Chapter 24
From the palace to the city on the business of thy King Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.
Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand: Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.
Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?
Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?
Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.
Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities; Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.
And know this--at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.
Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day Reap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.
--Richard Chenevix Trench.
Not once or twice in our fair 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, Thro' 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 s.h.i.+ning table-lands To which our G.o.d himself is moon and sun.
--Alfred Tennyson.
GO RIGHT ON WORKING
Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true, But what's the use of sighing?
They're soonest with their duties through Who bravely keep on trying.
There's no advantage to be found In sorrowing or s.h.i.+rking; They with success are soonest crowned Who just go right on working.
Strive patiently and with a will That shall not be defeated; Keep singing at your task until You see it stand completed.
Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near, Your sky's glad suns.h.i.+ne murking; Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer, And just go right on working.
--Nixon Waterman.
JUSTICE ONLY
Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!
When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!
Even if he wrongeth thee in aught, Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.
But let none wist! Live, day by day, With little
Not harming any living thing; That thou may'st have--at time of dying-- A Hand to hold thee, and to bring Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,
Pa.s.s to the farther world. For none Save Justice leads there! Father, mother, Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son, Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other
Save only Justice! All alone Each entereth here, and each one leaveth This life alone; and every one The fruit of all his deeds receiveth
Alone--alone; bad deeds and good!
That day when kinsmen, sadly turning, Forsake thee, like the clay or wood, A thing committed to the burning.
But Justice shall not quit thee then, If thou hast served her, therefore never Cease serving; that shall hold thee when The darkness falls which falls forever,
Which hath no star, nor way and guide.
But Justice knows the road; and midnight Is noon to her. Man at her side Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.
And he who loved her more than all, Who purged by sorrow his offenses, Shall s.h.i.+ne, in realms celestial, With glory, quit of sins and senses.
--Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.
G.o.d'S VENGEANCE
Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;"
"I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine, Lit by the flash of his word.
How shall his vengeance be done?
How, when his purpose is clear?
Must he come down from the throne?
Hath he no instruments here?
Sleep not in imbecile trust, Waiting for G.o.d to begin; While, growing strong in the dust, Rests the bruised serpent of sin.
Right and Wrong--both cannot live Death-grappled. Which shall we see?
Strike! Only Justice can give Safety to all that shall be.
Shame! to stand faltering thus, Tricked by the balancing odds; Strike! G.o.d is waiting for us!
Strike! for the vengeance is G.o.d's!
--John Hay.
Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of bra.s.s cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
A SINGLE St.i.tCH
One st.i.tch dropped as the weaver drove His nimble shuttle to and fro, In and out, beneath, above, Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow As if the fairies had helping been; One small st.i.tch which could scarce be seen, But the one st.i.tch dropped pulled the next st.i.tch out, And a weak place grew in the fabric stout; And the perfect pattern was marred for aye By the one small st.i.tch that was dropped that day.
One small life in G.o.d's great plan, How futile it seems as the ages roll, Do what it may or strive how it can To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!
A single st.i.tch in an endless web, A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!
But the pattern is rent where the st.i.tch is lost, Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed; And each life that fails of its true intent Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.
--Susan Coolidge.