Chapter I: Resolve (3)

It was only a sunny smile,
And little it cost in the giving;
But it scattered the night
Like morning light,
And made the day worth living.
Through life's dull warp a woof it wove,
In shining colors of light and love,
And the angels smiled as they watched above,
Yet little it cost in giving.

It was only a kindly word,
And a word that was lightly spoken;
Yet not in vain,
For it stilled the pain
Of a heart that was nearly broken.
It strengthened a fate beset by fears
And groping blindly through mists of tears
For light to brighten the coming years,
Although it was lightly spoken.

It was only a helping hand,
And it seemed of little availing;
But its clasps were warm,
And it saved from harm
A brother whose strength was failing.
Its touch was tender as angels' wings,
But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs,
And pointed the way to higher things,
Though it seemed of little availing.

A smile, a word, a touch,
And each is easily given;
Yet one may win
A soul from sin
Or smooth the way to heaven.
A smile may lighten a falling heart,
A word may soften pain's keenest smart,
A touch may lead us from sin apart--
How easily each is given!

WORKING WITH CHRIST

O matchless honor, all unsought,
High privilege, surpassing thought
That thou shouldst call us, Lord, to be
Linked in work-fellowship with thee!
To carry out _thy_ wondrous plan,
To bear _thy_ messages to man;
"In trust," with Christ's own word of grace
To every soul of human race.

THE "NEW LOGION"

"Jesus saith," and His deep Saying who shall rightly understand,
Rescued from the grasp of ages, risen from its grave of sand?
Who shall read its mystic meaning, who explain its import high:
"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there
am I"?

Does it mean the stone-built altar, and the cleft-wood for its fire,
That with sacrificial offering shall the soul to God aspire,
Purged and pure from sin's defilement, lifting holy hands on high,
"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there
am I"?

Does it mean that toil and action are the price that man shall pay,
Striving the strait gait to enter, pressing on the narrow way,
Clearing it from shade and hindrance, with strong arm and purpose high,
"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there
am I"?

Does it mean that he who seeketh may Thy presence always see
In the common things around him, in the stone and in the tree,
Underlying, all-pervading, Soul of Nature, ever nigh,
"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there
am I"?

Yea, in all our work and worship, in our quiet, in our strife,
In the daily, busy handwork, in the soul's most ardent life,
Each may read his own true meaning of the Saying deep and high,
"Raise the stone and thou shalt find Me, cleave the wood and there
am I."

--Mrs. Henry B. Smith.

He's true to God, who's true to man; wherever wrong is done,
To the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun,
That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base
Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.

--James Russell Lowell.

HER CREED

She stood before a chosen few,
With modest air and eyes of blue;
A gentle creature, in whose face
Were mingled tenderness and grace.

"You wish to join our fold," they said;
"Do you believe in all that's read
From ritual and written creed,
Essential to our human need?"

A troubled look was in her eyes;
She answered, as in vague surprise,
As though the sense to her were dim.
"I only strive to follow Him."

They knew her life, how oft she stood,
Pure in her guileless maidenhood,
By dying bed, in hovel lone,
Whose sorrow she had made her own.

Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the note of any bird;
Her hand been open in distress;
Her joy to brighten and to bless.

Yet still she answered, when they sought
To know her inmost, earnest thought,
With look as of the seraphim
"I only strive to follow Him."

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

WAKING THOUGHTS

Another day God gives me, pure and white.
How can I make it holy in his sight?
Small means have I and but a narrow sphere,
Yet work is round me, for he placed me here.
How can I serve thee, Lord? Open mine eyes;
Show me the duty that around me lies.

"The house is small, but human hearts are there,
And for this day at least beneath thy care.
Someone is sad--then speak a word of cheer;
Someone is lonely--make him welcome here;
Someone has failed--protect him from despair;
Someone is poor--there's something you can spare!

"Thine own heart's sorrow mention but in prayer,
And carry sunshine with thee everywhere.
The little duties do with all thine heart
And from things sordid keep a mind apart;
Then sleep, my child, and take a well-earned rest,
In blessing others thou thyself art blest!"

LONELY SERVICE

Methought that in a solemn church I stood;
Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet,
Lay spread from door to door, from street to street.
Midway the form hung high upon the rood
Of Him who gave his life to be our good.
Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet
Among the candles, shining still and sweet.
Men came and went, and worshipped as they could--
And still their dust a woman with her broom,
Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door.
Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom,
Across the church a silent figure come;
"Daughter," it said, "thou sweepest well my floor."
"It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more.

--George Macdonald.

SHARE YOUR BLESSINGS

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 to thee
Will soon be parched and dried.
For thou must share if thou wouldst keep
That good thing from above;
Ceasing to share you cease to have;
Such is the law of love.

ONLY A LITTLE

Only a seed--but it chanced to fall
In a little cleft of a city wall,
And taking root, grew bravely up
Till a tiny blossom crowned its top.

Only a thought--but the work it wrought
Could never by tongue or pen be taught;
For it ran through a life like a thread of gold,
And the life bore fruit--a hundred fold.

Only a word--but 'twas spoken in love,
With a whispered prayer to the Lord above;
And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more,
For a new-born soul "entered in by the door."

PAUL AT MELITA

Secure in his prophetic strength,
The water peril o'er,
The many-gifted man at length
Stepped on the promised shore.

He trod the shore; but not to rest,
Nor wait till angels came;
Lo! humblest pains the saint attest,
The firebrands and the flame.

But when he felt the viper's smart,
Then instant aid was given.
Christian, hence learn to do thy part,
And leave the rest to Heaven.

--John Henry Newman.

All service ranks the same with God;
If now, as formerly He trod
Paradise, His presence fills
Our earth, each only as God wills
Can work--God's puppets, best and worst,
Are we; there is no last nor first.

Say not "a small event!" Why "small"?
Costs it more pain that this, ye call
A "great event," should come to pass
Than that? Untwine me, from the mass
Of deeds which make up life, one deed
Power shall fall short in, or exceed.

--Robert Browning.

What will it matter in a little while
That for a day
We met and gave a word, a touch, a smile,
Upon the way?
These trifles! Can they make or mar
Human life?
Are souls as lightly swayed as rushes are
By love or strife?
Yea, yea, a look the fainting heart may break,
Or make it whole,
And just one word, if said for love's sweet sake,
May save a soul.

Get leave to work
In this world--'tis the best you get at all;
For God in cursing gives us better gifts
Than men in benediction. God says, "Sweat
For foreheads;" men say "crowns;" and so we are crowned--
Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel
Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; get work;
Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Be useful where thou livest, that they may
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still;
Kindness, good parts, great places, are the way
To compass this. Find out men's wants and will,
And meet them there. All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

--George Herbert.

When He who, sad and weary, longing sore
For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door,
One saw the heavenly, one the human guest;
But who shall say which loved the Master best?

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

Oft, when the Word is on me to deliver,
Opens the heaven, and the Lord is there.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Then with a rush the intolerable craving
Shivers throughout me like a trumpet call--
Oh to save these! to perish for their saving,
Die for their life, be offered for them all!

No man is born into the world whose work
Is not born with him; there is always work,
And tools to work withal, for those who will;
And blessed are the horny hands of toil!

--James Russell Lowell.

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,
In whatso we share with another's need;
Not what we give, but what we share,
For the gift without the giver is bare;
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three:
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.

--James Russell Lowell.

Look not beyond the stars for heaven,
Nor 'neath the sea for hell;
Know thou, who leads a useful life
In Paradise doth dwell.

--Hafiz, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest friends, bright creature, scorn not one;
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

--William Wordsworth.

Mechanic soul, thou must not only do
With Martha, but with Mary ponder too;
Happy's the home where these fair sisters vary;
But most, when Martha's reconciled to Mary.

--Francis Quarles.

If thou hast the gift of strength, then know
Thy part is to uplift the trodden low;
Else, in the giant's grasp, until the end
A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul contend.

--George Meredith.

The best men doing their best
Know, peradventure, least of what they do.
Men usefullest i' the world are simply used.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

New words to speak, new thoughts to hear,
New love to give and take;
Perchance new burdens I may bear
To-day for love's sweet sake.

He doth good work whose heart can find
The spirit 'neath the letter;
Who makes his kind of happier mind,
Leaves wiser men and better.

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly,
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly,
Labor--all labor is noble and holy.

--Frances Sargent Osgood.

In silence mend what ills deform the mind;
But all thy good impart to all thy kind.

--John Sterling.

God gave me something very sweet to be mine own this day:
A precious opportunity a word for Christ to say.

That best portion of a good man's life--
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.

--William Wordsworth.

Wouldst thou go forth to bless, be sure of thine own ground,
Fix well thy center first, then draw thy circle round.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

BROTHERHOOD

CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE

THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran--
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by--
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban--
Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears--
Both parts of an infinite plan--
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
And the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by--
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish--so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

--Sam Walter Foss.

IS YOUR LAMP BURNING?

Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?
I pray you look quickly and see;
For if it were burning, then surely
Some beams would fall brightly on me.

Straight, straight is the road, but I falter.
And oft I fall out by the way;
Then lift your lamp higher, my brother,
Lest I should make fatal delay.

There are many and many around you
Who follow wherever you go;
If you thought that they walked in the shadow
Your lamp would burn brighter, I know.

Upon the dark mountains they stumble,
They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie
With their white pleading faces turned upward
To the clouds and the pitiful sky.

There is many a lamp that is lighted,
We behold them anear and afar,
But not many among them, my brother,
Shine steadily on, like a star.

I think, were they trimmed night and morning,
They would never burn down or go out,
Though from the four quarters of heaven
The winds were all blowing about.

If once all the lamps that are lighted
Should steadily blaze in a line,
Wide over the land and the ocean,
What a girdle of glory would shine!

How all the dark places would brighten!
How the mists would roll up and away!
How the earth would laugh out in her gladness
To hail the millennial day!

Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?
I pray you look quickly and see;
For if it were burning, then surely
Some beams would fall brightly on me.

IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT

If I should die to-night,
My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,
And deem that death had left it almost fair,
And laying snow-white flowers upon my hair,
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,
And fold my hands with lingering caress--
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!

If I should die to-night,
My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought,
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said--
Errands on which the willing feet had sped;
The memory of my selfishness and pride,
My hasty words, would all be put aside,
And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.

If I should die to-night,
Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
Recalling other days remorsefully.
The eyes that chill me with averted glance
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,
And soften in the old familiar way;
For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay?
So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.

O friends, I pray to-night,
Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow.
The way is lonely; let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn,
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to-night.

--Belle Eugenia Smith.

FRUITION

We scatter seeds with careless hand
And dream we ne'er shall see them more,
But for a thousand years
Their fruit appears
In weeds that mar the land
Or helpful store.

The deeds we do, the words we say--
Into still air they seem to fleet;
We count them ever past;
But they shall last--
In the dread judgment they
And we shall meet.

I charge thee by the years gone by,
For the love's sake of brethren dear,
Keep thou the one true way,
In work and play,
Lest in that world their cry
Of woe thou hear.

--John Keble.

Still shines the light of holy lives
Like star beams over doubt;
Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives
Some dark possession out.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

HAVE CHARITY

Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving _why_ they do it:
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far, perhaps, they rue it.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord--its various tone,
Each spring--its various bias;
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.

--Robert Burns.

THE VOICE OF PITY

Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness,
O'er the sons of wrong and strife,
Were their strong temptations planted
In thy path of life?

He alone whose hand is bounding
Human power and human will,
Looking through each soul's surrounding,
Knows its good or ill.

Earnest words must needs be spoken
When the warm heart bleeds or burns
With its scorn of wrong, or pity
For the wronged, by turns.

But, by all thy nature's weakness,
Hidden faults and follies known,
Be thou, in rebuking evil,
Conscious of thine own.

Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty
To thy lips her trumpet set,
But with harsher blasts shall mingle
Wailings of regret.

So when thoughts of evil-doers
Waken scorn or hatred move,
Shall a mournful fellow-feeling
Temper all with love.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan,
That man shall be the joy of man.

--From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.

JUDGE NOT

Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain
In God's pure light may only be
A scar--brought from some well-won field
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight
May be a token that, below,
The soul has closed in deadly fight
With some infernal fiery foe--
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace
And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

The fall thou darest to despise--
May be the angel's slackened hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost; but wait and see
With hopeful pity, not disdain,
The depth of the abyss may be
The measure of the height of pain,
And love and glory that may raise
This soul to God in after days.

--Adelaide Anne Procter.

THINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING

Think gently of the erring;
Ye know not of the power
With which the dark temptation came
In some unguarded hour;
Ye may not know how earnestly
They struggled, or how well,
Until the hour of weakness came
And sadly thus they fell.

Think gently of the erring;
Oh, do not thou forget,
However darkly stained by sin,
He is thy brother yet;
Heir of the self-same heritage,
Child of the self-same God,
He has but stumbled in the path
Thou hast in weakness trod.

Speak gently to the erring;
For is it not enough
That innocence and peace have gone,
Without thy censure rough?
It sure must be a weary lot,
That sin-stained heart to bear,
And those who share a happier fate
Their chidings well may spare.

Speak gently to the erring;
Thou yet mayst lead them back,
With holy words and tones of love,
From misery's thorny track;
Forget not thou hast often sinned,
And sinful yet must be;
Deal gently with the erring, then,
As God has dealt with thee.

--Julia A. Fletcher.

HARSH JUDGMENTS

O God! whose thoughts are brightest light,
Whose love runs always clear,
To whose kind wisdom sinning souls
Amidst their sins are dear,

Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart
With charity like thine,
Till self shall be the only spot
On earth which does not shine.

I often see in my own thoughts,
When they lie nearest Thee,
That the worst men I ever knew
Were better men than me.

He whom no praise can reach is aye
Men's least attempts approving;
Whom justice makes all-merciful
Omniscience makes all-loving.

How thou canst think so well of us
Yet be the God thou art,
Is darkness to my intellect,
But sunshine to my heart.

Yet habits linger in the soul;
More grace, O Lord! more grace!
More sweetness from thy loving heart!
More sunshine from thy face!

The discord is within, which jars
So sadly in life's song;
'Tis we, not they, who are in fault,
When others seem so wrong.

'Tis we who weigh upon ourselves;
Self is the irksome weight;
To those who can see straight themselves,
All things look always straight.

My God, with what surpassing love
Thou lovest all on earth;
How good the least good is to thee,
How much each soul is worth!

All bitterness is from ourselves;
All sweetness is from thee;
Sweet God! for evermore be thou
Fountain and fire in me!

--Frederick William Faber.

HOW TO JUDGE

"Judge the people by their actions"--tis a rule you often get--
"Judge the actions by their people" is a wiser maxim yet.
Have I known you, brother, sister? Have I looked into your heart?
Mingled with your thoughts my feelings, taken of your life my part?
Through the warp of your convictions sent the shuttle of my thought
Till the web became the Credo, for us both, of Should and Ought?
Seen in thousand ways your nature, in all act and look and speech?
By that large induction only I your law of being reach.
Now I hear of this wrong action--what is that to you and me?
Sin within you may have done it--fruit not nature to the tree.
Foreign graft has come to bearing--mistletoe grown on your bough--
If I ever really knew you, then, my friend, I know you now.
So I say, "He never did it," or, "He did not so intend";
Or, "Some foreign power o'ercame him"--so I judge the action, friend.
Let the mere outside observer note appearance as he can;
We, more righteous judgment passing, test each action by its man.

--James Freeman Clarke.

"TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL"

If I knew you and you knew me,
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I'm sure that we would differ less,
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
If I knew you and you knew me.

--Nixon Waterman.

KINDNESS

A little word in kindness spoken,
A motion, or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that's broken
And made a friend sincere.

A word, a look, has crushed to earth
Full many a budding flower,
Which, had a smile but owned its birth,
Would bless life's darkest hour.

Then deem it not an idle thing
A pleasant word to speak;
The face you wear, the thought you bring,
A heart may heal or break.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

IF WE KNEW

If we knew the cares and sorrows
Crowded round our neighbor's way,
If we knew the little losses,
Sorely grievous, day by day,
Would we then so often chide him
For the lack of thrift and gain,
Leaving on his heart a shadow
Leaving on our hearts a stain?

If we knew the clouds above us,
Held by gentle blessings there,
Would we turn away, all trembling,
In our blind and weak despair?
Would we shrink from little shadows
Lying on the dewy grass
While 'tis only birds of Eden
Just in mercy flying past?

Let us reach within our bosoms
For the key to other lives,
And with love to erring natures
Cherish good that still survives;
So that when our disrobed spirits
Soar to realms of light again,
We may say, "Dear Father, judge us
As we judged our fellow men."

Time to me this truth hath taught,
'Tis a truth that's worth revealing:
More offend from want of thought
Than from want of feeling.
If advice we would convey,
There's a time we should convey it;
If we've but a word to say,
There's a time in which to say it.

HONOR ALL MEN

Great Master! teach us how to hope in man:
We lift our eyes upon his works and ways,
And disappointment chills us as we gaze,
Our dream of him so far the truth outran,
So far his deeds are ever falling short.
And then we fold our graceful hands and say,
"The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away,
O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought,
Because the humble souls of Galilee
Were tuned not to the music of thine own
And chimed not to the pulsing undertone
Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea?
Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend,
When we so daintily do condescend.

--Martha Perry Howe.

BROTHERHOOD

That plenty but reproaches me
Which leaves my neighbor bare.
Not wholly glad my heart can be
While his is bowed with care.

If I go free, and sound, and stout,
While his poor fetters clank,
Unsated still, I'll still cry out,
And plead with Whom I thank.

Almighty, thou who Father be
Of him, of me, of all,
Draw us together, him and me,
That, whichsoever fall,

The other's hand may fail him not--
The other's strength decline
No task of succor that his lot
May claim from son of thine.

I would be fed. I would be clad.
I would be housed and dry.
But if so be my heart is sad--
What benefit have I?

Best he whose shoulders best endure
The load that brings relief;
And best shall be his joy secure
Who shares that joy with grief.

--Edward Sandford Martin.

THE LIFE I SEEK

Not in some cloistered cell
Dost thou, Lord, bid me dwell
My love to show,
But 'mid the busy marts,
Where men with burdened hearts
Do come and go.

Some tempted soul to cheer
When breath of ill is near
And foes annoy;
The sinning to restrain,
To ease the throb of pain--
Be such my joy.

Lord, make me quick to see
Each task awaiting me,
And quick to do;
Oh, grant me strength, I pray,
With lowly love each day,
And purpose true,

To go as Jesus went,
Spending and being spent,
Myself forgot;
Supplying human needs
By loving words and deeds--
Oh, happy lot!

--Robert M. Offord.

THY BROTHER

When thy heart with joy o'erflowing
Sings a thankful prayer,
In thy joy, O let thy brother
With thee share.

When the harvest sheaves ingathered
Fill thy barns with store,
To thy God and to thy brother
Give the more.

If thy soul with power uplifted
Yearns for glorious deed,
Give thy strength to serve thy brother
In his need.

Hast thou borne a secret sorrow
In thy lonely breast?
Take to thee thy sorrowing brother
For a guest.

Share with him thy bread of blessing,
Sorrow's burden share;
When thy heart enfolds a brother,
God is there.

--Theodore Chickering Williams.

ALL'S WELL

Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse
Foretold not half life's good to me:
Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force
To show how sweet it is to be!
Thy witching dream
And pictured scheme
To match the fact still want the power:
Thy promise brave--
From birth to grave--
Life's boon may beggar in an hour.

"Ask and receive," 'tis sweetly said;
Yet what to plead for know I not;
For wish is wasted, hope o'ersped,
And aye to thanks returns my thought.
If I would pray,
I've naught to say
But this, that God may be God still;
For him to live
Is still to give,
And sweeter than my wish, his will.

O wealth of life beyond all bound!
Eternity each moment given!
What plummet may the Present sound
Who promises a future heaven?
Or glad or grieved,
Oppressed, relieved,
In blackest night or brightest day,
Still pours the flood
Of golden good,
And more than heartful fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I possess
No petty province, but the whole.
What's mine alone is mine far less
Than treasure shared by every soul,
Talk not of store,
Millions or more--
Of values which the purse may hold--
But this divine!
I own the mine
Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.

I have a stake in every star,
In every beam that fills the day;
All hearts of men my coffers are,
My ores arterial tides convey;
The fields and skies
And sweet replies
Of thought to thought are my gold-dust,
The oaks and brooks
And speaking looks
Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust.

Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow
For him who lives above all years;
Who all-immortal makes the Now,
And is not ta'en in Time's arrears;
His life's a hymn
The seraphim
Might stop to hear or help to sing,
And to his soul
The boundless whole
Its bounty all doth daily bring.

"All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith;
"The wealth I am must then become
Richer and richer, breath by breath--
Immortal gain, immortal room!"
And since all his
Mine also is,
Life's gift outruns my fancies far,
And drowns the dream
In larger stream,
As morning drinks the morning star.

--David Atwood Wasson.

HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED?

How doth death speak of our beloved
When it has laid them low,
When it has set its hallowing touch
On speechless lip and brow?

It clothes their every gift and grace
With radiance from the holiest place,
With light as from an angel's face,

Recalling with resistless force
And tracing to their hidden source
Deeds scarcely noticed in their course--

This little loving fond device,
That daily act of sacrifice,
Of which too late we learned the price.

Opening our weeping eyes to trace
Simple unnoticed kindnesses,
Forgotten tones of tenderness,

Which evermore to us must be
Sacred as hymns in infancy
Learnt listening at a mother's knee.

Thus doth death speak of our beloved
When it has laid them low.
Then let love antedate the work of death,
And speak thus now.

* * * * *

How does death speak of our beloved
When it has laid them low,
When it has set its hallowing touch
On speechless lip and brow?

It sweeps their faults with heavy hand
As sweeps the sea the trampled sand,
Till scarce the faintest print is scanned.

It shows how much the vexing deed
Was but a generous nature's weed
Or some choice virtue run to seed;

How that small fretting fretfulness
Was but love's overanxiousness,
Which had not been had love been less;

This failing at which we repined
But the dim shade of day declined
Which should have made us doubly kind.

It takes each failing on our part
And brands it in upon the heart
With caustic power and cruel art.

The small neglect that may have pained
A giant stature will have gained
When it can never be explained;

The little service which had proved
How tenderly we watched and loved,
And those mute lips to smiles had moved;

The little gift from out our store
Which might have cheered some cheerless hour
When they with earth's poor needs were poor.

It shows our faults like fires at night;
It sweeps their failings out of sight;
It clothes their good in heavenly light.

O Christ, our life, foredate the work of death
And do this now;
Thou, who art love, thus hallow our beloved;
Not death, but Thou!

--Elizabeth Rundle Charles.

God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives
That lamp due measure of oil: Lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide,
Its comfort for others to share!

--Muleykeh.

THE NEW ERA

It is coming! it is coming! The day is just a-dawning
When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother;
When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning,
Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother.

When the men who work for wages shall not toil from morn till even,
With no vision of the sunlight, nor flowers, nor birds a-singing;
When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven,
Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing.

The time is coming when the man who cares not for another
Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation;
Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother,
As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation.

The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling,
And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be;
And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are
spoiling
The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity.

It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper;
They are giving of their millions as they never gave before;
They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper,
And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

To a darning-needle once exclaimed the kitchen sieve,
"You've a hole right through your body, and I wonder how you live."
But the needle (who was sharp) replied, "I too have wondered
That you notice my _one_ hole, when in you there are a hundred!"

--Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

LOOKING FOR PEARLS

The Master came one evening to the gate
Of a fair city; it was growing late,
And sending his disciples to buy food,
He wandered forth intent on doing good,
As was his wont. And in the market-place
He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space,
Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground,
Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found
A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck--
A dead dog with a halter round his neck,
And those who stood by mocked the object there,
And one said, scoffing, "It pollutes the air!"
Another, jeering, asked, "How long to-night
Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?"
"Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jewish wit,
"You could not cut even a shoe from it,"
And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed,"
A fourth chimed in, "an unclean wretch indeed!"
"He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried.
And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side.
Then Jesus, standing by them in the street,
Looked on the poor, spent creature at his feet,
And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men,
"_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._" And then
The people at each other gazed, asking,
"Who is this stranger pitying this vile thing?"
Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath,
"This surely is the Man of Nazareth;
This must be Jesus, for none else but he
Something to praise in a dead dog could see!"
And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head,
And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

--Alexander Pope.

WHAT MIGHT BE DONE

What might be done if men were wise--
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,
Would they unite
In love and right,
And cease their scorn of one another!

Oppression's heart might be imbued
With kindling drops of loving-kindness,
And knowledge pour
From shore to shore
Light on the eyes of mental blindness.

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,
All vice and crime, might die together;
And wine and corn
To each man born
Be free as warmth in summer weather.

The meanest wretch that ever trod,
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,
Might stand erect
In self-respect,
And share the teeming world to-morrow.

What might be done? This might be done.
And more than this, my suffering brother;
More than the tongue
E'er said or sung
If men were wise and loved each other.

--Charles Mackay.

If I could see
A brother languishing in sore distress,
And I should turn and leave him comfortless,
When I might be
A messenger of hope and happiness--
How could I ask to have that I denied
In my own hour of bitterness supplied?

If I might share
A brother's load along the dusty way,
And I should turn and walk alone that day,
How could I dare--
When in the evening watch I kneel to pray--
To ask for help to bear my pain and loss,
If I had heeded not my brother's cross?

SHARED

I said it in the meadow path,
I say it on the mountain-stairs:
The best things any mortal hath
Are those which every mortal shares.

The air we breathe--the sky--the breeze--
The light without us and within--
Life with its unlocked treasuries--
God's riches, are for all to win.

The grass is softer to my tread
For rest it yields unnumbered feet;
Sweeter to me the wild-rose red
Because she makes the whole world sweet.

Into your heavenly loneliness
Ye welcomed me, O solemn peaks!
And me in every guest you bless
Who reverently your mystery seeks.

And up the radiant peopled way
That opens into worlds unknown
It will be life's delight to say,
"Heaven is not heaven for me alone."

Rich through my brethren's poverty!
Such wealth were hideous! I am blest
Only in what they share with me,
In what I share with all the rest.

--Lucy Larcom.

UNCHARITABLENESS NOT CHRISTIAN

I know not if 'twas wise or well
To give all heathens up to hell--
Hadrian--Aurelius--Socrates--
And others wise and good as these;
I know not if it is forbid,
But this I know--Christ never did.

May every soul that touches mine--
Be it the slightest contact--get therefrom some good,
Some little grace, one kindly thought,
One inspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage
For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life,
One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists,
To make this life worth while,
And heaven a surer heritage.

SOCIAL CHRISTIANITY

O for a closer walk with man!
Sweet fellowship of soul,
Where each is to the other bound,
Parts of one living whole.

Our Father, God, help us to see
That all in thee are one;
O warm our hearts with thy pure love,
Strong as your glorious sun.

Pride, envy, selfishness will melt
Beneath that kindling fire;
Our brother's faults we scarce shall see,
But good in all admire.

No bitter cry of misery
Shall ever pass unheard;
But gentle sympathy spring forth
In smile and strengthening word.

And when our brother's voice shall call
From lands beyond the sea,
Our hearts in glad response will say,
"Here, Lord, am I, send me."

O Jesus Christ, thou who wast man,
Grant us thy face to see;
In thy light shall we understand
What human life may be.

Then daily with thy Spirit filled,
According to thy word,
New power shall flow through us to all,
And draw men near our Lord.

Thus will the deep desire be met
With which our prayer began;
A closer walk with Thee will mean
A closer walk with man.

If any little word of mine may make a life the brighter,
If any little song of mine may make a heart the lighter,
God help me speak the little word, and take my bit of singing,
And drop it in some lonely vale to set the echoes ringing.
If any little love of mine may make a life the sweeter,
If any little care of mine make other life completer,
If any lift of mine may ease the burden of another,
God give me love and care and strength to help my toiling brother.

CHARITY NOT JUSTICE

Outwearied with the littleness and spite,
The falsehood and the treachery of men,
I cried, "Give me but justice!" thinking then
I meekly craved a common boon which might
Most easily be granted; soon the light
Of deeper truth grew on my wondering ken,
(Escaping baneful damps of stagnant fen),
And then I saw that in my pride bedight
I claimed from erring man the gift of Heaven--
God's own great vested right; and I grew calm,
With folded hands, like stone, to patience given,
And pitying, of pure love distilling balm;
And now I wait in quiet trust to be
All known to God--and ask of men sweet charity.

--Elizabeth Oakes Smith.

GOD SAVE THE PEOPLE

When wilt thou save the people,
O God of mercy, when?
Not kings alone, but nations?
Not thrones and crowns, but men?
Flowers of thy heart, O God, are they:
Let them not pass, like weeds, away--
Their heritage a sunless day.
God save the people!

Shall crime bring crime forever,
Strength aiding still the strong?
Is it thy will, O Father,
That man shall toil for wrong?
"No," say thy mountains, "No," thy skies;
Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,
And songs ascend instead of sighs.
God save the people!

When wilt thou save the people?
O God of mercy, when?
The people, Lord, the people,
Not thrones and crowns, but men?
God save the people; thine they are,
Thy children, as thine angels fair;
From vice, oppression, and despair,
God save the people!

--Ebenezer Elliott.

HYMN OF THE CITY

Not in the solitude
Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see
Only in savage wood
And sunny vale the present Deity;
Or only hear his voice
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold
Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd
Through the great city rolled
With everlasting murmurs deep and loud--
Choking the ways that wind
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.

The golden sunshine comes
From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies
And lights their inner homes;
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies
And givest them the stores
Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores.

Thy spirit is around,
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;
And this eternal sound--
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng--
Like the resounding sea,
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.

And when the hour of rest
Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast--
The quiet of that moment too is Thine
It breathes of Him who keeps
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.

--William Cullen Bryant.

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Believe not each accusing tongue,
As most weak people do;
But still believe that story wrong
Which ought not to be true.

--Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

CHRIST IN THE CITY

Where cross the crowded ways of life
Where sound the cries of race and clan,
Above the noise of selfish strife,
We hear thy voice, O Son of man.

In haunts of wretchedness and need,
On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,
From paths where hide the lures of greed
We catch the vision of thy tears.

From tender childhood's helplessness,
From woman's grief, man's burdened toil,
From famished souls, from sorrow's stress,
Thy heart has never known recoil.

The cup of water given for Thee
Still holds the freshness of thy grace;
Yet long these multitudes to see
The sweet compassion of thy face.

O Master, from the mountain side
Make haste to heal these hearts of pain,
Among these restless throngs abide,
O tread the city's streets again,

Till sons of men shall learn thy love
And follow where thy feet have trod;
Till glorious from thy heaven above
Shall come the city of our God.

--Frank Mason North.

Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul
May keep the path, but will not reach the goal;
While he who walks in love may wander far,
But God will bring him where the blessed are.

--Henry van Dyke.

Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art,
Hard study never made the matter clearer;
'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart
Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer.

--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

SPEAK OUT

If you have a friend worth loving,
Love him. Yes, and let him know
That you love him, ere life's evening
Tinge his brow with sunset glow.
Why should good words ne'er be said
Of a friend--till he is dead?

If you hear a song that thrills you,
Sung by any child of song,
Praise it. Do not let the singer
Wait deserved praises long.
Why should one who thrills your heart
Lack the joy you may impart?

If you hear a prayer that moves you
By its humble, pleading tone,
Join it. Do not let the seeker
Bow before his God alone.
Why should not thy brother share
The strength of "two or three" in prayer?

If your work is made more easy
By a friendly, helping hand,
Say so. Speak out brave and truly,
Ere the darkness veil the land.
Should a brother workman dear
Falter for a word of cheer?

Scatter thus your seeds of kindness
All enriching as you go--
Leave them. Trust the Harvest-Giver;
He will make each seed to grow.
So, until the happy end,
Your life shall never lack a friend.

INFLUENCE

The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean
Will leave a track behind forevermore;
The lightest wave of influence, once in motion,
Extends and widens to the eternal shore.
We should be wary, then, who go before
A myriad yet to be, and we should take
Our bearings carefully where breakers roar
And fearful tempests gather: one mistake
May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

TELL HIM SO

If you have a word of cheer
That may light the pathway drear,
Of a brother pilgrim here,
Let him know.
Show him you appreciate
What he does, and do not wait
Till the heavy hand of fate
Lays him low.
If your heart contains a thought
That will brighter make his lot,
Then, in mercy, hide it not;
Tell him so.

Bide not till the end of all
Carries him beyond recall
When beside his sable pall,
To avow
Your affection and acclaim
To do honor to his name
And to place the wreath of fame
On his brow.
Rather speak to him to-day;
For the things you have to say
May assist him on his way:
Tell him now.

Life is hard enough, at best:
But the love that is expressed
Makes it seem a pathway blest
To our feet;
And the troubles that we share
Seem the easier to bear,
Smile upon your neighbor's care,
As you greet.
Rough and stony are our ways,
Dark and dreary are our days;
But another's love and praise
Make them sweet.

Wait not till your friend is dead
Ere your compliments are said;
For the spirit that has fled,
If it know,
Does not need to speed it on
Our poor praise; where it has gone
Love's eternal, golden dawn
Is aglow.
But unto our brother here
That poor praise is very dear;
If you've any word of cheer
Tell him so.

--J. A. Egerton.

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE MAN WITH A GRUDGE

There once was a man who bore a grudge.
Stoutly he bore it many a year.
"Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge!
Well it becomes me, never fear.

"Men for this world, and saints for heaven;
Too much of meekness shows a fool;
My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven;
'Give as you get,' is a good old rule."

The longer he bore it, the more it grew,
Grew his grudge, as he trudged along;
Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew,
And he heard within it a wondrous song.

The shining porter said, "Walk in."
He sought to do so; the gate was strait:
Hard he struggled his way to win,
The way was narrow, the grudge was great.

He turned in haste to lay it down;
He strove to tear it away--to cut--
But it had fast to his heart strings grown,
"O wait," he cried; but the door was shut.

Through windows bright and clear he saw
The blessed going with their Lord to sup.
But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw;
Hell opened her mouth and swallowed him up.

--Sara Hammond Palfrey.

Man judges from a partial view,
None ever yet his brother knew;
The Eternal Eye that sees the whole
May better read the darkened soul,
And find, to outward sense denied,
The flower upon its inward side.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

O brothers! are ye asking how
The hills of happiness to find?
Then know they lie beyond the vow--
"God helping me, I will be kind."

--Nixon Waterman.

A BLESSING

Not to the man of dollars,
Not to the man of deeds,
Not unto craft and cunning,
Not unto human creeds;
Not to the one whose passion
Is for the world's renown,
Not in the form of fashion
Cometh a blessing down.

But to the one whose spirit
Yearns for the great and good;
Unto the one whose storehouse
Yieldeth the hungry food;
Unto the one who labors
Fearless of foe or frown;
Unto the kindly-hearted,
Cometh a blessing down.

--Mary Frances Tucker.

WEAPONS

Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,
And so are tongue and pen,
And so are sheaves of good bank notes,
To sway the souls of men.
But guns and swords and piles of gold,
Though mighty in their sphere,
Are sometimes feebler than a smile,
And poorer than a tear.

--Charles Mackay.

Enough to know that, through the winter's frost
And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost,
And every duty pays at last its cost.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

A kindly act is a kernel sown
That will grow to a goodly tree,
Shedding its fruit when time is flown
Down the gulf of Eternity.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

The kindly word unspoken is a sin--
A sin that wraps itself in purest guise,
And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within,
That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

CONSECRATION

SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY

THE CHARIOTEER

O God, take the reins of my life!
I have driven it blindly, to left and to right,
In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite,
Where the brambles were rife,
In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.
O God, take the reins of my life!

For I am so weary and weak.
My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart,
And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start,
And the worn horses reek
With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart,
While I am all weary and weak.

But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.
Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way
Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay,
And my life in that hour
Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey;
For thou wilt be peace and all power.

Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!
While eyes can look up and while reason remains,
And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins,
Ere death stamp my brow
And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my
veins--
Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!