Is it true, O Christ in Heaven,
That the highest suffer most? That the strongest wander furthest, And more helplessly are lost? The the mark of rank in nature Is capacity for pain? And the anguish of the singer Makes the sweetness of the strain? Is it true, O Christ in Heaven, That whichever way we go Walls of darkness must surround us, Things we would but cannot know? That the infinite must bound us Like a temple veil unrent, Whilst the finite ever wearies, So that none's therein content? Is it true, O Christ in Heaven, That the fullness yet to come Is so glorious and so perfect That to know would strike us dumb? That if ever for a moment We could pierce beyond the sky With these poor dim eyes of mortals, We should just see God and die? -Sarah Williams
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Go THOU thy way, and I go mine,
Apart, yet not afar; Only a thin veil hangs between The pathways where we are. And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me"; This is my prayer; He looks thy way, He looketh mine, And keeps us near. I know not where thy road my lie, Or which way mine will be; If mine will lead thro' parching sands And thine beside the sea; Yet God keeps watch 'tween thee and me, So never fear; He holds thy hands, He claspeth mine, And keeps us near. Should wealth and fame perchance be thine, And my lot lowly be, Or you be sad and sorrowful, And glory be for me, Yet God keep watch 'tween thee and me; Both be His care; One arm round thee and one round me Will keep us near. I sigh sometimes to see thy face, But since this may not be, I'll leave thee to the care of Him Who cares for thee and me. "I'll keep you both beneath my wings," This comforts, dear; One wing o'er thee and one o'er me, Will keep us near. And though our paths be separate, And thy way is not mine, Yet coming to the Mercy seat, My soul will meet with thine. And "God keep watch 'twee thee and me," I'll whisper there. He blesseth thee, He blesseth me, And we are near. -Julia A. Baker Then Job replied to the Lord:
"I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted. You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?' Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. "You said, 'Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.' My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes." -NIV Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song: Love that is too hot and strong Burneth soon to waste. I am with little well content, And a little from thee sent Is enough, with true intent, To be steadfast friend. Love me little, love me long, Is the burden of my song. Say thou lov'st me while thou live, I to thee my love will give, Never dreaming to deceive While that life endures: Nay, and after death in sooth, I to thee will keep my truth, As now when in my May of youth, This my love assures. Love me little, love me long, Is the burden of my song. Constant love is moderate ever, And it will through life persever, Give to me that with true endeavor. I will it restore: A suit of durance let it be, For all weathers, that for me, For the land or for the sea, Lasting evermore. Love me little, love me long, Is the burden of my song. -Unknown Let's contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep: All be as before, Love, -Only sleep! What so wild as words are? I and thou In debate, as birds are, Hawk on bough! See the creature stalking While we speak! Hush and hide the talking, Cheek on cheek! What so false as truth is, False to thee? Where the sepent's tooth is, Shun the tree- Where the apple reddens Never pry- Lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I. Be a god and hold me With a charm! Be a man and fold me With thine arm! Teach me, only teach, Love! As I ought. I will speak thy speech, Love, Think thy thought- Meet, if thou require it, Both demands, Laying flesh and spirit In thy hands. That shall be tomorrow, Not tonight: I must bury sorrow Out of sight: -Must a little weep, Love, (Foolish me!) And so fall asleep, Love, Loved by thee. -Robert Browning I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know, I want to be able, as days go by, Always to look myself straight in the eye; I don't want to stand, with the setting sun, And hate myself for things I have done. I don't want to keep on a closet shelf A lot of secrets about myself, And fool myself, as I come and go, Into thinking that nobody else will know The kind of a man I really am; I don't want to dress up myself in sham. I want to go out with my head erect, I want to deserve all men's respect; But here in the struggle for fame and pelf I want to be able to like myself. I don't want to look at myself and know That I'm bluster and bluff and empty show. I can never hide myself from me; I see what others my never see; I know what others my never know, I can never fool myself, and so, Whatever happens, I want to be Self-respecting and conscience free. -Edgar A. Guest There's a town called Don't-You-Worry,
On the banks of River Smile; Where the Cheer-Up and Be-Happy Blossom sweetly all the while. Where the Never-Give-Up and Patience Point their faces to the sky. In the valley of Contentment, In the province of I-Will, You will find this lovely city, At the foot of No-Fret Hill. There are thoroughfares delightful In this very charming town, And on every hand are shade trees Named the Very-Seldom-Frown. Rustic benches quite enticing You'll find scattered here and there; And to each a vine is clinging Called the Frequent-Earnest-Prayer. Everybody there is happy And is singing all the while, In the town of Don't-You-Worry, On the banks of River Smile. -I.J. Bartlett [We all dream of great deeds and high positions, away from the pettiness and humdrum of ordinary life. Yet success is not occupying a lofty place or doing conspicuous work; it is being the best that is in you. Rattling around in too big a job is worse than filling a small one to overflowing. Dream, aspire by all means; but do not ruin the life you must lead by dreaming pipe dreams of the one you would like to lead. Make the most of what you have and are. Perhaps your trivial, immediate task is your one sure way of proving your mettle. Do the thing near at hand, and great things will come to your hand to be done.]
If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill, Be a scrub in the valley-but be The best little scrub by the side of the rill; Be a bush if you can't be a tree. If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass, And some highway happier make; If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass- But the liveliest bass in the lake! We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew, There's something for all of us here, There's big work to do, and there's lesser to do, And the task you must do is the near. If you can't be a highway then just be a trail, If you can't be the sun be a star; It isn't by size that you win or you fail- Be the best of whatever you are! -Douglas Malloch Folk need a lot of loving in the morning;
The day is all before, with cares beset- The cares we know, and they that give no warning; For love is God's own antidote for fret. Folk need a heap of loving at the noontime- In the battle lull, the moment snatched from strife- Halfway between the waking and the croontime, While bickering and worriment are rife. Folk hunger so for loving at the nighttime, When wearily they take them home to rest- At slumber song and turning-out-the-light time- Of all the times for loving, that's the best. Folk want a lot of loving every minute- The sympathy of others and their smile! Till life's end, from the moment they begin it, Folks need a lot of loving all the while. -Strickland Gillilan Childen of yesterday,
Heirs of tomorrow, What are you weaving? Labor and sorrow? Look to your looms again. Faster and faster Fly the great shuttles Prepared by the Master; Life's in the loom, Room for it- Room! Children of yesterday, Heirs of tomorrow, Lighten the labor And sweeten the sorrow. Now, while the shuttles fly Faster and faster, Up and be at it, At work with the Master; He stands at your loom, Room for Him- Room! Children of yesterday, Heirs of tomorrow, Look at your fabric Of labor and sorrow. Seamy and dark With despair and disaster, Turn it, and-lo, The design of the Master! The Lord's at the loom; Room for Him- Room! -Mary Artemisia Lathbury |
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