[2 blank pages]
POETRY FOR PULPIT
AND PLATFORM
A Manual of Poetry suitable for Pulpit and Platform Use
COMPILED AND EDITED BY
REV. HAMILTON WIGLE, B.A.,
Author of
“The Veteran and Other Poems,” etc.
Containing over two hundred Poems by one hundred different Authors, and classified under one hundred and ninety-one headings in the Topical Index.
TORONTO
WILLIAM BRIGGS
1911
[unnumbered page]
Dedicated
TO
MY BRETHREN OF ALL DENOMINATIONS,
Who humbly stand beside the holy shrine,
And lead the people forth in things Divine.
[unnumbered page]
[2 blank pages]
ERRATA
Page 16, 3rd verse, 4th line, for “lean’d” read loved.
“ 62, 2nd line, for “spends” read tends.
“ 77, Bottom of page, for “Burns” read Coleridge.
“ 82, The poem on Love, printed on previous page should not appear here.
“ 101, Eleventh line, for “when” read where.
“ 103, 5th line, her has been omitted before “dead.”
“ 104, Peace, 5th line, for “or” read our.
“ 115, 4th verse, second line, for “thou” read though.
“ 118, 2nd verse, 2nd line, for “love of” read lone as.
“ 124, 1st verse, 2nd line, for “know” read knew.
“ 129, Instead of 2nd last line of page read —I want to do some good each day.
“ 132, Omit 15th line.
“ 145, Last line, for “spinning” read ringing. [unnumbered page]
PREFACE.
FOR twenty years we have been accumulating the choicest poems we could find for pulpit and platform work, and a few months ago undertook to tabulate them, with the sole object of preserving the collection in a compact form. During the process of tabulation it occurred to us that the collection could be made of use to others, and after consulting competent judges, we decided to publish them.
SCOPE . . . . . In looking for poems of “pith and power,” suitable for our work, it seemed to us that there was a large unfilled gap between such works as Hoyt’s “Practical Quotations” and Foster’s “Cyclopædia of Poetical Illustrations”—the standard works of a speaker’s library. The former impressed us as being too epigrammatic, and the latter volume as too cumbersome.
AIM. . . . . . This contribution to the book-world is not for revenue purposes, but to foster, if possibly, a heartier appetite for poetry on the part of public speakers, and to encourage a greater use of appropriate selections on the platform. [page 5]
We have used nearly every one of these in our own work, and they did not seem to injure the people. In fact, it is just possible that they constituted the only redeeming feature of the sermon or address.
We are not aware of any other work that exactly meets this need, hence we are presuming to offer to the public a book which, we trust, will at least keep away from pre-empted ground.
CONTENTS. . . . . No doubt the classification of subjects will seem defective to some and meagre to others, but when they remember it is only a manual they are criticizing, and the narrow area of one man’s experience, they may make some allowances.
The poems selected here may not appeal to all, nor may they appeal to very many in the same way, but this is largely a matter of taste, in which we must agree to differ.
However, the miscellaneous character of the poems, together with the fact of such a variety of authorship, gives us a faint hope that some of them will appeal to every reader.
VALUE OF POETRY. . . . . Dr. J. W. Dawson claims that we get the purest theology from the poets. “The preachers,” he says, “are too dogmatic and deal too largely in what Christ said, while the poets tell us what Christ was.” [page 6]
WHY WRITE POETRY? . . . . . Poetry is an art, just as music and painting and sculpture. Theseall address the mind and the emotions. Gilbert Chesterton says that poets are the most imaginative artists. “Poets seldom go mad,” he says; “mathematicians, cashiers, and chess-players do. Poets are seers and prophets, and their optimistic imagination is they safety-valve. Men who try to reason things out, go mad. Poets are really the sanest men, because they calmly float over an infinite sea, while reason is dangerous, because it attempts to cross this sea and cannot.” “Cowper,” he says, “is the only poet who went mad, and reason did it, but poetry saved him.”
POETIC INSTINCT. . . . . . With the scientific and philosophic mind the poet has a difficult task, unless he can get through the outer consciousness and reach the threshold of the sub-consciousness. When once there, the feelings are reached, and the soul will be stirred. True poetry will do this for nearly every person if they will but study it sympathetically.
WHY MEASURE AND RHYME?. . . . . There is a great difference between poetry and prose. Is it possible anyone can fail to notice this fact? Music is the factor which contributes this disparity. After all, are we not all musical at the soul’s centre? [page 7]
Take this line of Tennyson’s, for example:
“In words like weeds I’ll wrap me o’er.”
Here is the same statement in prose:
“I will wrap words about myself like weeds.”
What shall we say of the person who cannot see a difference here? In the prose from the soul is gone, and it is because of the absence of music.
To put music into literature is the work of the poet-artist, and is this not the vehicle which carries the thought to the citadel of the soul?
If pone will search they will find their sublimest hope, their deepest sorrow and the whole unexpressed self more perfectly portrayed in poetry than in prose.
The poet does not make us think and act as much as he makes us feel. He does not appeal especially to the conscience like the preacher, nor to the mind like the teacher, but to the ever-throbbing, yearning heart. If he can do this—and he can—then he has vindicated his claim as an artist. Poetry is the essence of literature, and everyone who patronizes her will be rewarded with holier and sweeter thoughts.
H. W.
AMHERST, NOVA SCOTIA, May 1st, 1911. [page 8]
Poetry for Pulpit and Platform
ACRE—GOD’S
I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls The burial-ground God’s Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust. God’s Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they have garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the arch-angel’s blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. [page 9] With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow!
—Longfellow.
AGE.
“CALL HIM NOT OLD.”
Call him not old whose visionary brain Holds o’er the past its undivided reign. For him in vain the envious seasons roll, Who bears eternal summer in his soul. If yet the minstrel’s song, the poet’s lay, Spring with her birds, or children with their play, Or maiden’s smile, or heavenly dream of art, Stir the warm life-drops creeping round his heart, Turn to the record where his years are told, Count his grey hairs—they cannot make him old!
—Oliver Wendell Holmes. [page 10]
ALL’S WELL.
The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain, As through the shadowy lens of even, The eye looks farthest into heaven, On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew!
—Whittier.
AMBITION.
Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die.
—Tennyson.
Peopled and warm is the valley, Lonely and chill the height, But mountains nearest the storm-cloud, Are nearest the stars at night.
—Selected. [page 11]
ANGELS.
I want to be an Angel, and in the world’s domain To scatter beams of sunshine and sing some sweet refrain. I want to be an angel to guard the Pilgrims’ track, And when their lives are ended to bring their spirits back.
—Anonymous.
BABYHOOD.
Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get those eyes of blue? Out of the sky, as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry twinkles left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. [page 12] What makes your cheek like a warm, soft rose? I saw something better than anyone knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss, Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs’ wings. How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here.
—George McDonald.
BETHLEHEM AND CALVARY.
With pilgrim staff and hat I went Afar through Orient lands to roam, Some months of pilgrimage I spent And this the word I bring you home: The pilgrim’s staff you need not crave, To find Christ’s cradle or His grave, [page 13] But seek within you; there shall be His Bethlehem and His Calvary. O heart, what helps thee to adore His cradle where the sunshine glows? Or what avails to kneel before The grave when long ago He rose? That He should find in thee a birth; That thou shouldst seek and die to earth And live to Him—this, this must be Thy Bethlehem and thy Calvary.
—Ruckert.
BETHLEHEM—STAR.
When, marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky, One star alone of all the train Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye. Hark! Hark! To God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks: It is the Star of Bethlehem. Once on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud, the night was dark; The ocean yawned; and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze; Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose; It was the Star of Bethlehem. [page 14] It was my guide—my light—my all; It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger’s thrall It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moored, my perils o’er, I’ll sing, first in night’s diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star—the Star of Bethlehem.
—H. K. White.
THE BIBLE.
A better love than mine This holy volume gives; It shows no shadow of decline, And when I die it lives. This book binds man and wife In closer love and fears; And all the ties that bless our life It hallows and endears.
—N. Frothingham.
MY MOTHER’S BIBLE.
This book is all that’s left me now! Tears will unbidden start— With faltering lips and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart, [page 15] For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mother’s hand this Bible clasp’d; She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear, Who round the hearthstone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still! My father read this holy book, To brothers, sisters dear; How calm was my poor mother’s look, Who lean’d God’s Word to hear! Her angel face—I see it yet! What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I’ve tried; Where all were false I found thee true, My counselor and my guide. The mines of earth no treasure give That could this volume buy; In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die.
—Selected. [page 16]
BIBLE—READING.
“WHEN I READ THE BIBLE THROUGH.”
I suppose I knew my Bible, Reading piecemeal, hit or miss, Now a bit of John or Matthew, Now a snatch of Genesis, Certain chapters of Isaiah, Certain Psalms (the twenty-third); Twelfth of Romans, First of Proverbs— Yes, I thought I knew the Word; But I found that through reading Was a different thing to do, And the way was unfamiliar When I read the Bible through. Oh, the massive, mighty volume! Oh, the treasures manifold! Oh, the beauty and the wisdom And the grace it proved to hold! As the story of the Hebrews Swept in majesty along, As it leaped in waves prophetic, As it burst to sacred song, As it gleamed with Christly omens, The Old Testament was new, Strong with cumulative power, When I read the Bible through. [page 17] Ah! imperial Jeremiah, With his keen, coruscant mind; And the blunt old Nehemiah, And Ezekiel refined! Newly came the Minor Prophets, Each with his distinctive robe; Newly came the song idyllic, And the tragedy of Job; Deuteronomy, the regal, To a towering mountain grew, With its comrade peaks around it— When I read the Bible through. What a radiant procession As the pages rise and fall, James the sturdy, John the tender— Oh, the myriad-minded Paul! Vast apocalyptic glories Wheel and thunder, flash and flame, While the church triumphant raises One incomparable name. Ah! the story of the Saviour Never glows supremely true Till you read it whole and swiftly, Till you read the Bible through. You who like to play at Bible, Dip and dabble, here and there, Just before you kneel, aweary, And yawn through a hurried prayer; [page 18] You who treat the Crown of Writings As you treat n other book— Just a paragraph disjointed, Just a crude, impatient look— Try a worthier procedure, Try a broad and steady view; You will kneel in very rapture When you read the Bible through.
—Amos R. Wells.
BOYS.
Boys, we want you, our country wants True-hearted, noble boys, To make this world a happier place, To purify its joys; To stand among the leaders, Of every righteous cause, To spread o’er all the nation Bright, just, and blessed laws. Boys we want you—Jesus wants Your hearts His truth to spread; Follow Him in storm and sunshine, Ever in His footsteps tread. [page 19] There’s a world of light and beauty; This is not the traveller’s home; We are passing on to Zion, And we want you all to come.
—Selected.
BROTHERHOOD—UNIVERSAL.
For a’ that, and a’ that, It’s coming yet, for a’ that— That man to man, that warld o’er, Shall brother be, for a’ that.
—Burns.
THE CALL OF THE CITY.
The fields stretch far to the rim of the day
And afar to the rising sun,
The valleys between bear lilies white
As the snood of a cloistered nun;
The winds of heaven, untrammeled and sweet,
Fan meadow and fen and fall,
But ever and ever the wind fares forth
With its burden, the city’s call. [page 20]
The youth, with his hand on the stubborn plow,
As furrow on furrow he turns,
Bares his head to the tempter breeze,
And a wondrous fire there burns
In the depths of his steadfast, grave young eyes,
As he stands there strong and tall—
For over the hush of the fallow field
Comes stealing the city’s call.
Faint and far like a thing of dreams,
With palace and mart and spire
With the tread of a million hurrying feet
With hope and regret and desire—
The city lies, and it calls with a voice
That touches men’s souls with fire.
—Boston Transcript.
CHARACTER.
Build it well whate’er you do; Build it straight and strong and true; Build it clean and high and broad; Build it for the eye of God.
—Marden. [page 21]
Not wealth but welfare is success; Beneficence life’s crown must bring. For nothing lives but righteousness, And character is everything.
—Hezekiah Butterworth.
CHARITY.
Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life, And even when you find them It’s wise and kind to be somewhat blind, And look for the virtue behind them.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Judge not; 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.
—Adelaide Proctor.
There is so much bad in the best of us, And so much good in the worst of us, That it doesn’t become any of us, To speak ill of the rest of us.
—Selected. [page 22]
CHEERFULNESS.
Smile once in a while, ‘Twill make your heart seem lighter; Smile once in a while, ‘Twill make your pathway brighter. Life’s a mirror if we smile, Smiles come back to greet us; If we’re frowning all the while Frowns forever meet us.
—Selected.
CHILDREN.
Nobody sits in the little arm chair; It stands in a corner dim; But a white-haired mother gazing there, And yearningly thinking of him, Sees through the dusk of the long ago The bloom of her boy’s sweet face, As he rocks so merrily to and fro, With a laugh that cheers the place. Sometimes he holds a book in his hand, Sometimes a pencil and slate, And the lesson is hard to understand, And figures are hard to mate; [page 23] But she sees the nod of his father’s head, So proud of the little son, And she hears the words so often said: “No fear for our little one.” They were wonderful days, the dear, sweet days, When a child with sunny hair Was here to scold and kiss and to praise, At her knee in the little chair, She lost him back in the busy years When the great world caught the man, And he strode away past hopes and fears To his place in the battle’s van. But now and then in a wistful dream, Like a picture out of date, She sees a head with a golden gleam Bent over pencil and slate; And she lives again the happy day, The day of her young life’s spring, When the small arm chair stood just in the way, The centre of everything.
—Selected.
Ah, what would the world be to us If the children were no more! We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. [page 24] What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said, For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
—Longfellow.
CHRIST—DRAWING.
Just as the waxing moon can take The tidal waters in her wake, And lead them round and round to break Obedient to her drawings dim; So may the movements of His mind, The First Great Father of mankind, Affect with answering movements blind, And draw all souls that breathe to Him.
—Jean Ingelow. [page 25]
CHRIST’S CALL.
Have you heard the voice of Jesus Whisper—“I have chosen you”? Does He tell you in communion What He wishes you to do? Are you in the inner circle? Have you heard the Master’s call? Have you given your heart to Jesus? Is He now your All in All?
—Selected.
CHRIST—VICTORIOUS.
Triumphant and victorious He appears, And honor in His looks and habit wears. How strong He treads! How stately doth He go! Pompous, yet solemn, in His pace, And full of majesty, as is His face; Who is this mighty hero? who?
—Norris. [page 26]
CHRISTMAS—BETHLEHEM.
O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by; Yet in the dark streets shineth The everlasting light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee to-night. O holy child of Bethlehem! Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin and enter in, Be born in us to-day. We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell; Oh, come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!
—Phillips Brooks. [page 27]
CITIZENSHIP.
We live in deeds, not years;
In thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial;
We should count time by heart-throbs.
He most lives,
Who thinks most, feels the noblest,
Acts the best.
—Bailey.
CIVILIZATION.
There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming.
Cannon balls may aid the truth,
But thought’s a weapon stronger;
We’ll win the battle by its aid—
Wait a little longer.
There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
The pen shall supercede the sword,
And Right, not Might, shall be the lord,
In the good time coming. [page 28]
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger;
The proper impulse has been given;
Wait a little longer.
—Charles Mackay.
COMFORT.
THE WASHERWOMAN’S SONG.
In a very humble cot, In a rather quiet spot, In the suds and in the soap, Worked a woman full of hope; Working, singing, all alone, In a sort of undertone— “With the Saviour for a friend, He will keep me to the end.” Not in sorrow nor in glee, Working all day long was she, As her children, three or four, Played around her on the floor; But in monotones the song, She was humming all day long: “With the Saviour for a friend, He will keep me to the end.” [page 29] It’s a song I do not sing, For I scarce believe a thing Of the stories that are told Of the miracles of old; But I know that her belief Is the anodyne of grief And will always be a friend That will keep her to the end. Just a trifle lonesome she; Just as poor as poor could be; But her spirits always rose, Like the bubbles in the clothes, And, though windowed and alone, Cheered her with the monotone Of a Saviour and a friend Who would keep her to the end. I have seen her rub and scrub On the washboard in the tub, While the baby, sopped in suds, Rolled and tumbled in the duds, Or was paddling in the pools, With old scissors stuck in spools, She still humming of her friend Who would keep her to the end. Human hopes and human creeds Have their root in human needs; [page 30] And I would not wish to strip From that washerwoman’s lip Any song that she can sing, Any hope that songs can bring; For the woman has a friend Who will keep her to the end.
—Eugene Ware.
COMPENSATION.
Is thy cruse of comfort falling? Rise and share it with another, And through all the years of famine It shall serve thee and thy brother. Love Divine will fill thy storehouse, Or thy handful still renew; Scanty fare for one will often Make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving, All its wealth is living grain; Seeds which mildew in the garner, Scattered, fill with gold the plain, Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily? Help to bear thy brother’s burden, God will bear both it and thee.
—Mrs. Rundle Charles. [page 31]
COMPLAINING.
Some murmur when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue; And some with thankful love are filled If but one streak of light, One ray of God’s good mercy, gild The darkness of their night.
—Archbishop Trench.
How seldom, friend, A good, great man inherits Honor or wealth, With all his worth and pains, It sounds like stories From the land of spirits, If any man obtain That which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains.
—S. T. Coleridge. [page 32]
CONSCIENCE.
But conscience, in some awful, silent hour, When captivating lusts have lost their power, Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream Reminds him of religion, hated theme! Starts from the down, on which she lately slept, And tells of laws despised, at least not kept; Shows with a pointing finger, and no noise, A pale procession of past sinful joys, All witnesses of blessings foully scorned And life abused and not to be suborned.
—Cowper.
CONSCIENCE—REMORSE.
It’s a dangerous thing; It makes a man a coward: a man Cannot steal but it accuseth him; a man Cannot swear, but it checks him,… ‘Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that Mutinies in a man’s bosom; it fills A man full of obstacles: it made me once Restore a purse of gold that by chance I Found. It beggars any man that keeps it: It is turned out of towns and cities for A dang’rous thing; and every man that means To live well endeavors to trust to himself And live without it.
—Shakespeare. [page 33]
CONSOLATION.
LINES ON A SKELETON.
The following poem was printed in London in 1810. The author is unknown, even though a large sum was offered as a reward to anyone who would discover the author.
Behold this ruin! ‘Twas a skull Once of ethereal spirit full; This narrow cell was life’s retreat; This space was thought’s mysterious seat; What beauteous visions filled this spot; What dreams of pleasure, long forgot! Nor life, nor love, nor joy, nor fear Has left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye. But start not at the dismal void, Nor sigh for greatness thus destroyed. If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed, That eye shall be forever bright When stars and suns are sunk in night. [page 34] Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift and tuneful tongue. If falsehood’s honey it disdained, And when it could not praise was chained; If bold in virtue’s cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke; This silent tongue shall plead for thee When time unveils eternity. Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with its envied rubies shine? To hew the rock or wear the gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on wealth or fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod? If from the bowers of ease they fled To seek affliction’s humble shed, If grandeur’s guilty bribe they spurned, And home to virtue’s cot returned These feet with angels’ wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. [page 35]
CONSOLATION.
The day is cold, and dark and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall;
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
—Longfellow.
CONTENTMENT.
Oh, what a happy soul am I! Although I cannot see, I am resolved that in this world Contented I will be. [page 36] How many blessings I enjoy, That other people don’t! To weep and sigh because I’m blind I cannot and I won’t.
—Fanny Crosby.
COURAGE.
Be strong!
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift.
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift.
Shun not the struggle—face it; ‘tis God’s gift.
Be strong!
Say not the days are evil. Who’s to blame?
And fold the hand and acquiesce—oh, shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God’s name.
Be strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
Faint not—fight on! To-morrow comes the song.
—Maltbie D. Babcock. [page 37]
COVETOUSNESS.
‘Tis strange the miser should his cares employ To gain those riches he can ne’er enjoy. Is it less strange the prodigal should waste His wealth to purchase what he ne’er can taste?
—Pope.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay.
—Goldsmith.
The Cross
The Cross is ever fair, And though no beauty there The eye of faith discerneth, Such glory round it burneth That watching angels wear Such looks of joy and wonder, As on the Cross they ponder; Is it so fair, it is so fair.
—Lyra Messianica. [page 38]
THE WAY-SIDE CROSS.
Near, near thee, my son, Is the old way-side cross, Like an old friar cowled, In its lichen and moss; And its cross-beams will point To the bright golden span That bridges the waters So safely for man.
—C. L. St. John.
CULTURE.
Can rules or tutors educate The semigod whom we awake? He must be musical, Tremulous, impressional, Alive to gentle influence Of landscape and sky, And tender to the spirit’s touch Of man’s or maiden’s eye: Not bent on glory overmuch, But to his native centre fast, Shall into Future fuse the Past, And the world’s flowing fates in his own mold recast.
—Emerson. [page 39]
CULTURE—SELF-RELIANCE.
Man is his own star; and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate; Nothing to him falls early or too late, Our acts, our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
—Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher’s Honest Man’s Fortune.
DANIEL’S BAND.
(A Hymn)
Standing by a purpose true, Heeding God’s command, Honor them, the faithful few! All hail to Daniel’s band. Chorus:— Dare to be a Daniel! Dare to stand alone! Dare to have a purpose firm! Dare to make it known! Many mighty men are lost, Daring not to stand, Who for God had been a host, By joining Daniel’s band. [page 40] Many giants great and tall, Stalking through the land, Headlong to the earth would fall, If met by Daniel’s band. Hold the Gospel banner high! On to victory grand! Satan and his host defy And shout for Daniel’s band.
—P. P. Bliss.
DANIEL IN PRAYER.
Imperial Persia bowed to his wise sway, A hundred Provinces his daily care. A queenly city with its garden fair Smiled round him, but his heart was far away; Forsaking pomp and power three times a day For chamber lone, he seeks his solace there. Through windows westward floats his prayer Towards the dear distance where Jerusalem lay. So let me, morn, noon, evening, steal aside, And, shutting my heart’s door to earth’s vain pleasure, And manifold solicitudes, find leisure— The windows of my soul to open wide— Towards the blest city and that Heavenly treasure Which past these visible horizons hide.
—R. Wilton. [page 41]
DEATH—DEPARTURE.
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me, And may there be no moaning at the bar When I put out to sea. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark, And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark. For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
—Tennyson.
DECISION.
I said—“Let me walk in the fields.” He said—“No, walk in the town.” I said—“There are no flowers there.” He said—“No flowers, but a crown.” I said—“But the skies are dark; There is nothing but noise and din.” And He wept as He sent me back— “There is more,” He said; “there is sin.” [page 42] I said—“I shall miss the light And friends will miss me, they say.” He answered, “Choose to-night If I am to miss you, or they.” I pleaded for time to be given. He said—“Is it hard to decide? It will not be hard in Heaven To have followed the steps of your guide.” Then into His hand went mine, And into my heart came He, And I walk in a light Divine The path I had feared to see.
—Geo. McDonald.
DELAY.
I loved thee late, Too late I loved thee, Lord, Yet not so late But Thou dost still afford The proof that Thou wilt bear With winning art, One sinner more Upon Thy loving heart. And may I prove, When all my warfare’s past, Though late I loved Thee, I loved Thee to the last.
—St. Augustine. [page 43]
DESTINY.
The tissue of the life to be We weave in colors all our own, And in the field of destiny We reap what we have sown.
—Whittier.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
—Henley.
DOUBT—AGNOTICISM—UNCERTAINTY.
And if there be no meeting past the grave,
If all is silence, darkness, yet ‘tis rest.
Be not afraid, ye waiting hearts that weep,
For God still giveth His beloved sleep;
And if an endless sleep He wills, so best.
—Huxley’s Epitaph, selected by himself. [page 44]
DUTY—CITIZENSHIP.
Not once or twice in our rough island-story, The path of duty was the way to glory. He that, ever following her commands, On with toil of heart and knees and hands, Through the long gorge to the far light has won His path upward, and prevailed, Shall find the toppling crags of duty scaled Are close upon the shining table-lands, To which our God Himself is moon and sun.
—Tennyson.
EAST—WEST.
O! East is East, and West is West, And never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently At God’s great judgment seat; But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor breed, nor Birth, Where two strong men stand face to face, Tho’ they come from the ends of the earth.
—Rudyard Kipling. [page 45]
EASTER.
O! the gladness and the glory Of the blessed Easter story! Oh! the quick, electric thrilling Of the Pentecostal flame! Death of death, of Life the Giver, Reign, O Victor King, forever. Lowly we, Thy sons, adore Thee; Glory, glory to Thy name!
—F. W. Farrar, D.D.
EXAMPLE.
“Now, papa,” says Ned, “you be careful That you step in just the right place, For right in your footsteps I’m stepping.” “Ah! that,” sighed the father, “is the case.” Let’s stop now and think ere we journey, Would we travel the road just ahead If we knew that our cherished darlings Would follow the path we have led?
—Ada Clarke. [page 46]
EXCELSIOR.
O make thou us, through centuries long, In peace secure, in justice strong; Around our gift of freedom draw The safeguards of Thy righteous law; And, cast in some diviner mold, Let the new cycle shame the old.
—Whittier.
FAITH.
Be like a bird that, halting in her flight, A while on boughs too slight, Feels them give way beneath her and yet sings, Knowing that she hath wings.
—Victor Hugo. [page 47]
FAMILY.
The family is a little book, The children are the leaves, The parents are the cover that Safe protection gives. At first, the pages of the book Are blank, and smooth, and fair; But time soon writeth memories, And painteth pictures there. Love is the golden clasp That bindeth up the trust; O break it not, lest all the leaves Shall scatter like the dust.
—Selected.
FAMILY—HOME.
If there be happiness below, She’s in the home enshrined; The human heart can never know Enjoyment more refined, Than where the sacred band is twined Of filial and parental ties,— That tender union, all combined Of Nature’s holiest sympathies!
—Fitzarthur. [page 48]
FATHERLAND.
Where is the German’s Fatherland?
The Prussian land, the Swabian land?
Where Rhine’s thick clustering fruitage gleams?
Where on the Belt the Sea-mew screams?
Not there the land.
His is a wider Fatherland,
Where faith is pledged by grasp of hand;
Where truth darts bright from flashing eyes,
And love in hearts warm nestling lies;
That’s the land,
That’s the German Fatherland.
—Arndt.
FEARLESSNESS—PATRIOTISM.
Much honored were my humble home, If in its hall King James should come, But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorkshire men are stern of mood; Northumbrian prickers wild and rude; On Derby hills the paths are steep; In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, And many a sheaf of arrows spent Ere Scotland’s King shall cross the Trent.
—Scott. (From Marmion.) [page 49]
FORGIVENESS.
Have you never felt the pleasure of forgiving fraud or wrong, Rippling through your soul-like measure, sweet of sweetest poet’s song? Have you never felt that beauty lies in pain for others borne? That the sacredness of duty bids you offer love for scorn?
—Selected.
FRANCHISE—CITIZENSHIP.
To-day shall simple manhood try The strength of gold and land; The wide world has not wealth to buy The power in my right hand. Where there’s a right to need my vote, A wrong to sweep away, Up! clouted knee and ragged coat! A man’s a man to-day.
—J. G. Whittier. [page 50]
FRATERNITY.
‘Tis coming, the glorious time,
Foretold by seers and sung in story,
For which, men thinking was a crime,
Souls leaped to Heaven from scaffolds gory.
The hardest heart hath tender chords,
To waken at the sound of Brother.
And time will come when scorpion words
We shall not speak to sting each other.
‘Tis coming, yes, ‘tis coming.
‘Tis coming up the slopes of time,
And this old world is growing better;
We may not see its dawn sublime,
But high hopes make the heart-throbs lighter.
Then shall unfold our better part
And in our life-cup yield more honey,
Light up with joy the poor man’s heart
And fill the world with smiles more sunny.
‘Tis coming, yes ‘tis coming.
—Gerald Massey. [page 51]
FRIENDSHIP.
Every soul that touches ours— Be it the slightest contact— Gets therefrom some good, Some little grace, one kindly thought, One inspiration yet unfelt, 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.
—Selected.
GETHSEMANE.
In golden youth when seems the earth A summer-land of surging mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lies Somewhere veiled ‘neath evening skies A garden which we all must see— The garden of Gethsemane. [page 52] With joyous steps we go our ways, Love lends a halo to our days; Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, We laugh, and say how strong we are, We hurry on: and hurrying, go Close to the borderland of woe That waits for you, and waits for me— Forever waits Gethsemane. Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams Bridged over by our broken dreams; Behind the misty caps of years, Beyond the great salt fount of tears, The garden lies. Strive, as you may, You cannot miss it in your way; All paths that have been, or shall be Pass somewhere through Gethsemane. All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden’s gate; Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair, God pity those who cannot say, “Not mine, but Thine,” who only pray, “Let this cup pass,” and cannot see The purpose of Gethsemane.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. [page 53]
GIVING.
See the rivers flowing downward to the sea, Pouring all their treasures bountiful and free; Yet, to help their giving, hidden streams arise, Or, if need be, showers feed them from the skies. Watch the princely flowers their rich fragrance spread; Load the air with perfume from their beauty shed. Still their lavish spending leaves them not in dearth, With fresh life replenished from their mother earth. So the more thon spendest from thy little store, With a double bounty, God will give thee more.
—Adelaide Proctor.
UNIVERSAL GOOD.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good; And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite, One truth is clear, whatever is is Right.
—Pope. [page 54]
GRATITUDE.
Thy bounteous grace with worldly bliss Has made my cup run o’er And like a kind and faithful friend Has doubled all my store. Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy. Through every period of my life, Thy goodness I’ll pursue; And after death in distant worlds The glorious theme renew.
—Addison.
GREATNESS.
Greatness and goodness are not means but ends; Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures—love and light, And calm thoughts, regular as an infant’s breath. And three firm friends, more sure than day and night— Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
—Coleridge. [page 55]
GREECE.
The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung; Where grew the arts of war and peace,— Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all except their sun is set.
—Byron.
GRIEF.
In words like weeds I’ll wrap me o’er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold, But the large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.
—Tennyson.
GRIT.
Tender-hearted stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle And it soft as silk remains.
—Aaron Hill. [page 56]
GROWTH.
Even the cold earth feels a stir of might, And instinct within that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in the grass and the flowers.
—Selected.
THE OPEN HEART.
Would you understand The language with no word, The speech of brook and bird, Of waves along the sand? Would you make your own The meaning of the leaves, The song of the silence weaves Where little winds make moan? Would you know how sweet The falling of the rill, The calling on the hill— All tunes the days repeat? Neither aims nor art Nor toil can help you here; The secret of the year Is in the open heart.
—John Valancy Cheney. [page 57]
HEAVEN.
DON’T WAKE ME, BUT LET ME DREAM ON.
Gipsy Smith relates that on one occasion he came into the presence of some scoffers who mocked at his ideas of heaven and salvation, and of meeting loved ones again, and ended by telling him he was dreaming. On retiring that night he wrote the following hymn, which he often sings with telling effect:
How dear to my heart is the story,
Penned ages and ages ago,
That tells of a heavenly country
The saints of all ages shall know.
I believe in that beautiful country,
‘Tis a place of unspeakable bliss,
And there I shall have me a mansion
When I am done tenting in this.
Chorus—
You may tell me that I am just dreaming,
As when the night’s curtains are drawn;
It may be, yet, oh! I beseech you,
Don’t wake me, but let me dream on. [page 58]
I believe that my sainted, sweet mother,
Whose life was so patient and mild,
Up there in that beautiful country
Is waiting to welcome her child.
What rapture once more to be with her,
To feel on my forehead her kiss
And know that she never will leave me,
As when she was tenting in this.
I believe that my precious companion,
The children that came of our love,
The neighbors that gathered around us,
I’ll meet in the mansion above.
At home in that beautiful country,
Not one of the faithful I’ll miss,
And life will be sweeter and better
That when we were tenting in this.
—T. B. Smith. [page 59]
THE HELPER.
When, wounded sore, the stricken heart Lies bleeding and unbound, One only hand—a pierced hand— Can salve the sinner’s wound. When sorrow swells the laden breast, And tears of anguish flow, One only heart—a broken heart— Can feel the sinner’s woe. When penitence has wept in vain Over some dark, foul spot, One only stream—a stream of blood— Can wash away the blot. Lift up Thy bleeding hand, O Lord; Unseal that cleansing tide; We have no shelter from our sin But in Thy wounded side.
—C. F. Alexander. [page 60]
HEROES—CITIZENSHIP.
Count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes—they were souls that stood alone, While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline. To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, By one man’s plain truth to manhood and to God’s supreme design. New occasions teach new duties; time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth; Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the Future’s portal with the Past’s blood-rusted key.
—J. Russell Lowell. [page 61]
HEROISM.
Ruby wine is drunk by knaves, Sugar spends to fatten slaves, Rose and vine-leaf deck buffoons; Thunder-clouds are Jove’s festoons, Drooping oft in wreaths of dread, Lightning-knotted, round his head; The hero is not fed on sweets, Daily his own heart he eats; Chambers of the great are jails, And head-winds right for royal sails.
—Emerson. [page 62]
HOME.
Not a log in this buildin’ but its memories has got, And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot. Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before; Winds will whistle through it and rains will flood the floor; Fare you well, old house! you’ve naught that can feel or see, But you seem like a human being—a dear old friend to me; And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands, Until we commence a-keepin’ house in the house not made with hands.
—Will Carleton. [page 63]
HOME—FAMILY.
GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
They grew in beauty side by side; They filled our home with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide By mount and stream and sea. The same fond mother bent at night O’er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One, midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest Fair in the cedar shade. The sea, the deep, lone sea hath one; He lies where pearls lie deep. He was the loved of all, yet none O’er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where Southern vines are drest, Above the noble slain; He wrapt his colors round his breast On a blood-red field of Spain. [page 64] And one—o’er her the myrtle showers It leaves, by soft winds fanned; She faded midst Italian flowers— The last of that bright band. And parted thus they rest, who played Beneath the same green tree, Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee! They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth,— Alas for love if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O Earth!
—Mrs. Hemans.
HOPE—FAITH—TRUST.
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.
—Tennyson. [page 65]
HOPE.
Unfading Hope! when life’s last embers burn— When soul to soul, and dust to dust return, Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! Oh! then thy Kingdom comes, Immortal Power! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life’s eternal day— Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, And all the phoenix-spirit burns within!
—Campbell.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never is, but always to be, blest; The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
—Pope.
Let the winds blow and billows roll, Hope is the anchor of the soul. But can I by so sight a tie, An unseen hope on God rely? Steadfast and sure, it cannot fail; It enters deep within the veil; It fastens on a land unknown, And binds me to my Father’s throne.
—C. Wesley. [page 66]
Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time, Thy joyous youth began—but not to fade. When all the sister planets have decayed; When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And heaven’s last thunder shakes the world below, Thou, undismayed, shalt o’er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature’s funeral pile.
—Thomas Campbell.
HUMANITY.
Hush, the loud cannon’s roar, The frantic warrior’s call! Why should the earth be drenched with gore? Are we not brothers all? Want, from the wretch depart! Chains, from the captive fall! Sweet mercy, melt the oppressor’s heart— Sufferers are brothers all. Churches and sects, strike down Each mean partition—wall; Let love each harsher feeling drown,— Christians are brothers all. [page 67] Let love and truth alone Hold human hearts in thrall, That heaven, its work at length may own, And men be brothers all.
—Johns.
HUMILITY.
Humble must we be, if to heaven we go, High is the roof there, but the gate is low; Whene’er thou speakest look with a lowly eye, Grace is increased by humility.
—Robert Herrick.
HYPOCRISY.
God beholds thee, wretch, though wrapt in prayer, A wolf disguised, a painted sepulchre; Regards no more thy cant, and godly whine, Than yon dumb statue on the marble shrine, Whose hands are seen in holy rapture closed, And steadfast eyes to heaven above disposed,— Prayer’s senseless image, where no soul within Speaks through the form and animates the mien.
—James Scott. [page 68]
IDEAL.
Have we not, in earth’s petty strife, Some pure ideal of a happy life, That once seemed possible? did we not hear The flutter of its wings and feel it near? And just within our reach it was, and yet, We lost it in the daily jar and fret, And now lie idle in a vain regret? But still our place is kept and it will wait, Ready for us to fill it, soon or late. No star’s ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been, Since good, though only thought has life and breath, By God’s life, can always be redeemed from death, And evil in its nature is decay, Any hour can blot it all away. The hope that’s lost in some far distant scene, May be the truer life and this, the dream.
—Adelaide Proctor. [page 69]
IMMORTALITY—FUTURE LIFE.
My own dim life should teach me this—
That life must live for evermore;
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;
. . . . . . . .
And love will last as pure and whole
As when he loved me here in time,
And at the spiritual prime
Reawaken with the dawning soul.
—Tennyson.
Heard ye the sob of parting breath? Marked ye the eye’s last ray? No! life so sweetly ceased to be, It lapsed in Immortality.
—James Montgomery. [page 70]
INCARNATION.
He has come! the skies are telling; He has quit the glorious dwelling; And first the tidings came to us, the humble shepherd folk. He has come to field and manger, And no more is God a Stranger: He comes as Common man at home with cart and crooked yoke. As the shade of a cool cedar To a traveller in gray Kedar Will be the kingdom of His love, the Kingdom without end. Tongues and ages may disclaim Him, Yet the Heaven of heavens will name Him Lord of peoples, Light of nations, elder Brother, tender Friend.
—Edwin Markham. [page 71]
INFLUENCE—EXAMPLE.
The smallest bark on life’s tumultuous ocean Will leave a track behind forevermore; The lightest wave of influence set 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 K. Bolton.
IN MEMORIAM.
But since it pleased a vanished eye I go to plant it on the tomb, That, if it can, it there may bloom, Or, dying, there at least my die.
—Tennyson. [page 72]
INSPIRATION.
I hear great steps that through the shade Grow nigher still and nigher; And voices call like that which bade The Prophets come up higher
—Lowell.
INSTINCT—RELIGIOUS.
Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor’d mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind; His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way; Yet simple Nature to his hope has giv’n Behind the cloud-topp’d hill a humbler heav’n; Some safer world in depth of woods embrac’d, Some happier island in the wat’ry waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold! To be, contents his natural desire; He asks no angel’s wing, no seraph’s fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
—Pope. [page 73]
JERICHO.
Oh, proud was the battle-cry, Israel, given, When gathered thy host by the banner of Heaven; Like the sweep of dark Kedron, the roll of this tide, When the bands of thy chosen went forth in their pride! Hark, hark to the trumpet, the echo from far, The leader of Princes, he speeds to the war! His arm is thy resting, His breath is thy sword, And nations shall faint at the voice of His word. When pealed thy wild shout to the blue mantled sky, How the foemen shrunk back as he heard it pass by! The torches grew pale in the halls of their mirth, And turret and battlement crumbled to earth. Oh, where is the name like thine, mighty in story? The Lord with thy triumphs hath blended His glory, Then lift the dark eye to the azure that’s o’er thee, And rush for the chaplets that brighten before thee.
—Mary E. Brooks. [page 74]
JERUSALEM.
Like the song of angel choirs, Floating o’er the gleaming spires, While as yet unseen to them Comes the New Jerusalem. Like the seer on Patmos gazing, On the glory downward blazing, Till upon earth’s grateful sod Rests the city of our God.
—George Eliot.
JOY.
Their lost they have, they hold; From pain a keener bliss they borrow. How natural is joy, my heart! How easy after sorrow.
—Jean Ingelow.
There have been tears of wormwood shed For every pleasure life can bring; The joys of earth are flowers that spring From out the ashes of the dead.
—E. H. Dewart. [page 75]
Joy is a fruit that will not grow In nature’s barren soil; All we can boast, till Christ we know, Is vanity and toil. But where the Lord hath planted grace, And made His glories known, These fruits of heavenly joy and peace Are found, and there alone.
—John Newton.
JUDAS.
Still as of old Man by himself is priced; For thirty pieces Judas sold Himself, not Christ.
—Selected. [page 76]
KINDNESS.
Do you wish the world were better? Let me tell you what to do: Set a watch upon your actions, Keep them always straight and true. Rid your minds of selfish motives. Let your thought be clean and high; You can make a little Eden Of the sphere you occupy. Do you wish the world were happy? Then remember, day by day, Just to scatter seeds of kindness As you pass along the way; For the pleasures of the many May be ofttimes traced to one, As the hand that plants an acorn Shelters armies from the sun.
—Selected.
NATIVE LAND.
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The lighthouse top I see? Is this the hill? is this the Kirk? Is this me own countree?
—Burns. [page 77]
LAST OF THE RACE—IMMORTALITY.
Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up On nature’s awful waste, To drink the last and bitter cup Of wrath, that man shall taste! Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race On earth’s sepulchral clod, The dark’ning universe defy To quench his immortality Or shake his trust in God.
—Campbell.
TOO LATE—PROCRASTINATION.
Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill; Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we: for that we do repent; And learning that, the Bridegroom will relent; Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light! so late! and dark and chill the night! Oh, let us in, that we may see the light! No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now. [page 78] Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet! Oh, let us in that we may kiss his feet! No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now.
—Tennyson.
LIFE.
Life! we’ve been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; ‘Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps ‘twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.
—A. L. Barbauld. [page 79]
LIFTERS AND LEANERS.
There are two kinds of people on earth to-day, Just two kinds of people, no more, I say. Not the rich and the poor, for to count a man’s wealth You must first know the state of his conscience and health. Not the humble and proud, for, in life’s little span, Who puts on airs is not counted a man. Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears. No, the two kinds of people on earth I mean Are the people who lift and the people who lean. Wherever you go you will find the world’s masses Are always divided in just these two classes; And oddly enough you will find, too, I ween, There’s only one lifter to twenty who lean. In which class are you? Are you easing the load Of overtaxed lifters who toil down the road? Or are you a leaner who lets others bear Your portion of labor and worry and care?
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. [page 80]
LIGHT.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.
—Francis Bourdillon.
THE LIGHTSHIP—WARNING.
When boats come home across the bar, And winter’s sunlight dies afar; When green and purple dust creeps down And hides the harbor and the town; Each night far out to sea a beam Of pale, wan light sends forth its gleam Across the peaceful, darkening tides, And marks the lightship where she rides. [page 81] When tempest-tossed, the ships slip by The foam-hid headland, and the sky Is torn with wrack of scudding cloud, And winds of winter cry aloud: Lo, through the roar of crashing wave, Above the tempest’s moan and rave, A voice comes o’er the troubled tides, And marks where yet the lightship rides!
—Richard S. Powell.
LOVE.
The night has a thousand eyes, The day but one; Yet the light of the whole world flies When the sun is gone. The mind has a thousand eyes, The heart but one; Yet the light of the whole life dies When love is gone.
—Selected.
In peace, love tunes the shepherd’s reed; In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dancers on the green; Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below and saints above; For love’s heaven, and heaven’s love.
—Scott. [page 82]
LOVE SHIP.
If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Weighed down with gems and silks and gold— Ah, well! the harbor could not hold So many sails as there would be If all my ships came in from sea. If half my ships came home from sea, And brought their precious freight to me, Ah, well! I would have wealth as great As any king who sits in state, So rich the treasures that would be In half my ships now out at sea. If just one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown, For, if the others all went down, Still, rich and proud and glad I’d be If that one ship came home to me. [page 83] If that one ship went down at sea, And all the rest came home to me, Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, With glory, honor, riches, gold, The poorest soul on earth I’d be If that one ship came not to me. O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free, Blow all my ships safe home to me! But if thou sendest some a-wreck, To never more come sailing back, Send any, all, that skim the sea, But bring my love ship home to me!
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. [page 84]
LOVE—A WOMAN’S.
A sentinel angel sitting high in glory Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory; “Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! “I loved,—and blind with passionate love, I fell. Love brought me down to death and death to Hell. For God is just, and death for sin is well. “I do not rage against His high decree, Not for myself do ask that grace shall be; But for my love on earth who mourns for me. “Great Spirit! let me see my love again And comfort him one hour, and I were fain To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.” Then said the pitying angel, “nay, repent That mild vow! Look, the dial-finger’s bent, Down to the last hour of thy punishment!” But still she wailed, “I pray thee let me go! I cannot rise to peace and love him so, O, let me sooth him in his bitter woe!” The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upwards, joyous, like a rising star, She rose and vanished in the ether far. [page 85] But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, She fluttered back with broken-hearted wailing. She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea Reclined, his head upon a maiden’s knee,— She curled his hair and kissed him, woe is me!” She wept, “Now let my punishment begin! I have been fond and foolish. Let me in To expiate my sorrow and my sin.” The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher!” To be deceived in your true heart’s desire Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire.”
—John Hay.
MAN—MIND—SOUL.
Were I so tall to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with my span, I must be measur’d by my soul; The mind’s the standard of the man.
—Isaac Watts. [page 86]
MARINER’S SONG.
Launch thy bark, Mariner! Christian, God spend thee! Let loose the rudder-bands!—good angels lead thee! Set thy sails warily; tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily! Christian, steer home! Look to the weather-bow, breakers are round thee! Let fall the plummet now—shallows may ground thee. Reef-in the fore-sail there! hold the helm fast! So—let the vessel ware! there swept the blast. What of the night, watchman? What of the night? “Cloudy—all quiet—no land yet—all’s right.” Be wakeful, be vigilant!—danger may be At an hour when all seemeth securest to thee. How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold— Hoist up thy merchandise—heave out thy gold! There—let the ingots go!—now the ship rights; Hurrah! the harbor’s near—lo, the red lights! [page 87] Slacken not sail yet an inlet or island; Straight for the beacon steer—straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on, cut through the foam— Christian! cast anchor now—Heaven is thy home!
—Mrs. Southey.
MARY MAGDALENE.
Let the reproach of men abide! He shall be well content To see not seldom by His side Thy head serenely bent. Thou, sharing in the awful doom, Shall help thy Lord to die; And mourning o’er His empty tomb First share His victory.
—George McDonald. [page 88]
MEDITATION—REFLECTION.
I stood on the bridge at midnight, As clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o’er the city, Behind the dark church tower. And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o’er me, That filled my eyes with tears. How often, oh, how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O’er the ocean wild and wide!
—Longfellow. [page 89]
GIVE US MEN.
Give us men!
Strong and stalwart ones!
Men whom highest hope inspires,
Men whom purest honor fires,
Men who trample self beneath them,
Men who make their country wreathe them
As her noble sons,
Worthy of their sires!
Men who never shame their mothers,
Men who never fail their brothers,
True, however false are others:
Give us men, I say again,
Give us men.
—Selected. [page 90]
MIRIAM’S SONG.
Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed—His people are free! Sing! for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave; How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed—His people are free.
—Thomas Moore.
MISSIONARIES.
Away in foreign lands they wondered how
Their single word had power!
At home, the Christians, two or three, had met
To pray an hour.
The weary ones had rest, the sad had joy
That day; I wondered how!
A ploughman, singing at his work had prayed;
Lord help them now.
—Selected. [page 91]
MOSES.
THE BURIAL OF MOSES.
By Nebo’s lonely mountain, On this side Jordan’s wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave; And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it e’er; For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth; And no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth. Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek Grows into the great sun, So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain’s crown The great procession swept. [page 92] And had he not high honor, The hillside for a pall, To lie in state, while angels wait With stars like tapers tall? And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes Over his bier to wave, And God’s own hand in that lonely land To lay him in the grave.
—Alexander. [page 93]
MOTHER.
WHEN MY MOTHER TUCKED ME IN.
How the stricken years have borne me Far away from love and home. Ah! no, mother leans above me, In the nights that go and come. And it gives me peace and comfort, When my heart is sore within, Just to lie right still and dream That my mother tucked me in. Oh the gentle, gentle breathing To her dear heart’s softer beat, And the quiet, quiet moving Of her soft-shod, willing feet. And, Oh Christ! one boon I ask Thee Whatso’er may be my sin, When I’m dying let me see her. As she used to tuck me in.
—Mrs. Garland.
The birds come back to their last year’s nest, And the wild rose blooms in the lane; And gold in the East and red in the West, The sun bestirs him again. Ah! the birds come back to their last year’s nest, And the wild rose laughs in the lane; But I turn to the East and I turn to the West— She never comes back again.
—Louise Moulton. [page 94]
A MOTHER’S SONG.
Time wuz I ‘ad a nest o’ little chillern;
They chitter’d an’ they chatter’d a’ tha day
An’ what with a’ tha feelin’ an’ tha mendin’
‘Twas li’l enough, o’ leisure come my way—
Sure ‘nuff,
‘Twas li’l but toil an’ moilin’ come my way.
At marnin’ ‘twuz tha washin’ chubby vaces;
At night ‘twas teachin’ little ‘earts to pray;
‘Twuz fillin’ ‘ungry mouths wi’ fitty vittles,
An’ scoldin’ ‘em an’ blessin’ ‘em a’ day—
My word!
‘Twuz frettin’ with an’ blessin’ ‘em a’ day.
‘Twas combin’ ‘em an’ tidyin’ an’ brushin’,
An’ sendin’ ‘em to schoolhouse ivery morn;
An’ settin’ up o’ nights when they wuz sleepin’,
A patchin’ an a-mendin’ what was torn—
My fey!
Tha tiny tummilled clothes that ‘ad been torn. [page 95]
But now tha chillern’s left me, an’ I wants ‘em;
‘Tes lonesome an’ so quiet, dawntee zee;
My man is settin’ smokin’ or a-noddin’,
But ‘e can’t fill the chillern’s place for me,—
No fey!
‘E’ll niver fill tha chillern’s place for me.
They a’ be gone away, grown men and women—
They’m gone into the town to make their bread.
The awnly one that bides a cheel for iver
Be yon poar little maidie that be dead—
Aw fey!
Tha awnly one that’s wi’ me is tha dead.
—Arthur L. Salmon. [page 96]
MUSIC.
Thine own musician, Lord, inspire, And let my consecrated lyre Repeat the Psalmist’s part; His Son and Thine reveal in me And fill with sacred melody The fibres of my heart.
—Charles Wesley.
Orpheus, with his lute, made trees And the mountain-tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing. To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
—Shakespeare. [page 97]
NATURE.
Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees, takes off his shoes, The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
—Mrs. Browning.
NEW YEAR.
Ring out the old; ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.
—Tennyson.
NOBILITY.
Be noble! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own; Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be shed, And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone.
—J. Russell Lowell. [page 98]
OBEDIENCE.
If ever Jesus has need of me, Somewhere in the field of sin, I’ll go where the darkest places be, And let the sunshine in, I’ll be content with the lowliest place To earth’s remotest rim; I know I’ll see His smiling face, If it’s done with a thought of Him. I’ll fill each day with little things As the passing moments fly, The tendril which to the great oak clings Grows strong as it climbs on high, I’ll trust my Lord, though I cannot see, Nor e’er let my faith grow dim; He’ll smile—and that’s enough for me— If it’s done with a thought of Him.
—Selected. [page 99]
OPPORTUNITY.
There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
—Shakespeare.
The golden opportunity Is never offered twice; seize then the hour When fortune smiles and duty points the way; Nor shrink aside to ‘scape the spectre fear, Nor pause, though pleasure beckon from her bower, Press forward toward the golden day.
—Selected. [page 100]
OPTIMISM.
It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining daffodils. In every shining drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of grey infest the day, And overhang the town; It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining roses down. It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining clover bloom, When every busy bumble-bee Can find his board and room. Here’s bread for the weary, And a fig for him who frets; It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining violets.
—Robert Loveman. [page 101]
PARDON.
Thus far did I come, laden with my sin, Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in, Till I came hither. What a place is this! Must here be the beginning of my bliss? Must here be the burden fall from off my back? Must here the strings that bound it to me crack?” Blest cross! blest sepulchre; blest rather be The Man that there was put to shame for me.
—John Bunyan.
PATRIOTISM.
O Scotia! My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest prayer to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content. And O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury’s contagion weak and vile! Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand, a wall of fire, around their much-loved isle.
—Burns. [page 102]
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
No marvel that the lady wept! There was no land on earth She loved like that dear land, Although she owed it not her birth: ‘Twas the land where dead husband slept; ‘Twas the land where she had known The tranquil convent’s hushed Repose, and the splendours of a throne. No marvel that the lady wept! It was the land of France,— The chosen home of chivalry,— The garden of Romance. One gaze again—one long last gaze,— “Adieu fair France to thee.” The breeze comes forth, she is alone On the unconscious sea.
—Bell.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breath, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; [page 103] High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonoured and unsung.
—Scott.
PEACE.
There, shall no tempest blow, No scorching noontide heat, There, shall be no more snow, No weary wandering feet. So we lift or trusting eyes From the hills our father trod To the quiet of the skies To the Sabbath of our God.
—Selected. [page 104]
PENITENCE.
Were not the sinful Mary’s tears An offering worthy Heaven, When o’er the faults of former years She wept—and was forgiven? When bringing every balmy sweet Her day of luxury stored, She o’er her Saviour’s hallow’d feet, The precious perfume pour’d! Were not those sweets, so humbly shed,— That hair,—those weeping eyes,— And the sunk heart, that inly bled,— Heaven’s noblest sacrifice? Thou, that hast slept in error’s sleep, Oh! would’st thou wake in heaven, Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, “Love much,”—and be forgiven!
—Thomas Moore. [page 105]
PLEASURES.
Pleasures are like poppies spread; You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or, like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.
—Burns.
PLUCK.
Tumble me down, and I will sit Upon my ruins, smiling yet; Tear me to tatters, yet I’ll be Patient in my necessity; Laugh at my scrap of clothes, and shun Me as a fear’d infection; Yet, scare-crow like, I’ll walk as one Neglecting thy derision.
—Robert Herrick. [page 106]
THE POET.
Call it not vain; they do not err Who say that when a poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper And celebrates his obsequies; Who say tall cliff and cavern lone For the departed bard made moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves the breezes sigh; And oaks, in deeper groans, reply, And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.
—Scott.
THE POETS.
I walked with poets in my youth, Because the world they drew Was beautiful and glorious Beyond the world I knew. The poets are my comrades still, But dearer than in youth; For now I know that they alone Picture the world of truth.
—W. R. Thayer. [page 107]
POSSIBILITIES.
So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, “Thou must,” The youth replies, “I can.”
—Selected.
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
—Longfellow. [page 108]
PRAYER.
Prayer—the fragrance of a flower After the refreshing shower; ‘Tis the dew that soars again, Mist ascending after rain; ‘Tis the life-blood of the tree; Oft it bleeds in agony. Oh, the agony of prayer! How it wrings the soul with care; One of God’s true witnesses, This true sign: “Behold, he prays.”
—Robert Maguire.
Man’s plea to man is, that he nevermore Will beg, and that he never begged before: Man’s plea to God is, that he did obtain A former suit, and therefore sues again. How good a God we serve, that, when we sue, Makes His old gifts the examples of His new.
—Francis Quarles.
He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.
—S. T. Coleridge. [page 109]
PRAYER—FAMILY.
Then kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays;
Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days.
. . . . . . . . .
From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad.
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings;
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”
—Burns.
PREACHER.
He held the Lamp each Sabbath day So low that none could miss the way And yet so high to bring in sight That picture fair of Christ, the Light, That gazing up—the Lamp between— The hand that held it was not seen. [page 110] He held the Pitcher, stooping low, To lips of little ones below, Then raised it to the weary saint And bade him dink when sick and faint. They drank—the Pitcher thus between— The hand that held it scarce was seen. He blew the Trumpet soft and clear, That trembling sinners need not fear, And then with louder note and bold To storm the walls of Satan’s hold. The Trumpet coming thus between, The hand that held it was not seen. But when our Captain says—“Well done; Thou good and faithful servant, come, Lay down the Pitcher and the Lamp, Lay down the Trumpet, leave the camp.” The weary hands will there be seen Clasped tight in His, but naught between.
—Anon. [page 111]
PROCRASTINATION.
I know a land where the streets are paved With the things we meant to achieve. It is walled with the money we meant to have saved, And the pleasures for which we grieve. The kind words spoken, the promises broken, And many a coveted boon Are stowed away there, in that land somewhere; The land of “Pretty Soon.” The road that leads to that mystic land Is strewn with pitiful wrecks, And the ships that have sailed for its sunny strand Bear skeletons on their decks. It is farther at noon than it was at dawn, And farther at night than noon. Oh! let us beware of that land down there— The land of “Pretty Soon.”
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. [page 112]
PROGRESS.
There’s a fount about to stream,
There’s a light about to gleam,
There’s a warmth about to glow,
There’s a flower about to blow,
There’s a midnight darkness changing
Into gray.
Men of thought and men of action,
Clear the way!
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen;
Aid it, hopes of honest men;
Aid it paper, aid it type,
Aid it, for the hour is ripe,
And our earnest must not slacken
Into play.
Men of thought and men of action,
Clear the way! [page 113]
THE PROMISES.
Yes, with one promise from the sacred pages, The streams whereof make glad the Church below, One text worn smooth by use of rolling ages, Our soul’s strong enemy we overthrow. Faith in God’s Word the help of God engages, And—“It is written,” puts to flight the foe.
—R. Wilton.
PROVIDENCE.
I know not where His islands Lift their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
—Whittier.
Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne,— Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
—Lowell. [page 114]
A PSALM OF LIFE.
Tell me not in mournful numbers, “Life is but an empty dream!” For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; “Dust thou art, to dust returnest,” Was not written of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, thou stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! [page 115] Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,—act in the living Present! Heart within and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
—Longfellow. [page 116]
RECESSIONAL.
God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord of God of Hosts, be with us yet Lest we forget—lest we forget. The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart; Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget!
—Rudyard Kipling.
RECOMPENSE.
I feel 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.
—Tennyson. [page 117]
REMORSE.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine, alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is love of that volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.
—Byron.
Through life’s dull road, so dim and dusty, I have dragg’d to three-and-thirty; What have these years left to me? Nothing except thirty-three.
—Byron. [page 118]
RENUNCIATION.
He might have built a palace at a word, Who sometimes had not where to lay His head; Time was when He had nourished crowds with bread; Would not one meal unto Himself afford. Twelve legions girded with angelic sword Were at His beck—the scorned and buffeted! He healed another’s scratch: His own side bled, Side, feet, and hands, with cruel piercings gored. Oh, wonderful the wonders left undone! And scarce less wonderful than those He wrought! Oh, self-restraint, passing all human thought, To have all power and he as having none! Oh, self-denying love, which felt alone For needs of others, never for its own.
—Archbishop Trench. [page 119]
REPROOF.
For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain. What wouldst thou have a good, great man obtain?— Peace? titles? salary? a gilded chain? Or throne, and corses which his sword hath slain? Greatness and goodness are not means but ends.
—S. T. Coleridge.
REST.
There is a rest that deeper grows, In midst of pain and strife; A mighty, conscious, willed repose, The breath of deepest life. To have and hold the precious prize, No need of jealous bars, But windows open to the skies, And power to see the stars.
—Macdonald. [page 120]
RESURRECTION.
Oh! that I had lived in that great day! How had its glory new Filled earth and heaven and caught away My ravished spirit, too: No thoughts, that to the world belong, Had stood against the wave Of love, which set so deep and strong, From Christ’s then open grave.
—Matthew Arnold.
TALITHA CUMI.
(Mark 5: 41.)
Maiden, to my twelfth year come, I had read in Scripture story, Of a damsel cold and dumb, Wakened by the Lord of glory. And it seemed to me He spoke, And His Living word thrilled through me, Till in me new life awoke, And He said “Talitha Cumi.” Now with lamp I watch and wait For my Lord’s returning to me. Should I slumber when ‘tis late, Let that word rouse and renew me; [page 121] And when long laid in the tomb, Long forgot by those who knew me, Thou wilt not forget to come With Thy sweet “Talitha Cumi.”
—Author Unknown.
REUNION.
HE WILL GIVE THEM BACK.
We are quite sure
That He will give them back—bright, pure and beautiful.
We know He will but keep
Our own and His, until we fall asleep.
He does not mean,—though Heaven be fair,—
To change the spirits entering there,
That they should soon forget
Our upraised eyes and wet.
He will not take
The spirits which He gave, and make
The glorified so new
That they are lost to me and you.
I just begin to think about the gladness and the day,
When they shall tell us all about the way
That they have learned to go—
Heaven’s pathway show. [page 122]
My lost, my own and I
Shall have so much to see together by and by,
I do believe that just the same sweet face,
But glorified, is waiting in the place
Where we shall meet, if only I
Am counted worthy in that by and by.
I do believe that God will give a sweet surprise
To tear-stained, saddened eyes.
God never made
Spirit for spirit, answering shade to shade,
And meant to break the quivering threads between;
When we shall wake.
I am quite sure we will be very glad
That for a little while we were so sad.
—Anon. [page 123]
REWARD.
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroken; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.
—Longfellow. [page 124]
SABBATH.
From the still heights of this serenest day, I trace life’s motions with a clearer eye; Men’s deeds and lives are only God’s highway, Which leads into His glory by and by.
—F. T. Greenhalge.
SACRIFICE.
The highest glory is not where
‘Mid crimson clouds, the fight is won;
‘Tis to reclaim the erring son,
Long used the sinful yoke to bear.
. . . . . . . .
The highest benedictions hide
Where sacrifice is pure and true;
And our poor self-denials, too,
If done for Christ, in Him abide.
—W. Morley Punshon. [page 125]
DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners, at sunset, was seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host, on the morrow, lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he past; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. [page 126] And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow, in the glance of the Lord!
—Byron. [page 127]
SERVICE.
THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD.
“He was a friend to man and he lived in a house by the side of the road.”
—Homer.
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars that live apart In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze their path Where highway never ran— But let me live by the side of the road, And be a friend to man. Let me live in the 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, Nor hurl the cynic’s ban; Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. [page 128] 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 strife. But I turn not away from their smiles or their tears, Both parts of an infinite plan— Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
—Samuel W. Foss.
The bread that bringeth strength I want to give; The water pure that bids the thirsty live; I want to help the fainting day by day; I’m sure I shall not pass again this way. I want to give the oil of joy for tears, The faith to conquer crowding doubts and fears; Beauty for ashes may I give alway; I’m sure I shall not pass again this way. I want to give good measure running o’er, And into angry hearts I want to pour The answer soft that turneth wrath away; I’m sure I shall not pass again this way. I want to give to others hope and faith; I want to do all that the Master saith; I want to do all that the Master saith; I’m sure I shall not pass again this way.
—D. S. Ford. [page 129]
SERVICE.
May He who taught the morning stars to sing, Aye keep my chalice pure and fresh and sweet, And grant me so with loving hand to bring Refreshment to His weary ones; to meet Their thirst with water from God’s music spring; And bearing thus, to pour it at His feet.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.
SIN—VICE.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet, seen to oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
—Pope. [page 130]
SLANDER.
If Satan ever feels remorse, Or hides his face in shame, ‘Tis when he turns a Christian tongue Against someone’s good name.
—Selected.
THE SLAVE’S SONG.
I’ve now embarked for yonder shore, Where man is man by law; The vessel soon will bear me o’er To shake the Lion’s paw. I no more dread the auctioneer, Or fear the master’s frown; No more to tremble when I hear The baying of the hound; Oh! then, old master, don’t think hard of me; I’m on my way to Canada Where colored men are free.
—Elder Hawkins. [page 131]
SLEEP.
King Henry. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou, in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds, and leav’st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common ‘larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast In cradle of the rude imperious surge? . . . . . . . . . . Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances, and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
—Shakespeare. [page 132]
SNOW—WINTER—SPRING.
The valley stream is frozen; The hills are cold and bare, And the wild, white flakes of snow Swarm in the darkened air. I look on the naked forest; Was it ever green in June? Did it burn with gold and crimson In the dim autumnal noon? I look at the barren meadow; Was it ever heaped with hay? Did it hide the grassy cottage Where the sky-lark’s children lay? I look on the desolate garden; Is it true the rose was there? And the woodbine’s musky blossoms And the hyacinth’s purple hair? I look in my heart and marvel If love were ever its own, If the spring of promise brightened, And the summer of passion shone? [page 133] Is the stem of bliss but withered? Will the roots survive the blast? Are the seeds of the future sleeping Under the leaves of the past? Ah! yes, for a thousand Aprils These frozen germs shall grow, And the dews of a thousand summers Live in the folds of the snow.
—Bayard Taylor.
SPRING.
I hear the whispering voice of Spring; The thrush’s trill; the cat-bird’s cry,— Like some poor bird with prisoned wing,— That sits and sings and longs to fly. O! for one spot of living green! One little spot where leaves can grow, To love unblamed, to walk unseen, To dream above, to sleep below.
—Selected. [page 134]
STRENGTH—HUMAN.
For tho’ the giant ages heave the hill And break the shore, and evermore Make and break, and work their will; Tho’ world on world in myriad myriads roll Round us, each with different powers, And other forms of life than ours, What know we greater than the Soul? On God and godlike men we build our trust.
—Tennyson.
SYMPATHY.
I am no trumpet, but a reed,— A broken reed the wind indeed Left flat upon a dismal shore: Yet if a little maid or child Should sigh within it earnest-mild, This reed will answer evermore.
—Elizabeth Browning. [page 135]
TEMPERANCE.
What! What! our countrymen in chains! The whip on woman’s shrinking flesh! Our soil yet reddening with the stains Caught from scourging warm and fresh. What! mothers from their children riven! And God’s own image bought and sold! Americans to market driven, And bartered as the brute for gold!
—Whittier. (on slavery).
THE TENANT.
This body is my house, it is not I; Herein I sojourn till, in some far sky, I lease a fairer dwelling, built to last Till all the carpentry of time is past. When from my high place, viewing this lone star, What shall I care where these poor timbers are? What though the crumbling walls turn dust and loam— I shall have left them for a larger home. [page 136] What though the rafters break, the stanchions rot, When earth hath dwindled to a glimmering spot, When thou, clay cottage, fallest, I’ll immerse My long cramped spirit in the universe; Through uncomputed silences of space I shall yearn upward to the leaning Face. The ancient heavens will roll aside for me As Moses monarched the dividing sea. This body is my house—it is not I; Triumphant in this faith I live and die.
—Lawrence Knowles.
THANKSGIVING.
For flowers that bloom about our feet; For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet; For song of bird, and hum of bee; For all things fair we hear and see, Father in heaven, we thank thee! For blue of stream and blue of sky; For pleasant shade of branches high; For fragrant air and cooling breeze; For beauty of the blooming trees, Father in heaven, we thank thee!
—Ralph Waldo Emerson. [page 137]
TIDES.
‘Tis weary watching wave by wave, And yet the tide heaves onward. We climb, like corals, grave by grave, Yet pave a path that’s sunward. We are beaten back in many a fray, But newer strength we borrow; And where the vanguard camps to-day The rear shall rest to-morrow.
—Gerald Massey. [page 138]
TO-MORROW.
‘Tis late at night and in the realm of sleep My little lambs are folded like the flocks; From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks Challenge the passing, like guards that keep Their solitary watch in tower and steep; Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, And through the opening door that time unlocks Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, Who cries to me: “Remember Barmecide, And tremble to be happy with the rest.” And I make answer: “I am satisfied; I dare not ask; I know not what is best; God hath already said what shall betide.”
—Longfellow. [page 139]
THE TONGUE.
“The boneless tongue, so small and weak, Can crush and kill,” declared the Greek. “The tongue destroys a greater horde,” The Turk asserts, “than does the sword.” The Persian proverb wisely saith, “A lengthy tongue—an early death.” Or sometimes take this form instead: “Don’t let your tongue cut off your head.” “The tongue can speak a word whose speed, Says the Chinese, “outstrips the steed.” While Arab sage doth this impart: “The tongue’s great storehouse is the heart.” From Hebrew wit the maxim sprung, “Though feet should slip, ne’er let the tongue.” The sacred writer crowns the whole, “Who keeps his tongue doth keep his soul.”
—Philip Burrows Strong. [page 140]
TRIALS.
Though losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There’s wit there, you’ll get there, You’ll find no otherwhere.
—Burns.
TRIFLES.
The smallest crust may save a human life; The smallest act may lead to human strife; The smallest touch may cause the body pain; The smallest spark may fire a field of grain; The smallest deed may kill the truly brave; The smallest skill may serve a life to save; The smallest drop the thirsty may relieve; The slightest shock may wake a heart to grieve; Naught is too small that it may not contain The rose of pleasure or the thorn of pain.
—Selected. [page 141]
TRUST.
Speak, for He can hear thee, For Spirit with spirit can meet, Closer is He than breathing, Nearer than hands and feet.
—Tennyson.
Be near me when I fade away, To point the term of human strife, And on the low, dark verge of life, The twilight of Eternal Day.
—Tennyson.
TRUTH.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among her worshippers.
—Bryant. [page 142]
VANITY.
This world is all a fleeting show
For man’s illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,—
There’s nothing true but Heaven!
And false the light on glory’s plume,
As fading hues of even;
And Love, and Hope, and Beauty’s bloom
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,—
There’s nothing bright but Heaven.
Poor wanderer of a stormy day,
From wave to wave we’re driven,
And fancy’s flash and reason’s ray
Serve but to light the troubled way,
There’s nothing calm but Heaven.
—Moore. [page 143]
CHRISTIAN’S VICTORY—TRIUMPH.
My latest sun is sinking fast, My race is nearly run, My strongest trials now are past, My triumph is begun. I’m nearing now the holy ranks Of friends and kindred dear, For I brush the dews on Jordan’s banks; The crossing must be near. I’ve almost gained my heavenly home, My spirit loudly sings; The holy ones, behold, they come! I hear the noise of wings. Oh, bear my longing heart to Him Who bled and died for me; Whose blood now cleanses from all sin, And gives me victory.
—J. Haskell. [page 144]
VIRTUE—REWARD OF.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends— The good, great man? Three treasures, Love and Light And Calm Thoughts, regular as infants’ breath; And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death!
—S. T. Coleridge.
VISIONS OF THE FUTURE.
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunder-storm;
Till the war-drum throbb’d no longer, and the battle-flags were furl’d.
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
. . . . . . . . . .
Not in vain the distance beacons, forward, forward let us range,
Let the great world spin forever down the spinning grooves of change.
—Tennyson. [page 145]
VOICE—GOD’S.
And all is well, tho’ faith and form Be sunder’d in the night of fear; Well roars the storm to those that hear A deeper voice across the storm.
—Tennyson.
THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR.
The voyageur smiles as he listens To the sound that grows apace; Well he knows the vesper ringing Of the bells of St. Boniface. The bells of the Roman Mission, That call from their turrets twain, To the boatman on the river, To the hunter on the plain! Even so in our mortal journey The bitter north winds blow, And thus upon life’s Red River Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. [page 146] And when the Angel of Shadow Rests his feet on wave and shore, And our eyes grow dim with watching And our hearts faint at the oar, Happy is he who heareth The signal of his release In the bells of the Holy City, The chimes of eternal peace!
—Whittier.
WEALTH.
.....What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold?..
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions; bless th’ accurs’d;
Make the hoar leprosy ador’d; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation
With senators on the bench.
—Shakespeare. [page 147]
THE WEST.
I love the West, the wild, wild West; I love its snow-capped mountains; Its canyons, valleys, sunny glens, Its forests deep and grassy fens, Its streams and dashing fountains. I love the West, the new, new West; Her veins new blood is flushing; New homes, new towns, new cities rise; From every land beneath the skies New life to her is rushing. I love the West, the Christless West; My heart goes out in sorrow To miners’, loggers’, ranchers’ camp, To thousand hearts without God’s Lamp— Oh, dark must be their morrow! I love the West, the Christian West; God bless the sons and daughters Who hasten there, God’s Word to take; Who spend their lives for His dear sake; Who sow beside all waters. [page 148] I love the West, the coming West, When, all our land adorning, The Sun of Righteousness shall rise, Illuminate the western skies, And usher in that morning!
—Emma L. Miller.
WORK.
Time worketh; let me work too. Time undoeth; let me do. Busy as time, my work I ply Till I rest in the rest of eternity. Sin worketh; let me work too. Sin undoeth; let me do. Busy as sin, my work I ply Till I rest in the rest of eternity. Death worketh; let me work too. Death undoeth; let me do. Busy as death, my work I ply Till I rest in the rest of eternity.
—H. Bonar. [page 149]
WORDLINESS.
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon Turns ashes: or it prospers; and anon, Like snow upon the desert’s dusky face Lighting a little hour or two, is gone.
—Omar Khayyam.
YOUTHFULNESS—SPRING.
Spring still makes spring in the mind When sixty years are told; Love makes anew the throbbing heart And we are never old. Over the winter glaciers I see the summer glow, And through the wind-piled snowdrift The warm rosebud below.
—Emerson. [page 150]
INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
|
PAGE |
|
|
A better love than mine |
15 |
|
A sentinel angel sitting high in glory |
85 |
|
Ah! what would the world be to us |
24 |
|
All nature is but art, unknown to thee |
54 |
|
And all is well, tho’ faith and form |
146 |
|
And if there be no meeting past the grave |
44 |
|
Arise and fly |
11 |
|
Away in foreign lands they wondered how |
91 |
|
Be like a bird that, halting in her flight |
47 |
|
Be near me when I fade away |
142 |
|
Be noble! and the nobleness that lies |
98 |
|
Be strong! We are not here to play, to dream, to drift |
37 |
|
Behold this ruin! ‘Twas a skull |
34 |
|
Beyond this place of wrath and tears |
44 |
|
Boys, we want you, our country wants |
19 |
|
Build it well, whate’er you do |
21 |
|
But conscience, in some awful silent hour |
33 |
|
But since it pleased a vanished eye |
72 |
|
Breathes there the man with soul do dead |
103 |
|
By Nebo’s lonely mountain |
92 |
|
Call him not old whose visionary brain |
10 |
|
Call it not vain; they do not err |
107 |
|
Can rules or tutors educate |
39 |
|
Count we o’er earth’s chosen heroes |
61 |
|
Do you wish the world were better |
77 |
|
Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life |
22 |
|
Earth’s crammed with heaven |
98 |
|
Even the cold earth feels a stir of might |
57 |
|
Every soul that touches our’s |
52 |
|
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm |
145 |
|
For a’ that and a’ that |
20 |
|
For flowers that bloom about our feet |
137 |
|
For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain |
120 |
|
For though the giant ages heave the hill |
135 |
|
From the still heights of this serenest day |
125 |
|
[page 151] |
|
|
Give us men |
90 |
|
Go, sun, while mercy holds me up |
78 |
|
God beholds thee, wretch, though wrapt in prayer |
68 |
|
God of our fathers, known of old |
117 |
|
Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends |
55 |
|
Hath he not always treasures, always friends |
145 |
|
Have we not, in earth’s petty strife |
69 |
|
Have you heard the voice of Jesus |
26 |
|
Have you never felt the pleasure of forgiving fraud or wrong? |
50 |
|
Heard ye the sob of parting breath? |
70 |
|
He has come! The skies are telling |
71 |
|
He held the Lamp, each Sabbath Day |
110 |
|
He might have built a palace at a word |
119 |
|
He prayeth well who loveth well |
109 |
|
Hope springs eternal in the human breast |
66 |
|
How dear to my heart is the story |
58 |
|
How many thousands of my poorest subjects |
132 |
|
How seldom, friend |
32 |
|
How the stricken years have borne me |
94 |
|
Humble must we be, if to heaven we go |
68 |
|
Hush, the loud cannon’s roar |
67 |
|
I am no trumpet, but a reed |
135 |
|
I falter where I firmly trod |
65 |
|
I feel it true, whate’er befall |
117 |
|
I hear great steps that through the shade |
73 |
|
I hear the whispering voice of spring |
134 |
|
I know a land where the streets are paved |
112 |
|
I know not where His islands |
114 |
|
I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls |
9 |
|
I love the late |
43 |
|
I love the West, the wild, wild West |
148 |
|
I said, “Let me walk in the fields” |
42 |
|
I shot an arrow into the air |
124 |
|
I stood on the bridge at midnight |
89 |
|
I supposed I knew my Bible |
17 |
|
I walked with poets in my youth |
107 |
|
I want to be an angel, and in the world’s domain |
12 |
|
If all the ships I have at sea |
83 |
|
If ever Jesus has need of me |
99 |
|
If Satan ever feels remorse |
131 |
|
If there be happiness below |
48 |
|
Ill fares the land to hastening ills a prey |
38 |
|
Imperial Persia bowed to his wise sway |
41 |
|
[page 152] |
|
|
In a very humble cot |
29 |
|
In golden youth, when seems the earth |
52 |
|
In peace love tunes the shepherd’s reed |
82 |
|
In words like weeds I’ll wrap me o’er |
56 |
|
Is thy cruse of comfort failing |
31 |
|
It is not raining rain to me |
101 |
|
It’s a dangerous thing |
33 |
|
I’ve now embarked for yonder shore |
131 |
|
Joy is a fruit that will not grow |
76 |
|
Judge not |
22 |
|
Just as the waxing moon can take |
25 |
|
Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill |
78 |
|
Launch thy bark, mariner! Christian, God spend thee |
87 |
|
Let the reproach of men abide |
88 |
|
Let the winds blow and billows roll |
66 |
|
Life, we’ve been long together |
79 |
|
Like the song of angel choirs |
75 |
|
Lives of great men all remind us |
108 |
|
Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind |
73 |
|
Maiden, to my twelfth year come |
121 |
|
Man is his own star; and the soul that can |
40 |
|
Man’s plea to man is, that he nevermore |
109 |
|
May He who taught the morning stars to sing |
130 |
|
Much honored were my humble home |
49 |
|
My days are in the yellow leaf |
118 |
|
My latest sun is sinking fast |
144 |
|
My own dim life should teach me this |
70 |
|
Near, near thee, my son |
39 |
|
Nobody sits in the little armchair |
23 |
|
No marvel that the lady wept |
103 |
|
Not a log in this buildin’ but its memories has got |
63 |
|
Not once or twice in our rough island story |
45 |
|
Not wealth but welfare is success |
22 |
|
“Now Papa,” says Ned, “you be careful” |
46 |
|
O! dream of joy! is this indeed |
77 |
|
O! East is east and west is west |
45 |
|
O little town of Bethlehem |
27 |
|
Oh, proud was the battle-cry, Israel, given |
74 |
|
O make thou us, through centuries long |
47 |
|
O Scotia! my dear, my native soil |
102 |
|
O, that I had lived in that great day |
121 |
|
O! the gladness and the glory |
46 |
|
O, what a happy soul am I |
36 |
|
Orpheus, with his lute, mad trees |
97 |
|
[page 153] |
|
|
Peopled and warm is the valley |
11 |
|
Pleasures are like poppies spread |
106 |
|
Prayer, the fragrance of a flower |
109 |
|
Ring out the old; ring in the new |
98 |
|
Ruby wine is drunk by knaves |
62 |
|
See the rivers flowing downward to the sea |
54 |
|
Smile once in a while |
23 |
|
Some murmur when their sky is clear |
32 |
|
So nigh is grandeur to our dusty |
108 |
|
Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea |
91 |
|
Speak, for he can hear thee |
142 |
|
Spring still makes spring in the mind |
150 |
|
Standing by a purpose true |
40 |
|
Still as of old |
76 |
|
Sunset and evening star |
42 |
|
Tell me not in mournful numbers |
115 |
|
Tender handed stroke a nettle |
56 |
|
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold |
126 |
|
The birds come back to their last year’s nest |
94 |
|
The boneless tongue, so small and weak |
140 |
|
The bread that bringeth strength I want to give |
129 |
|
The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake |
11 |
|
The Cross is ever fair |
38 |
|
The day is cold and dark and dreary |
36 |
|
The family is a little book |
48 |
|
The fields stretch far to the rim of the day |
20 |
|
The golden opportunity |
100 |
|
The highest glory is not where |
125 |
|
The isles of Greece! The isles of Greece! |
56 |
|
The night has a thousand eyes |
81, 82 |
|
The smallest bark on life’s tumultuous ocean |
72 |
|
The smallest crust may save a human life |
141 |
|
The tissue of life to be |
44 |
|
The valley stream is frozen |
133 |
|
The voyageur smiles as he listens |
146 |
|
The worldly hope men set their hearts upon |
150 |
|
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn |
128 |
|
There are two kinds of people on earth to-day |
80 |
|
There have been tears of wormwood shed |
75 |
|
There is a tide in the affairs of men |
100 |
|
There shall no tempest blow |
104 |
|
There’s a fount about to stream |
113 |
|
There’s a good time coming, boys |
28 |
|
There’s a rest that deeper grows |
120 |
|
[page 154] |
|
|
There’s so much had in the best of us |
22 |
|
Their lost they have, they hold |
75 |
|
Then, kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King |
110 |
|
They grew in beauty side by side |
64 |
|
Thine own musician, Lord, inspire |
97 |
|
This body is my house, it is not I |
136 |
|
This book is all that’s left me, now! |
15 |
|
This world is all a fleeting show |
143 |
|
Though losses and crosses |
141 |
|
Through life’s dull road so dim and dusty |
118 |
|
Thus far did I come, laden with my sin |
102 |
|
Thy bounteous grace with worldly bliss |
55 |
|
Time worketh; let me work, too |
149 |
|
Time wuz I ‘ad a nest o’ little chillern |
95 |
|
‘Tis evening, the glorious time |
51 |
|
‘Tis late at night and in the realm of sleep |
139 |
|
‘Tis strange the miser should his cares employ |
38 |
|
‘Tis weary watching, wave by wave |
138 |
|
To-day shall simple manhood try |
50 |
|
Triumphant and victorious He appears |
26 |
|
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again |
142 |
|
Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne |
114 |
|
Tumble me down, and I will sit |
106 |
|
Unfading hope! when life’s last embers burn |
66 |
|
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien |
130 |
|
We are quite sure |
122 |
|
We live in deeds, not years |
28 |
|
Were I so tall to reach the pole |
86 |
|
We’ve not the sinful Mary’s tears |
105 |
|
What is here? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? |
147 |
|
What! What! our countrymen in chains |
136 |
|
When boats come home across the bar |
81 |
|
When, marshalled on the nightly plain |
14 |
|
When, wounded sore, the stricken heart |
60 |
|
Where did you come from, baby dear? |
12 |
|
Where is the German’s fatherland? |
49 |
|
With pilgrim’s staff and hat, I went |
13 |
|
Would you understand? |
57 |
|
Yes! with one promise from the sacred pages |
114 |
|
[page 155] |
|
INDEX TO TOPICS.
|
PAGE |
|
|
Acre—God’s |
9 |
|
Age |
10 |
|
Agnosticism |
44 |
|
All’s Well |
11 |
|
Ambition |
11 |
|
Angels |
12 |
|
Babyhood |
12 |
|
Bethlehem |
13 |
|
Bible—Mothers |
15 |
|
Bible—Reading |
17 |
|
Boys |
19 |
|
Brotherhood |
20 |
|
Burial of Moses |
92 |
|
Call of the City |
20 |
|
Cavalry |
13 |
|
Character |
21 |
|
Charity |
22 |
|
Cheerfulness |
23 |
|
Children |
23 |
|
Christ—Drawing |
25 |
|
Christ’s Call |
26 |
|
Christ—Victorious |
26 |
|
Christian’s Victory |
144 |
|
Christmas |
27 |
|
Citizenship |
28, 45, 50, 61 |
|
Civilization |
28 |
|
Comfort |
29 |
|
Compensation |
31 |
|
Complaining |
32 |
|
Conscience |
33 |
|
Consolation |
34, 36 |
|
Contentment |
36 |
|
Courage |
37 |
|
Covetousness |
38 |
|
Cross |
38 |
|
Culture |
39 |
|
Daniel |
40, 41 |
|
Death |
42 |
|
Decision |
42 |
|
Delay |
43 |
|
Departure |
42 |
|
Destiny |
44 |
|
Destruction of Sennacherib |
126 |
|
Doubt |
44 |
|
Duty |
45 |
|
East |
45 |
|
Easter |
46 |
|
Example |
46, 72 |
|
Excelsior |
47 |
|
Faith |
47, 65 |
|
Family |
48, 64 |
|
Fatherland |
49 |
|
Fearlessness |
49 |
|
Forgiveness |
50 |
|
Franchise |
50 |
|
Fraternity |
51 |
|
Friendship |
52 |
|
Future Life |
70 |
|
Future, Visions of the |
145 |
|
Gethsemane |
52 |
|
Give us men |
90 |
|
Giving |
54 |
|
God’s Voice |
146 |
|
Good—Universal |
54 |
|
Gratitude |
55 |
|
Graves |
64 |
|
Greatness |
55 |
|
Greece |
56 |
|
Grief |
56 |
|
[page 156] |
|
|
Grit |
56 |
|
Growth |
57 |
|
Heart |
57 |
|
Heaven |
58 |
|
Helper |
60 |
|
Heroes |
61 |
|
Heroism |
62 |
|
Home |
48, 63, 64 |
|
Hope |
65, 66 |
|
House—By side of road |
128 |
|
Household |
64 |
|
Humanity |
67 |
|
Human Thoughts |
135 |
|
Humility |
68 |
|
Hypocrisy |
68 |
|
Ideal |
69 |
|
Immortality |
70, 78 |
|
Incarnation |
71 |
|
Influence |
72 |
|
In Memoriam |
72 |
|
Inspiration |
73 |
|
Instinct |
73 |
|
Jericho |
74 |
|
Jerusalem |
75 |
|
Joy |
75 |
|
Judas |
76 |
|
Kindness |
77 |
|
Land—Native |
77 |
|
Last—Race |
78 |
|
Late |
78 |
|
Leaners |
80 |
|
Life |
70, 79 |
|
Lifters |
80 |
|
Light |
81 |
|
Lightship |
81 |
|
Love |
82 |
|
Love—A Woman’s |
85 |
|
Love—Ship |
83 |
|
Magdalene |
88 |
|
Man |
86 |
|
Mariner’s Song |
87 |
|
Mary Magdalene |
88 |
|
Mary, Queen of Scots |
103 |
|
Meditation |
89 |
|
Men |
90 |
|
Mind |
86 |
|
Miriam’s Song |
91 |
|
Missionaries |
91 |
|
Moses—Burial |
92 |
|
Mother |
94, 95 |
|
Mother’s Bible |
15 |
|
Mother’s Song |
95 |
|
Music |
97 |
|
Native Land |
77 |
|
Nature |
98 |
|
New Year |
98 |
|
Nobility |
98 |
|
Obedience |
99 |
|
Open Heart |
57 |
|
Opportunity |
100 |
|
Optimism |
101 |
|
Pardon |
102 |
|
Patriotism |
49, 102 |
|
Peace |
104 |
|
Penitence |
105 |
|
Pleasures |
106 |
|
Pluck |
106 |
|
Poet |
107 |
|
Possibilities |
108 |
|
Prayer |
41, 109 |
|
Prayer, Family |
110 |
|
Preacher |
110 |
|
Procrastination |
78, 112 |
|
Progress |
113 |
|
Promises |
114 |
|
Providence |
114 |
|
Psalm of Life |
115 |
|
Race |
78 |
|
Recessional |
117 |
|
Recompense |
117 |
|
Red River Voyageur |
146 |
|
Reflection |
89 |
|
Religious Instinct |
73 |
|
Remorse |
33, 118 |
|
Renunciation |
119 |
|
Reproof |
120 |
|
Rest |
120 |
|
Resurrection |
121 |
|
[page 157] |
|
|
Reunion |
122 |
|
Reward |
124, 145 |
|
Sabbath |
125 |
|
Sacrifice |
125 |
|
Self-Reliance |
40 |
|
Sennacherib |
126 |
|
Service |
128, 130 |
|
Ship—Love |
83 |
|
Sin |
130 |
|
Slander |
131 |
|
Slave’s Song |
131 |
|
Sleep |
132 |
|
Snow |
133 |
|
Song, A Mother’s |
95 |
|
Song, Slave’s |
131 |
|
Soul |
86 |
|
Spring |
133, 134, 150 |
|
Strength |
135 |
|
Sympathy |
135 |
|
Temperance |
136 |
|
Tenant |
136 |
|
Thanksgiving |
137 |
|
Tides |
138 |
|
To-morrow |
139 |
|
Tongue |
140 |
|
Too Late |
78 |
|
Trials |
141 |
|
Trifles |
141 |
|
Triumph |
144 |
|
Trust |
65, 142 |
|
Truth |
142 |
|
Uncertainty |
44 |
|
Universal Good |
54 |
|
Vanity |
143 |
|
Vice |
130 |
|
Victory—Christians |
144 |
|
Virtue—Reward of |
145 |
|
Visions |
145 |
|
Voice, God’s |
146 |
|
Voyageur |
146 |
|
Warning |
81 |
|
Wayside Cross |
39 |
|
Wealth |
147 |
|
West |
45, 148 |
|
When my Mother Tucked me in |
94 |
|
Winter |
133 |
|
Work |
149 |
|
Wordliness |
150 |
|
Youthfulness |
150 |
[page 158]
INDEX TO AUTHORS.
|
PAGE |
|
|
Addison |
55 |
|
Alexander, C. F. |
60, 93 |
|
Arndt |
49 |
|
Arnold, Matthew |
121 |
|
Babcock, M. D. |
37 |
|
Bailey |
28 |
|
Barbauld, Anna L. |
79 |
|
Beaumont and Fletcher |
40 |
|
Bell, John |
103 |
|
Bliss, P. P. |
41 |
|
Bolton, Sarah K. |
72 |
|
Bonar, H. |
149 |
|
Bourdillon, Francis |
81 |
|
Brooks, Mary E. |
74 |
|
Brooks, Phillips |
27 |
|
Browning, Elizabeth |
98, 135 |
|
Bryant |
142 |
|
Bunyan, John |
102 |
|
Burns |
20, 77, 102, 106, 110, 141 |
|
Butterworth, H. |
22 |
|
Byron |
56, 118, 127 |
|
Campbell, George |
66, 78 |
|
Campbell, Thomas |
67 |
|
Carleton, Will |
63 |
|
Charles, Mrs. Rundle |
31 |
|
Cheney, J. V. |
57 |
|
Clarke, Ada |
46 |
|
Coleridge, G. |
55 |
|
Coleridge, S. T. |
120, 32, 109, 145 |
|
Cowper |
33 |
|
Crosby, Fannie |
37 |
|
Dewart, E. H. |
75 |
|
Eliot, George |
75 |
|
Emerson, R. W. |
39, 62, 137, 150 |
|
Farrar, F. W. |
46 |
|
Fitzarthur |
48 |
|
Ford, D. S. |
129 |
|
Foss, S. W. |
129 |
|
Frothingham, N. |
15 |
|
Garland, Mrs. |
94 |
|
Goldsmith |
38 |
|
Greenhalge, F. T. |
125 |
|
Haskell, J. |
144 |
|
Havergal, Frances Ridley |
130 |
|
Hawkins, Elder |
131 |
|
Hay, John |
86 |
|
Hemans, Mrs. |
65 |
|
Henley |
44 |
|
Herrick, R. |
68, 106 |
|
Hill, Aaron |
56 |
|
Holmes, Oliver Wendell |
10 |
|
Hugo, Victor |
47 |
|
Huxley |
44 |
|
Ingelow, Jean |
25, 75 |
|
Johns |
68 |
|
Khayyam, Omar |
150 |
|
Kipling |
117, 45 |
|
Knowles, Laurence |
137 |
|
Longfellow |
10, 25, 36, 89, 108, 116, 124, 139 |
|
Loveman, Robert |
101 |
|
Lowell, J. Russell |
61, 73, 98, 114 |
|
Macdonald |
120 |
|
Mackay, Charles |
29 |
|
Maguire, Robert |
109 |
|
Markham, Edwin |
71 |
|
Marden |
21 |
|
Massey, Gerald |
51, 138 |
|
McDonald, George |
13, 43, 88 |
|
[page 159] |
|
|
Messianica, Lyra |
38 |
|
Miller, Emma L. |
149 |
|
Montgomery, James |
70 |
|
Moore, Thomas |
91, 105, 143 |
|
Moulton, Louise |
94 |
|
Newton, John |
76 |
|
Norris |
26 |
|
Pope |
38, 54, 66, 73, 130 |
|
Powell, R. S. |
82 |
|
Proctor, Adelaide |
69, 22, 54 |
|
Pushon, W. M. |
125 |
|
Quarles, Francis |
109 |
|
Ruckert |
14 |
|
Salmon, A. L. |
96 |
|
Scott, James |
68 |
|
Scott |
49, 82, 104, 107 |
|
Shakespeare |
147, 100, 33, 97, 132 |
|
Smith, T. B. |
59 |
|
Southey, Mrs. |
88 |
|
St. Augustine |
43 |
|
St. John C. L. |
39 |
|
Strong, Pilip B |
140 |
|
Taylor, Bayard |
134 |
|
Tennyson |
11, 42, 45, 56, 65, 70, 72, 79, 98, 117, 135, 142, 145, 146 |
|
Thayer, W. R. |
107 |
|
Trench, Archbishop |
32, 119 |
|
Ware, Eugene |
31 |
|
Watts, Isaac |
86 |
|
Wells, Amos R. |
19 |
|
Wesley, Charles |
66, 97 |
|
White, H. K. |
15 |
|
Whittier |
11, 44, 47, 50, 114, 136, 147 |
|
Wilcox, Ella Wheeler |
22, 53, 80, 84, 112 |
|
Wilton, R. |
41, 114 |
[page 160]
[2 blank pages]
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
