Chapter 55
Don't lose Time in vain distress!
Work, not worry, brings success.
Don't lose Hope! who lets her stray Goes forlornly all the way.
Don't lose Patience, come what will!
Patience ofttimes outruns skill.
Don't lose Gladness! every hour Blooms for you some happy flower.
Though be foiled your dearest plan, Don't lose Faith in G.o.d and man!
A CONTRAST
Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun, And both were poor; Both sat with children, when the day was done, About their door.
One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud And s.h.i.+ning moon; The other, with his head in sadness bowed, Made night of noon.
One loved each tree and flower and singing bird, On mount or plain; No music in the soul of one was stirred By leaf or rain.
One saw the good in every fellow-man And hoped the best; The other marvelled at his Master's plan, And doubt confessed.
One, having heaven above and heaven below, Was satisfied; The other, discontented, lived in woe, And hopeless died.
--Sarah Knowles Bolton.
WHO BIDES HIS TIME
Who bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay However poor his fortunes be-- He will not fail in any qualm Of poverty; the paltry dime-- It will grow golden in his palm Who bides his time.
Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltest tear; And though he fares with slowest feet Joy runs to meet him drawing near; The birds are heralds of his cause, And like a never-ending rhyme The roadsides bloom in his applause Who bides his time.
Who bides his time, and fevers not In a hot race that none achieves, Shall wear cool wreathen laurel, wrought With crimson berries in the leaves; And he shall reign a goodly king And sway his hand o'er every clime, With peace writ on his signet ring, Who bides his time.
--James Whitcomb Riley.
CARELESS CONTENT
I am content; I do not care; Wag as it will the world for me; When Fuss and Fret was all my fare It got no ground, as I could see.
So when away my caring went I counted cost and was content.
With more of thanks and less of thought I strive to make my matters meet; To seek, what ancient sages sought, Physic and food in sour and sweet.
To take what
With good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat, whene'er I come, Whate'er the subject be that starts; But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue, to tell the truth, And keep my breath to cool my broth.
For chance or change of peace or pain; For fortune's favor or her frown; For luck or glut, for loss or gain, I never dodge, nor up nor down: But swing what way the s.h.i.+p shall swim, Or tack about with equal trim.
I suit not where I shall not speed, Nor trace the turn of every tide; If simple sense will not succeed, I make no bustling, but abide; For s.h.i.+ning wealth, or scoring woe, I force no friend, I fear no foe.
I love my neighbor as myself; Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf Came I to crouch, as I conceive; Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind.
Now taste and try this temper, sirs; Mood it and brood it in your breast; Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs, That man does right to mar his rest, Let me be left, and debonair; I am content; I do not care.
--John Byrom (1692-1763).
Some of your hurts you have cured, And the sharpest you still have survived, But what torments of grief you endured From the evils which never arrived.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson.
HAPPY ANY WAY
Lord, it belongs not to my care Whether I die or live; To love and serve thee is my share, And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad That I may long obey; If short, yet why should I be sad To soar to endless day?
Christ leads me through no darker rooms Than he went through before; He that into G.o.d's kingdom comes Must enter by his door.
Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet Thy blessed face to see; For, if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be?
Then I shall end my sad complaints, And weary, sinful days, And join with the triumphant saints Who sing Jehovah's praise.
My knowledge of that life is small; The eye of faith is dim; But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him.
--Richard Baxter.
THE THINGS I MISS
An easy thing, O Power Divine, To thank thee for these gifts of thine!
For summer's suns.h.i.+ne, winter's snow, For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow; But when shall I attain to this: To thank thee for the things I miss?
For all young fancy's early gleams, The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams.
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known Through others' fortunes, not my own, And blessings seen that are not given, And ne'er will be, this side of heaven.
Had I, too, shared the joys I see, Would there have been a heaven for me?
Could I have felt thy presence near Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss, Have grown, perchance, from things I miss.
Sometimes there comes an hour of calm; Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm; A Power that works above my will Still leads me onward, upward still; And then my heart attains to this: To thank thee for the things I miss.
--Thomas Wentworth Higginson.
THE HERITAGE
The rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick and stone and gold, And he inherits soft, white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.