Chapter I: Will Not Seek

I cannot think but God must know
About the thing I long for so;
I know he is so good, so kind,
I cannot think but he will find
Some way to help, some way to show
Me to the thing I long for so.

I stretch my hand; it lies so near,
It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,
"Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know
If it is wrong to want it so!"
He only smiles, he does not speak;
My heart grows weaker and more weak
With looking at the thing so dear,
Which lies so far, and yet so near.

Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet
This thing which looks so near, so sweet;
I will not seek, I will not long;
I almost fear I have been wrong;
I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,
And wait, till by some loud, clear word
Thou callest me to thy loved feet
To take this thing so dear, so sweet.

--Saxe Holm.

TRIUMPHING IN OTHERS

Others shall sing the song,
Others shall right the wrong,
Finish what I begin,
And all I fail of win.

What matter, I or they,
Mine or another's day,
So the right word be said,
And life the sweeter made?

Ring, bells in unreared steeples,
The joy of unborn peoples!
Sound, trumpets far-off blown,
Your triumph is my own.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;
So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be;
Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky
Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.
A grain of glory mixed with humbleness
Cures both a fever and lethargickness.

--George Herbert.

FOR DIVINE STRENGTH

Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,
Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;
For we are weak and need some deep revealing
Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,
And thou hast made each step an onward one;
And we will ever trust each unknown morrow--
Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.

In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy
Abides; and when pain seems to have its will,
Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly
Stronger than agony, and we be still!

Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,
Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;
Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,
Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.

--Samuel Johnson.

WHEN I AM WEAK THEN AM I STRONG

Half feeling our own weakness,
We place our hands in Thine--
Knowing but half our darkness
We ask for light divine.
Then, when Thy strong arm holds us,
Our weakness most we feel,
And thy love and light around us
Our darkness must reveal.

Too oft, when faithless doubtings
Around our spirits press,
We cry, "Can hands so feeble
Grasp such almightiness?"
While thus we doubt and tremble
Our hold still looser grows;
While on our darkness gazing
Vainly thy radiance glows.

Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,
And guide us by thy hand,
In thy light teach us light to see,
In thy strength strong to stand.
Then though our hands be feeble,
If they but touch thine arm,
Thy light and power shall lead us,
And keep us strong and calm.

A HUMBLE HEART

I would not ask Thee that my days
Should flow quite smoothly on and on,
Lest I should learn to love the world
Too well, ere all my time was done.

I would not ask Thee that my work
Should never bring me pain nor fear;
Lest I should learn to work alone,
And never wish thy presence near.

I would not ask Thee that my friends
Should always kind and constant be;
Lest I should learn to lay my faith
In them alone, and not in thee.

But I would ask a humble heart,
A changeless will to work and wake,
A firm faith in Thy providence,
The rest--'tis thine to give or take.

--Alfred Norris.

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,
The mere material with which Wisdom builds,
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

--William Cowper.

Humble we must be if to heaven we go;
High is the roof there; but the gate is low.

--Robert Herrick.

NOT MINE

It is not mine to run, with eager feet,
Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.

It is not mine to pour the oil and wine
Or bring the purple robe and linen fine.

It is not mine to break at his dear feet
The alabaster box of ointment sweet.

It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,
Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.

It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,
Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.

He hath no need of me in grand affairs,
Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.

Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flower
Bloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;

If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,
May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;

May speak one quiet word when all is still,
Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;

Or sing some high, clear song on which may soar
Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.

--Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.

Christ wants the best. He in the far-off ages
Once claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat;
And still he asks his own with gentlest pleading
To lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet.
He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love;
He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have.

PRAISE DEPRECATED

My sins and follies, Lord, by thee
From others hidden are,
That such good words are spoke of me
As now and then I hear;
For sure if others know me such,
Such as myself I know,
I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praised now.

The praise, therefore, which I have heard,
Delights not so my mind,
As those things make my heart afeard
Which in myself I find;
And I had rather to be blamed,
So I were blameless made,
Than for much virtue to be famed
When I no virtues had.

Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.
And when a virtuous man hath erred
If praised himself he hear,
It makes him grieve and more afeard
Than if he slandered were.

Lord, therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appears to be
In any act of mine,
Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.

--George Wither (1588-1667).

One part, one little part, we dimly scan,
Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,
If but that little part incongruous seem.
Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem,
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.
O then renounce that impious self-esteem
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies;
For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.

--James Beattie.

HUMILITY

O humble me! I cannot bide the joy
That in my Saviour's presence ever flows;
May I be lowly, lest it may destroy
The peace his childlike spirit ever knows.
I would not speak thy word, but by thee stand
While thou dost to thine erring children speak;
O help me but to keep his own command,
And in my strength to feel me ever weak;
Then in thy presence shall I humbly stay,
Nor lose the life of love he came to give;
And find at last the life, the truth, the way
To where with him thy blessed servants live;
And walk forever in the path of truth--
A servant, yet a son; a sire and yet a youth.

--Jones Very.

TURN FROM SELF

This is the highest learning,
The hardest and the best--
From self to keep still turning,
And honor all the rest.

If one should break the letter,
Yea, spirit of command,
Think not that thou art better;
Thou may'st not always stand!

We all are weak--but weaker
Hold no one than thou art;
Then, as thou growest meeker,
Higher will go thy heart.

--George Macdonald.

In proud humility a pious man went through the field;
The ears of corn were bowing in the wind, as if they kneeled;
He struck them on the head, and modestly began to say,
"Unto the Lord, not unto me, such honors should you pay."

--From the Persian.

MEEKNESS OF MOSES

Moses, the patriot fierce, became
The meekest man on earth,
To show us how love's quickening flame
Can give our souls new birth.

Moses, the man of meekest heart,
Lost Canaan by self-will,
To show, where grace has done its part,
How sin defiles us still.

Thou who hast taught me in thy fear,
Yet seest me frail at best,
Oh, grant me loss with Moses here,
To gain his future rest.

--John Henry Newman.

LAUS DEO

Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ
Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy.
Well-doing bringeth pride; this constant thought
Humility, that thy best done is naught.
Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small,
Save to praise God; but that hath saved all.
For God requires no more than thou hast done,
And takes thy work to bless it for his own.

--Robert Bridges.

"A commonplace life," we say, and we sigh;
But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
Makes up the commonplace day.
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
And the flower that blooms and the bird that sings,
But dark were the world and sad our lot
If the flowers failed and the sun shone not;
And God, who studies each separate soul
Out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.

Humility, that low, sweet root
From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

--Thomas Moore.

THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL

Up and away, like the dew of the morning
That soars from the earth to its home in the sun,
So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,
Only remembered by what I have done.

My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,
The brief race of time well and patiently run,
So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,
Only remembered by what I have done.

Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,
Up to the crown that for me has been won;
Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises;
Only remembered by what I have done.

Up and away, like the odors of sunset,
That sweeten the twilight as evening comes on,
So be my life--a thing felt but not noticed,--
And I but remembered by what I have done.

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness
When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone.
So would I be to this world's weary dwellers
Only remembered by what I have done.

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing
(As its summer and autumn move silently on)
The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;
I shall still be remembered by what I have done.

Needs there the praise of the love-written record,
The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?
The things we have lived for--let them be our story--
We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.

I need not be missed if another succeed me,
To reap down the fields which in spring I have sown;
He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,
He is only remembered by what he has done.

Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,
Shall pass on to ages--all about me forgotten,
Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.

So let my living be, so be my dying;
So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown;
Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered;
Yes, but remembered for what I have done.

--Horatius Bonar.

SELF

O I could go through all life's troubles singing,
Turning earth's night to day,
If self were not so fast around me clinging,
To all I do or say.

O Lord! that I could waste my life for others,
With no ends of my own,
That I could pour myself into my brothers
And live for them alone!

Such was the life thou livedst; self-abjuring,
Thine own pains never easing,
Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring;
A life without self-pleasing.

--Frederick William Faber.

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US

The time for toil is past, and night has come--
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;
Worn out with labor, long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.

Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened not so much with grain
As with a heaviness of heart and brain;
Master, behold my sheaves.

Few, light, and worthless--yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hapless fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late--
Yet these are all my sheaves.

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;
Wherefore I blush and weep as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"

I know these blossoms clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value or utility--
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.

So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do,
And though the full ripe ears be sadly few
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.

--Elizabeth Akers.

I pray not that
Men tremble at
My power of place,
And lordly sway;
I only pray for simple grace
To look my neighbor in the face
Full honestly from day to day.

--James Whitcomb Riley.

If thou art blest,
Then let the sunshine of thy gladness rest
On the dark edges of each cloud that lies
Black in thy brother's skies.
If thou art sad,
Still be in thy brother's gladness glad.

--Hamilton.

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

--Alfred Tennyson.

Praise not thy work, but let thy work praise thee;
For deeds, not words, make each man's memory stable.
If what thou dost is good, its good all men will see;
Musk by its smell is known, not by its label.

When thou art fain to trace a map of thine own heart,
An undiscovered land set down the largest part.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

Patient, resigned and humble wills
Impregnably resist all ills.

--Thomas Ken.

He is one to whom
Long patience hath such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing of which
He hath no need.

--William Wordsworth.

Be not too ready to condemn
The wrong thy brothers may have done:
Ere ye too harshly censure them
For human faults, ask, "Have I none?"

--Eliza Cook.

Search thine own heart. What paineth thee
In others in thyself may be;
All dust is frail, all flesh is weak;
Be thou the true man thou dost seek.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

Through wish, resolve, and act, our will
Is moved by undreamed forces still;
And no man measures in advance
His strength with untried circumstance.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone.
Something uncompleted still
Waits the rising of the sun.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

In the deed that no man knoweth,
Where no praiseful trumpet bloweth,
Where he may not reap who soweth,
There, Lord, let my heart serve thee.

O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion.

--Robert Burns.

CONTENTMENT

RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION

CONTENTMENT

Father, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me,
And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;
I ask Thee for a patient mind,
Intent on pleasing thee.

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles,
And wipe the weeping eyes,
And a heart, at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And _guided_ where I go.

Wherever in this world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,
I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate,
And a work of lowly love to do
For the Lord on whom I wait.

So I ask Thee for the daily strength--
To none that ask denied--
And a mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping at thy side,
Content to fill a _little_ space,
If thou be glorified.

And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to thee;
More careful not to serve thee much,
But to please thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path,
Which call for constant care;
There is a cross in every lot,
And an earnest need for prayer;
But a lowly heart, that leans on Thee,
Is happy everywhere.

In a service which Thy love appoints
There are no bonds for me,
For my secret heart has learned the truth
Which makes thy children free,
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.

--Anna Letitia Waring.

TWO PICTURES

An old farm house with meadows wide,
And sweet with clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out
The door with woodbine wreathed about,
And wishes his one thought all day:
"O if I could but fly away!
From this dull spot the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I should be!"

Amid the city's constant din,
A man who round the world has been,
Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng,
Is thinking, thinking all day long:
"O could I only tread once more
The field-path to the farm-house door,
The old green meadow could I see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I should be!"

--Annie Douglas Robinson.

Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive nor fears torment,
But lives in peace, within himself content;
In thought, or act, accountable to none
But to himself, and unto God alone.

--Henry P. F. Lansdowne.

CONTENT I LIVE

My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find
As far exceeds all earthly bliss
That God or nature hath assigned:
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live; this is my stay--
I seek no more than may suffice.
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies.
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with what my mind doth bring.

I laugh not at another's loss,
I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss;
I brook that as another's bane.
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend.
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defense;
I never seek by bribes to please
Nor by desert to give offense.
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so, as well as I.

--Edward Dyer. Alt. by William Byrd (1540-1625).

JUST AS GOD LEADS

Just as God leads me I would go;
I would not ask to choose my way;
Content with what he will bestow,
Assured he will not let me stray.
So, as he leads, my path I make,
And step by step I gladly take--
A child, in him confiding.

Just as God leads I am content;
I rest me calmly in his hands;
That which he has decreed and sent--
That which his will for me commands--
I would that he should all fulfill,
That I should do his gracious will
In living or in dying.

Just as God leads, I all resign;
I trust me to my Father's will;
When reason's rays deceptive shine,
His counsel would I yet fulfill;
That which his love ordained as right
Before he brought me to the right
My all to him resigning.

Just as God leads me, I abide
In faith, in hope, in suffering true;
His strength is ever by my side--
Can aught my hold on him undo?
I hold me firm in patience, knowing
That God my life is still bestowing--
The best in kindness sending.

Just as God leads I onward go,
Out amid thorns and briers keen;
God does not yet his guidance show--
But in the end it shall be seen.
How, by a loving Father's will,
Faithful and true, he leads me still.
And so my heart is resting.

--From the German.

SWEET CONTENT

O Thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide;
My Lord, how full of sweet content
I pass my years of banishment!

All scenes alike engaging prove
To souls impressed with sacred love!
Where'er they dwell they dwell in Thee
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.

To me remains nor place nor time,
My country is in every clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.

While place we seek, or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with a God to guide our way
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.

Could I be cast where Thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot;
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.

--Madame Guyon.

CONTENT AND RICH

My conscience is my crown,
Contented thoughts my rest;
My heart is happy in itself,
My bliss is in my breast.

Enough I reckon wealth;
A mean, the surest lot;
That lies too high for base contempt,
Too low for envy's shot.

My wishes are but few,
All easy to fulfill;
I make the limits of my power
The bounds unto my will.

I feel no care of coin;
Well doing is my wealth;
My mind to me an empire is,
While grace affordeth health.

I clip high-climbing thoughts,
The wings of swelling pride;
Their fall is worst that from the height
Of greatest honor slide.

Since sails of largest size
The storm doth soonest tear,
I bear so low and small a sail
As freeth me from fear.

I wrestle not with rage
While fury's flame doth burn;
It is in vain to stop the stream
Until the tide doth turn.

But when the flame is out,
And ebbing wrath doth end,
I turn a late enraged foe
Into a quiet friend.

And, taught with often proof,
A tempered calm I find
To be most solace to itself,
Best cure for angry mind.

No change of fortune's calms
Can cast my comforts down;
When Fortune smiles I smile to think
How quickly she will frown.

And when in froward mood
She proves an angry foe,
Small gain I found to let her come,
Less loss to let her go.

--Robert Southwell, 1561-95. (One of the Jesuit Fathers who were
cruelly executed by Queen Elizabeth.)

Don't lose Courage! Spirit brave
Carry with you to the grave.

Don't lose Time in vain distress!
Work, not worry, brings success.

Don't lose Hope! who lets her stray
Goes forlornly all the way.

Don't lose Patience, come what will!
Patience ofttimes outruns skill.

Don't lose Gladness! every hour
Blooms for you some happy flower.

Though be foiled your dearest plan,
Don't lose Faith in God and man!

A CONTRAST

Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun,
And both were poor;
Both sat with children, when the day was done,
About their door.
One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud
And shining moon;
The other, with his head in sadness bowed,
Made night of noon.
One loved each tree and flower and singing bird,
On mount or plain;
No music in the soul of one was stirred
By leaf or rain.
One saw the good in every fellow-man
And hoped the best;
The other marvelled at his Master's plan,
And doubt confessed.
One, having heaven above and heaven below,
Was satisfied;
The other, discontented, lived in woe,
And hopeless died.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

WHO BIDES HIS TIME

Who bides his time, and day by day
Faces defeat full patiently,
And lifts a mirthful roundelay
However poor his fortunes be--
He will not fail in any qualm
Of poverty; the paltry dime--
It will grow golden in his palm
Who bides his time.

Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet
Of honey in the saltest tear;
And though he fares with slowest feet
Joy runs to meet him drawing near;
The birds are heralds of his cause,
And like a never-ending rhyme
The roadsides bloom in his applause
Who bides his time.

Who bides his time, and fevers not
In a hot race that none achieves,
Shall wear cool wreathen laurel, wrought
With crimson berries in the leaves;
And he shall reign a goodly king
And sway his hand o'er every clime,
With peace writ on his signet ring,
Who bides his time.

--James Whitcomb Riley.

CARELESS CONTENT

I am content; I do not care;
Wag as it will the world for me;
When Fuss and Fret was all my fare
It got no ground, as I could see.
So when away my caring went
I counted cost and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek, what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet.
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.

With good and gentle-humored hearts
I choose to chat, whene'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts;
But if I get among the glum
I hold my tongue, to tell the truth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain;
For fortune's favor or her frown;
For luck or glut, for loss or gain,
I never dodge, nor up nor down:
But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about with equal trim.

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of every tide;
If simple sense will not succeed,
I make no bustling, but abide;
For shining wealth, or scoring woe,
I force no friend, I fear no foe.

I love my neighbor as myself;
Myself like him too, by his leave;
Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf
Came I to crouch, as I conceive;
Dame Nature doubtless has designed
A man the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs;
Mood it and brood it in your breast;
Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,
That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be left, and debonair;
I am content; I do not care.

--John Byrom (1692-1763).

Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From the evils which never arrived.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson.

HAPPY ANY WAY

Lord, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live;
To love and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.

If life be long, I will be glad
That I may long obey;
If short, yet why should I be sad
To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than he went through before;
He that into God's kingdom comes
Must enter by his door.

Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet
Thy blessed face to see;
For, if thy work on earth be sweet,
What will thy glory be?

Then I shall end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful days,
And join with the triumphant saints
Who sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small;
The eye of faith is dim;
But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with him.

--Richard Baxter.

THE THINGS I MISS

An easy thing, O Power Divine,
To thank thee for these gifts of thine!
For summer's sunshine, winter's snow,
For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow;
But when shall I attain to this:
To thank thee for the things I miss?

For all young fancy's early gleams,
The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams.
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known
Through others' fortunes, not my own,
And blessings seen that are not given,
And ne'er will be, this side of heaven.

Had I, too, shared the joys I see,
Would there have been a heaven for me?
Could I have felt thy presence near
Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss,
Have grown, perchance, from things I miss.

Sometimes there comes an hour of calm;
Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm;
A Power that works above my will
Still leads me onward, upward still;
And then my heart attains to this:
To thank thee for the things I miss.

--Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

THE HERITAGE

The rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick and stone and gold,
And he inherits soft, white hands,
And tender flesh that fears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man's son inherits cares;
The bank may break, the factory burn,
A breath may burst his bubble shares,
And soft white hands could hardly earn
A living that would serve his turn;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man's son inherits wants,
His stomach craves for dainty fare;
With sated heart he hears the pants
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare,
And wearies in his easy-chair;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart;
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit,
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,
A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,
Content that from employment springs,
A heart that in his labor sings;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?
A patience learned of being poor,
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

O rich man's son! there is a toil
That with all others level stands;
Large charity doth never soil,
But only whiten soft, white hands;
This is the best crop from thy lands,
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being rich to hold in fee.

O poor man's son! scorn not thy state;
There is worse weariness than thine
In merely being rich and great;
Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign;
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being poor to hold in fee.

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last;
Both, children of the same dear God,
Prove title to your heirship vast
By record of a well-filled past;
A heritage, it seems to me,
Well worth a life to hold in fee.

--James Russell Lowell.