Chapter 27
Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes, Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.
Almost the day of thy giving is over; Ere from the gra.s.s dies the bee-haunted clover Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover: What shall thy longing avail in the grave?
Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking-- Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking; Soon, heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking, Thou shalt know G.o.d and the gift that he gave.
--Rose Terry Cooke.
ALONG THE WAY
There are so many helpful things to do Along life's way (Helps to the helper, if we did but know), From day to day.
So many troubled hearts to soothe, So many pathways rough to smooth, So many comforting words to say, To the hearts that falter along the way.
Here is a lamp of hope gone out Along the way.
Some one stumbled and fell, no doubt-- But, brother, stay!
Out of thy store of oil refill; Kindle the courage that smoulders still; Think what Jesus would do to-day For one who had fallen beside the way.
How many lifted hands still plead Along life's way!
The old, sad story of human need Reads on for aye.
But let us follow the Saviour's plan-- Love unstinted to every man; Content if, at most, the world should say: "He helped his brother along the way!"
SAVED TO SERVE
Is thy cruse of comfort failing?
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 gain; 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; G.o.d will bear both it and thee.
Numb and weary on the mountains, Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow?
Chafe that frozen form beside
Art thou stricken in life's battle?
Many wounded round thee moan: Lavish on their wounds thy balsam, And that balm shall heal thine own.
Is thy heart a well left empty?
None but G.o.d the void can fill.
Nothing but the ceaseless Fountain Can its ceaseless longings still.
Is the heart a living power?
Self-entwined its strength sinks low.
It can only live in loving, And by serving love will grow.
BY DOING GOOD WE LIVE
A certain wise man, deeply versed In all the learning of the East, Grew tired in spirit, and athirst From life to be released.
So to Eliab, holy man Of G.o.d he came: "Ah, give me, friend, The herb of death, that now the span Of my vain life may end."
Eliab gently answered: "Ere The soul may free itself indeed, This herb of healing thou must bear To seven men in need;
"When thou hast lightened each man's grief, And brought him hope and joy again, Return; nor shalt thou seek relief At Allah's hands in vain."
The wise man sighed, and humbly said: "As Allah willeth, so is best."
And with the healing herb he sped Away upon his quest.
And as he journeyed on, intent To serve the sorrowing in the land On deeds of love and mercy bent, The herb bloomed in his hand,
And through his pulses shot a fire Of strength and hope and happiness; His heart leaped with a glad desire To live and serve and bless.
Lord of all earthly woe and need, Be this, life's flower, mine!
To love, to comfort, and to heal-- Therein is life divine!
--Josephine Troup.
FOR STRENGTH WE ASK
For strength we ask For the ten thousand times repeated task, The endless smallnesses of every day.
No, not to lay My life down in the cause I cherish most, That were too easy. But, whate'er it cost,
To fail no more In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor In love toward the unlovely, and to give,
Each day I live, To every hour with outstretched hand, its meed Of not-to-be-regretted thought and deed.
--Agnes Ethelwyn Wetherald.
MARTHA OR MARY?
I cannot choose; I should have liked so much To sit at Jesus' feet--to feel the touch Of his kind gentle hand upon my head While drinking in the gracious words he said.
And yet to serve Him!--Oh, divine employ-- To minister and give the Master joy; To bathe in coolest springs his weary feet, And wait upon Him while He sat at meat!
Wors.h.i.+p or service--which? Ah, that is best To which he calls us, be it toil or rest; To labor for Him in life's busy stir, Or seek His feet, a silent wors.h.i.+per.
--Caroline Atherton Mason.
This is the gospel of labor--ring it, ye bells of the kirk-- The Lord of Love came down from above to live with the men who work.
This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil; Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil.