It is better farther on!"

NEW EVERY MORNING

Every day is a fresh beginning,
Every morn is the world made new;
You who are weary of sorrow and sinning,
Here is a beautiful hope for you--
A hope for me and a hope for you.

All the past things are past and over,
The tasks are done and the tears are shed;
Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover;
Yesterday's wounds, which smarted and bled,
Are healed with the healing which night has shed.

Yesterday is a part of forever,
Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight;
With glad days, and sad days, and bad days, which never
Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight,
Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

Let them go, since we cannot relieve them;
Cannot undo, and cannot atone;
God in his mercy, receive, forgive them!
Only the new days are our own.
To-day is ours, and to-day alone.

Here are the skies all burnished brightly,
Here is the spent earth all reborn;
Here are the tired limbs springing lightly
To face the sun, and to share with the morn
In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.

Every day is a fresh beginning;
Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And, spite of all sorrow and old sinning,
And puzzle forecasted, and possible pain,
Take heart with the day, and begin again.

--Susan Coolidge.

CHEER UP

Never go gloomily, man with a mind;
Hope is a better companion than fear;
Providence, ever benignant and kind,
Gives with a smile what you take with a tear.
All will be right; look to the light;
Morning is ever the daughter of night;
All that was black will be all that is bright;
Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.

Many a foe is a friend in disguise,
Many a sorrow a blessing most true,
Helping the heart to be happy and wise,
Bringing true love and joys ever new.
Stand in the van; strive like a man;
This is the bravest and cleverest plan--
Trusting in God while you do what you can,
Cheerily, cheerily, then, cheer up.

PROGRESS

Idly as thou, in that old day
Thou mournest, did thy sire repine;
So, in his time, thy child grown gray
Shall sigh for thine.

But life shall on and upward go;
Th' eternal step of Progress beats
To that great anthem, calm and slow,
Which God repeats.

Take heart! The Waster builds again;
A charmed life old Goodness hath;
The tares may perish, but the grain
Is not for death.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE VEILED FUTURE

Veiled the future comes, refusing,
To be seen, like Isaac's bride
Whom the lonely man met musing
In the fields at eventide.

Round him o'er the darkening waste
Deeper shades of evening fall,
And behind him in the past
Mother Sarah's funeral.

Mother Sarah being dead,
There comes his veiled destiny;
The veiled Rebecca he must wed
Whatsoe'er her features be.

On he walks in silent prayer,
Bids the veiled Rebecca hail,
Doubting not she will prove fair
When at length she drops the veil.

When the veil is dropped aside,
Dropped in Mother Sarah's tent,
Oh! she is right fair, this bride
Whom his loving God has sent.

To those walking 'twixt the two--
'Twixt the past with pleasures dead
And the future veiled from view--
The veiled future thou must wed;

Walk like Isaac, praying God;
Walk by faith and not by sight;
And though darker grows the road
Doubt not all will yet come right.

Things behind forgetting, hail
Every future from above.
Doubt not when it drops the veil
'Twill be such as thou wouldst love.

Till at death-eve, when the past
Rings dear Mother Earth's own knells,
Bridal heaven unveils at last
With a peal of marriage bells.

--William Robertson.

The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring;
And ever upon old decay
The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all his works,
Has left his hope with all.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

IMAGINARY EVILS

Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
Leave things of the future to fate;
What's the use to anticipate sorrow?
Life's troubles come never too late!
If to hope overmuch be an error,
'Tis one that the wise have preferred;
And how often have hearts been in terror
Of evils that never occurred.

Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee;
Permit not suspicion and care
With invisible bonds to acclaim thee,
But bear what God gives thee to bear.
By his spirit supported and gladdened,
Be ne'er by forebodings deterred;
But think how oft hearts have been saddened
By fear of what never occurred.

Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
Short and dark as our life may appear
We may make it still darker by sorrow,
Still shorter by folly and fear!
Half our troubles are half our invention,
And often from blessings conferred
Have we shrunk, in the wild apprehension
Of evils that never occurred.

--Charles Swain.

THE MORNING STAR