A Portrait of the Artist...

In the 1916 classic autobiographical novel A Portrait
of the Artist as a Young Man, author James Joyce
tells of an artist who has his portrait painted in his youth.
Over the course of his life as the young man's character
changes, so does the portrait, until it becomes a hideous
depiction of his soul as reflected in his face. Though the
story is surreal, the phenomenon can be quite true in
every person's life.

You do become the artist who paints your own portrait
from the inside out--your character. You paint it habit by
habit, day by day, line by line, shadow upon shadow.
Each conversation you have adds its own color to the can-
vas. Each dilemma carves a new dimension. Every decision
creates new depth. Failures and successes give perspec-
tive. Over time, each trait blends into the final character
profile.

The canvas is yours. Your character is ready for your crea-
tion. It will be your most priceless possession. You have
final say about what goes into it. After you've completed it,
no one can destroy it or alter it. Once you sign your name
to it and leave your earthly studio, you will always be re-
membered by this final, distinctive work of art.

--Dianna Booher
   Your Signature Life
  

The Falling of the Leaves

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.

--William Butler Yeats

Plant A Tree

He who plants a tree
   Plants a hope.
   Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope;
Leaves unfold into horizons free.
   So man's life must climb
   From the clods of time
   Unto heavens sublime.
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of thy boughs shall be?

He who plants a tree
   Plants a joy;
   Plants a comfort that will never cloy;
Every day a fresh reality,
   Beautiful and strong,
   To whose shelter throng
   Creatures blithe with song.
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee!

He who plants a tree,--
   He plants peace.
   Under its green curtains jargons cease.
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly;
   Shadows soft with sleep
   Down tired eyelids creep,
   Balm of slumber deep,
Never has thou dreamed, thou blessed tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be.

He who plants a tree,--
   He plants youth;
   Vigor won for centuries in sooth;
Life of time, that hints eternity!
   Boughs their strength uprear:
   New shoots, every year,
   On old growths appear;
Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree,
Youth of soul is immortality.

He who plants a tree,--
   He plants love,
   Tents of coolness spreading out above
Wayfarers he may not live to see.
   Gifts that grow are best;
   Hands that bless are blest;
   Plant! life does the rest!
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,
And his work its own reward shall be.

--Lucy Larcom (1826-1893)
 

America for Me

'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings,--
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

   So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
   My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
   In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,
   Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack:
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

   Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
   I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
   To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,
   Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

--Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933)

The Spires of Oxford

(As seen from the train)

I saw the spires of Oxford
   As I was passing by,
The grey spires of Oxford
   Against a pearl-grey sky;
My heart was with the Oxford men
   Who went abroad to die.

The years go fast in Oxford
   The golden years and gay;
The hoary colleges look down
   On careless boys at play,
But when the bugles sounded--War!
   They put their games away.

They left the peaceful river,
   The cricket field, the quad,
The shaven lawns of Oxford,
   To seek a bloody sod.
They gave their merry youth away
   For country and for God.

God rest you, happy gentlemen,
   Who laid your good lives down,
Who took the khaki and the gun
   Instead of cap and gown.
God bring you to a fairer place
   Than even Oxford town.

--Winifred M. Letts

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

--Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

Be Strong

          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 hands 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! Tomorrow comes the song.

--Maltbie Davenport Babcock (1858-1901)

Opportunity

Master of human destinies am I.
Fame, love, and fortrune on my footsteps wait,
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by
Hovel, and mart, and palace, soon or late
I knock unbidden, once at every gate!
If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury and woe,
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore--
I answer not, and I return no more.

--John James Ingalls (1833-1900)

The Night-Wind

In summer's mellow midnight,
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window
And rosetrees wet with dew.

I sat in silent musing,
The soft wind waved my hair:
It told me Heaven was glorious,
And sleeping Earth was fair.

I needed not its breathing
To bring such thoughts to me
But still it whispered lowly,
"How dark the woods will be!

"The thick leaves in my murmur
Are rustling like a dream,
and all their myriad voices
Instinct with spirit seem."

I said, "Go, gentle singer,
Thy wooing voice is kind,
But do not think its music
Has power to reach my mind.

"Play with the scented flower,
The young tree's supple bough,
And leave my human feelings
In their own course to flow."

The wanderer would not heed me;
Its kiss grew warmer still--
"O come," it sighed so sweetly,
"I'll win thee 'gainst thy will.

"Have we not been from childhood friends?
Have I not loved thee long?
As long as thou hast loved the night
Whose silence wakes my song.

"And when thy heart is laid at rest
Beneath the church-yard stone
I shall have time enough to mourn
And thou to be alone."

--Charlotte Bronte
September 11, 1840

White House Blues

Czolgosz, mean man,
He shot McKinley with his handkerchief on his hand,
In Buffalo.

Czolgosz, you done him wrong,
You shot McKinley when he was walking along,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

The pistol fires, then McKinley falls,
And the doctor says, "McKinley, can't find the ball."
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

They sent for the doctor, the doctor come,
He come in a trot, and he come in a run,
To Buffalo, to Buffalo.

Forty-four boxes trimmed in lace,
Take him back to the baggage, boys, where we can't see his face,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

The engine whistled down the line,
Blowing every station, McKinley was a-dying,
In Buffalo, in Buffalo.

Seventeen coaches all trimmed in black
Took McKinley to the graveyard, but never brought him back,
To Buffalo, to Buffalo.

--Anonymous

On September 6, 1901, Leon Czolgosz, a deranged anarchist, fatally
shot President William McKinley while he was attending the Pan Ameri-
can Exposition in Buffalo, New York. McKinley died September 14th.

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

--William Wordsworth; September 3, 1802

My Gift

Our only purpose, as we live,
   Is something of ourselves to give
To others, as they pass nearby--
   But what give I?

The painter paints for all to see,
   The singer gives a melody,
The rich upon cash gifts rely--
   But what give I?

I have no talents, large or small,
   Nor have I wealth, it seems that all
I have is love that cannot die--
   And this give I.

A picture's cold when paints are dry,
   And songs and poems are heard, then
      die.
There is no peace that wealth can buy--
   Still, what give I?

The art and riches fade away,
   All tangible belongings stray;
I learn that but one gift will live--
   The love I give!

--Dorothy Lee

The Garden

I know a garden near a city street,
   Where I can find the quiet and repose
My spirit seeks, within that walled retreat
   The peaceful flower of meditation grows.
I hear of One who taught in Galilee
   Long years ago, and gave His life for all.

I seek His likeness kneeling by a tree;
   My heart can hear His living presence call
To nobler deed, to purer thought and will,
   To love and service toward my fellow-
      men;
God seems so near me in these moments,
      still
   And sacred, that I walk the streets again

Renewed, and all the cares I brought before
Grow lighter as I leave the garden door.

--Esther York Burkholder

Life's Rainy Days

     There is a disposition on the part of
many people to think only of the rainy
days in life, and miss all the bright and
sunshiny days.

     That there are rainy days in life--
days of trouble and disappointment--
no sane man should deny. The person
who never has any trouble never has
any real joy. But it is possible for one
to become so obsessed with fear of
rainy days that he loses all ability to
judge the weather.

     It is a terrible thing to live all of one's
life in dread of rainy days. It is so easy
to make a storm out of a shower, and a
disaster out of a mere disappointment.

     The rainy day people develop a ter-
rible habit of borrowing trouble. Long
before tomorrow has arrived they invade
it with fears, take its terrors captive, and
bring them back into today, and then sit
trembling before them.

     Very few people have ever broken
under the burden that today imposes.

     The best preparation for tomorrow is
a calm and poised mind today. Even if to-
morrow does hold the promise of being
a day packed with trouble, the best way
to meet it is with memory of today's work
well done, in a peaceful state of mind.

--Unknown

God Gave Us Imagination

     "I have been on the same job for  three
years, and feel that my employer has lost
sight of me. What shall I do?"

     The business counselor to whom this
question was directed replied with another
question. "What suggestion can you make
to your employer that will increase his sales,
improve his product, reduce his costs, or
do your job better in any way?"

     The young man who was looking for
advice admitted that he had no ideas on
any of these things. The expert then said,
"With the opportunities you have had, you
had better not let your employer know that
you have been working for him so long
without having a single idea for improving
your work."
    
     That young man is an example of
thousands who have never developed
their imagination. They may know their
job and do it fairly well, but never once
have they stopped to ask themselves,
"How can I improve my work?"

     Knowledge is a good thing, industry
and experience are always necessary, but
imagination is a miracle worker.

--Carl Holmes

So Little Time

What's in a life, so full of care?
So little time to dream and share!

Not time to catch in children's eyes
The rapture of complete surprise.
No time to feel in sea gulls' wings
The grace of simple, lovely things.

No time to listen, more and more,
To water lapping on the shore.
No time to welcome birds at dawn,
Or dripping dewdrops on the lawn.

No time for high and precious hours,
With scent like fragrant garden flowers.
No time for thoughts that star the night,
Or newborn dreams that seek the light.

Empty, indeed, the life so bare,
Were there no time to dream and share!

--Florence Piper Tuttle

This Is Life

I saw the glory of the sunrise,
Breathed the invigorating air,
And my soul rose to the very skies
When I sallied forth, proud to dare.
   That was the morning.

The awful heat of the day came down;
I stooped, and my brow was wet with sweat.
And when I saw Misfortune frown
I cried, "I am not conquered yet!"
   That was the noonday.

The softer shades of twilight fell
And released my grip in the strife.
I am contented now to dwell
Where understanding sweetens life.
   This is eventide.

--Ken Smith

When I Sail Away

Sometime at eve when the tide is low,
  I shall slip my mooring and sail away,
With no response to the friendly hail
  Of kindred craft in the busy bay;
In the silent hush of the twilight pale,
  When the night stoops down to embrace
     the day
And the voices call o'er the waters flow--
  Sometime at evening when the tide is low
I shall slip my moorings and sail away.

Through the purple shadows that darkly trail
  O'er the ebbing tide of the Unknown Sea,
I shall fare me away, with a dip of sail
  And a ripple of waters to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
  To Mystic Isles where at anchor lay
The crafts of those who have sailed before
  O'er the Unknown Sea to the Unknown
     Shore.

A few who have watched me sail away
  Will miss my craft from the busy bay;
Some friendly barks that were anchored near,
  Some loving hearts that my heart held
     dear,
In silent sorrow will drop a tear.
  But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In moorings sheltered from storm or gale,
  And greeted the friends who have sailed
     before
O'er the Unknown Sea to the Unseen Shore.

--Lizzie Clark Hardy

When All Is Done

When all is done, and my last word is said,
And ye who loved me murmur, "He is
       dead,"
Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,
And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so.

When all is done and in the oozing clay,
Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine away,
Pray not for me, for, after long despair,
The quiet of the grave will be a prayer.

For I have suffered loss and grievous pain,
The hurts of hatred and the world's disdain,
And wounds so deep that love, well-tried and
       pure,
Had not the power to ease them or to cure.

When all is done, say not my day is o'er,
And that through night I seek a dimmer shore;
Say rather that my morn has just begun,--
I greet the dawn and not a setting sun,
          When all is done.

--Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872-1906

Beyond

It is an old belief
   That on some solemn shore,
Beyond the sphere of grief
   Dear friends shall meet once more.

Beyond the sphere of Time
   And sin and Fate's control,
Serene in changeless prime
   Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep,
   That hope I'll ne'er forego;
Eternal be the sleep
   If not to waken so.

--John Gibson Lockhart, 1794-1854

from The Oarsmen

We have known sins and evils every day and death we have known;
They pass over our world like clouds mocking us with their transient lightning laughter.
Suddenly they have stopped, become a prodigy,
And men must stand before them saying:
"We do not fear you, O Monster! for we have lived every day by conquering you,
"And we die with the faith that Peace is true, and Good is true, and true is the eternal One!"

If the Deathless dwell not in the heart of death,
If glad wisdom bloom not bursting the sheath of sorrow,
If sin do not die of its own revealment,
If pride break not under its load of decorations,
Then whence comes the hope that drives these men from their homes like stars rushing to
       their death in the morning light?
Shall the value of the martyrs' blood and mothers' tears be utterly lost in the dust of the earth,
       not buying Heaven with their price?
And when Man bursts his mortal bounds, is not the Boundless revealed that moment?

--Rabindranath Tagore, 1861-1941

Friends Beyond

I cannot think of them as dead,
  Who walk with me no more;
Along the path of life I tread--
  They have but gone before.

The Father's House is mansioned fair,
  Beyond my vision dim;
All souls are His, and here or there
  Are living unto Him.

And still their silent ministry
  Within my heart hath place,
As when on earth they walked with me,
  And met me face to face.

Their lives are made forever mine;
  What they to me have been
Hath left henceforth its seal and sign
  Engraven deep within.

Mine are they by an ownership
  Nor time nor death can free;
For God hath given to love to keep
  Its own eternally.

--Frederick L. Hosmer, 1840-1929

from SNOW-BOUND

And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,
  Am I not richer than of old?
Safe in thy immortality,
  What change can reach the wealth I hold?
What chance can mar the pearl and gold
  Thy love hath left in trust for me?

And while in life's long afternoon,
  Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon
  Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
  Since near at need the angels are;

And when the sunset gates unbar,
  Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
  The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

--John Greenleaf Whittier, 1807-1892

A Thought for a Lonely Death-Bed

If God compel thee to this destiny,
To die alone, with none beside thy bed
To ruffle round with sobs thy last word said,
And mark with tears the pulses ebb from
       thee,--
Pray then alone, "O Christ, come tenderly!
By thy forsaken Sonship in the red
Drear wine-press,--by the wilderness
       outspread,--
And the lone garden where thine agony
Fell bloody from thy brow,--by all of those
Permitted desolations, comfort mine!
No earthly friend being near me, interpose
No deathly angel 'twixt my face and thine,
But stoop thyself to gather my life's rose,
And smile away my mortal to Divine!"

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861

The World is One

The world is one; we cannot live apart,
  To earth's remotest races we are kin;
God made the generations of one blood;
  Man's separation is a sign of sin.

What though we solve the secret of the stars,
  Or from the vibrant ether pluck a song,
Can this for all man's tyranny atone
  While Mercy weeps and waits and suffers
     long?

Put up the sword, its day of anguish past;
  Disarm the forts, and then , the war-flags
     furled,
Forever keep the air without frontiers,
  The great, free, friendly highway of the
     world.

So that at last to rapture men may come,
  And hear again the music of the spheres,
And stand erect, illumined, radiant, free,
  The travail and the triumph of the years.

--Hinton White

Of One Blood Hath God Created

Of one blood hath God created
Every kindred, tribe and tongue;
His is every fane and altar,
Though man's empire be far-flung;
Even though some flout the others,
Underneath are they blood-brothers;
And shall learn, some crucial day,
How to walk a common way.

God of all the warring peoples,
Still art Thou the God of Peace;
Love art Thou, but Love in Sorrow,
Wounded until wars shall cease;
Until Right shall win, our burden
Thou, too, bearest; 'tis the guerdon
Of that dauntless Saviour-hood
Which shall rear the common good.

Keep before us, clear, the vision
Of Thy Holy common-wealth;
Guide us, Thou, in each decision;
Save us from the subtle stealth
Which would fill our souls this hour
With race-hatred, lust of power,
Alienate our life from Thee
And Thy Kingdom, yet to be.

May we, with the Man of Sorrows,
Tread the dangerous path of duty;
Seeking not our own, but serving,
May we grasp, O Lord, the beauty
Of Thy Holiness, wherever
Flames a Love that faileth never,
Burning out the waste and dross,
Saving men from shame and loss.

Grant to us a sense of presence:
Make us all aware of Thee;
May Thy Holy Love unite us
In the bond that sets men free--
Free to understand each other,
Free to claim each as his brother,
Free to build in unity,
Free, O God, yet bound to Thee.

--Henry B. Robins

The Pact

They have no pact to sign--our peaceful dead;
  Pacts are for trembling hands and heads
    grown gray.
Ten million graves record what youth has
    said,
  And cannot now un-say.

They have no pact to sign--our quiet dead
  Whose eyes in that eternal peace are
    drowned.
Age doubts and wakes, and asks if night be
    fled;
  But youth sleeps sound.

They have no pact to sign--our faithful dead.
  Theirs was a deeper pledge, unseen,
    unheard,
Sealed in the dark; not written; sealed with
    red;
  And they will keep their word.

They have no pact to sign--our happy dead.
  But if, O God, if WE should sign in vain,
With dreadful eyes, out of each narrow bed,
  Our dead will rise again.

--Alfred Noyes

In Our Time

No holy pointer, no unchanging Light
  Where Evil wars with Virtue, foul with fair,
Dusk with the dawn--a world of black and white
  Mixing itself into a great despair?

When shall this strife between the Nations cease? . . .
  During our pilgrimage this side the tomb
Life shall be storm, the world shall know not peace
  Until within all hearts Christ finds a home!

--Huw Menai

The Young Dead Soldiers

The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless they are heard in the still
     houses.
(Who has not heard them?)

They have a silence that speaks for them at
      night
And when the clock counts.

They say,
We were young. We have died. Remember us.

They say,
We have done what we could
But until it is finished it is not done.

They say,
We have given our lives
But until it is finished no one can know what
     our lives gave.

They say,
Our deaths are not ours,
They are yours,
They will mean what you make them.

They say,
Whether our lives and our deaths were for
     peace and a new hope
Or for nothing
We cannot say.
It is you who must say this.

They say,
We leave you our deaths,
Give them their meaning,
Give them an end to the war and a true peace,
Give them a victory that ends the war and
     a peace afterwards,
Give them their meaning.

We were young, they say,
We have died.
Remember us.

--Archibald MacLeish

Faith of Our Fathers

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there, and to
our fathers who have gone on before...


Faith of our fathers! living still In spite of dungeon,
fire and sword: O how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene'er we hear that glorious word!

Faith of our fathers, holy faith! We will be true to thee
till death!

Our fathers, chained in prisons dark, Were still in heart
and conscience free: How sweet would be their children's
fate, If they like them could die for thee!

Faith of our fathers, holy faith! We will be true to thee
till death!

Faith of our fathers! we will strive To win all nations
unto thee, And thro' the truth that comes from God,
Mankind shall then be truly free.

Faith of our fathers, holy faith! We will be true to thee
till death!

Faith of our fathers! we will love Both friend and foe in
all our strife: And preach thee too as love knows how,
By kindly words and virtuous life:

Faith of our fathers, holy faith! We will be true to thee
till death!

--Frederick W. Faber

Create Great Peace

Would you end war?
Create great Peace. . . .
The peace that demands all of a man,
His love, his life, his veriest self;
Plunge him into the smelting fires of a work that becomes his child. . . .

Give him a hard Peace: a Peace of discipline and justice . . .
Kindle him with vision, invite him to joy and adventure:
Set him to work, not to create things
But to create men:
Yea, himself.

Go search your heart, America. . . .
Turn from the machine to man,
Build, while there is yet time, a creative Peace . . .
While there is yet time! . . .
For if you reject great Peace,
As surely as vile living brings disease,
So surely will your selfishness bring war.

--James Oppenheim, 1882-1932

A Hymn of Peace

The Son of God goes forth for Peace,
Our Father's love to show;
From war and woe He brings release,
O, who with Him will go?
He strikes the fetters from the slave,
Man's mind and heart makes free;
And sends His messengers to save
O'er every land and sea!

The Son of God goes forth for Peace,
That men like brothers live,
And all desire the other's good,
And other's sin forgive.
He turns our spears to pruning hooks,
Our swords to ploughshares warm,
And war no more its death-blast brings,
Nor men their brothers harm!

The Son of God goes forth for Peace,
Nor lands nor pow'r to gain;
He seeks to serve, to love, to lift,--
Who follows in His train?
A glorious band, in every age.
In spite of scorn and pain,
True sons of God, His peace have made;
Who follows in their train?

Now let the world to Peace be won,
And every hatred slain;
Let force and greed be overcome
And love supreme remain!
Let justice rule in all the earth,
And mercy while we live,
Lest we--forgiven much--forget
Our brother to forgive!

We send our love to every land--
True neighbors would we be;
And pray God's Peace to reign in them,
Where'er their homeland be!
O God, to us may grace be given,
Who bear the dear Christ's name,
To live at peace with every man,
And thus our Christ acclaim!

--Ernest Bourner Allen

The Prince of Peace

The Prince of Peace His banner spreads,
His wayward folk to lead
From war's embattled hates and dreads,
Its bulwarked ire and greed.
O marshal us, the sons of sires
Who braved the cannon's roar,
To venture all that peace requires
As they dared death for war.

Lead on, O Christ! That haunting song
No centuries can dim,
Which long ago the heavenly throng
Sang over Bethlehem.
Cast down our rancor, fear, and pride,
Exalt goodwill again!
Our worship doth Thy name deride,
Bring we not peace to men.

Thy pardon, Lord, for war's dark shame,
Its death-strewn, bloody fields!
Yet thanks to Thee for souls aflame
Who dared with swords and shields;
O Christ, who died to give men life,
Bring that victorious hour,
When man shall use for peace, not strife,
His valor, skill, and power.

Cleanse all our hearts from our disgrace--
We love not world, but clan!
Make clear our eyes to see our race
One family of man.
Rend Thou our little temple veils
That cloak the truth divine,
Until Thy mighty word prevails,
That cries, "All souls are mine."

--Harry Emerson Fosdick

Let Us Have Peace

The earth is weary of our foolish wars.
Her hills and shores were shaped for lovely
       things,
Yet all our years are spent in bickerings
   Beneath the astonished stars.

April by April laden with beauty comes,
Autumn by Autumn turns our toil to gain,
But hand at sword hilt, still we start and
      strain
   To catch the beat of drums.

Knowledge to knowledge adding, skill to skill,
We strive for others' good as for our own--
And then, like cavemen snarling with a bone,
    We turn and rend and kill. . . . .

With life so fair, and all too short a lease
Upon our special star! Nay, love and trust,
Not blood and thunder shall redeem our dust.
     Let us have peace!

--Nancy Byrd Turner

The Dawn of Peace

Yes--"on our brows we feel the breath
  Of dawn," though in the night we wait!
An arrow is in the heart of Death,
  A God is at the doors of Fate!
The Spirit that moved upon the Deep
  Is moving through the minds of men:
The nations feel it in their sleep,
  A change has touched their dreams again.

Dreams are they? But ye cannot stay them,
  Or thrust the dawn back for one hour!
Truth, Love, and Justice, if ye slay them,
  Return with more than earthly power:
Strive, if ye will, to seal the fountains
  That send the Spring thro' leaf and spray:
Drive back the sun from the Eastern
    mountains,
  Then--bid this mightier movement stay.

It is the Dawn! The Dawn! The nations
  From East to West have heard a cry,--
Though all earth's blood-red generations
  By hate and slaughter climbed thus high,
Here--on this height--still to aspire,
  One only path remains untrod,
One path of love and peace climbs higher.
  Make straight that highway for our God.

--Alfred Noyes

The Prophecy

There's a voice on the wind of the world
speaking dreams from the ancient books:
they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruninghooks.

Have you heard the voice in the darkness,
coming up from the foggy past?
Do you hear, you winged warriors,
over the cyclonic blast
of motors, and the shriek of the bombs as
     they fall?
Did you hear it, you beautiful sons,
you dead of Caen and Tarawa,
as you fell in the flash of the guns?

You can hear it, earth, you can hear it
in the crackle of cities that burn,
in the lancing cry of the children,
in the silence of those who will never return.

There's a voice on the wind of the world,
beating loud on the uttermost shore:
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.

There's a voice on the wind of the world,
the voice long-crushed.
Woe to the waters, the dust and the cloud,
if the voice be hushed!

--Lon Woodrum

O God Of Field And City

O God of field and city,
  O Lord of shore and sea,
Behold us in Thy pity
  Lift naked hands to Thee.
Our swords and spears are shattered,
  Our walls of stone down-thrust,
Our reeking altars scattered
  And trodden in the dust.

O God of law unbroken,
  O Lord of justice done,
Thine awful word is spoken
  From sun to flaming sun:
We hate and we are hated,
  We slay, and lo, are slain;
We feed and still unsated
  We hunt our prey again.

O God of mercy tender,
  O Lord of love most free,
Forgive as we surrender
  Our wayward wills to Thee.
Absolve our fell allegiance
  To captain and to king;
Receive in full obedience
  The chastened hearts we bring.

--John Haynes Holmes

Prayer For Peace

O God, whose will is life and peace
  For all the sons of men,
Let not our human hates release
  The sword's dread power again.
Forgive our narrowness of mind;
  Destroy false pride, we plead:
Deliver us and all mankind
  From selfishness and greed.

O God, whose ways shall lead to peace,
  Enlighten us, we pray;
Dispel our darkness and increase
  The light along our way.
Illumine those who lead the lands
  That they may make at length
The laws of right to guide the hands
  That wield the nations' strength.

O God, who callest us to peace,
  We join with everyone
Who does his part that wars may cease
  And justice may be done.
Enable us to take the way
  The Prince of Peace hath trod;
Create the will to build each day
  The family of God.

--Rolland W. Schloerb

In Flanders Now

  Written at the close of World War I, in answer to
Colonel McCrae's well-known poem. "In Flanders
Now" was used at the unveiling of the tomb of the
Unknown Soldier in Washington. Printed on a card
with the Belgium National Anthem and sold by the
Federation of Women's Clubs, a million dollars were
raised and used for the restoration of the Louvain
Library. As we read the poem now in the aftermath
of another world war, it awakens many conflicting
emotions that search our hearts.

We have kept faith, ye Flanders' dead,
  Sleep well beneath those poppies red
That mark your place.
The torch your dying hands did throw,
  We've held it high before the foe,
And answered bitter blow for blow,
  In Flanders fields.

And where your heroes' blood was spilled,
  The guns are now forever stilled
And silent grown.
There is no moaning of the slain,
  There is no cry of tortured pain,
And blood will never flow again,
  In Flanders fields.

Forever holy in our sight
  Shall be those crosses gleaming white,
That guard your sleep.
  Rest you in peace, the task is done,
The fight you left us we have won,
  And Peace on Earth has just begun,
  In Flanders now.

--Edna Jaques

Work; [van Dyke]

Let me but do my work from day to day
  In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
  In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
  "This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
  Of all who live, I am the one by whom
This work can best be done in the right way."

Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
  To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
  Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.

--Henry van Dyke; 1852-1933

The Ship of State

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union! strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'Tis of the wave, and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith, triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,--are all with thee!

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882

Our Country

To all who hope for Freedom's gleam
  Across the warring years,
Who offer life to build a dream
  In laughter or in tears,
To all who toil, unmarked, unknown,
  By city, field or sea,
I give my heart, I reach my hand,
A common hope, a common land
  Is made of you and me.

For we have loved her summer dawns
  Beyond the misty hill,
And we have shared her toil, her fruit
  Of farm and shop and mill.
Our weaknesses have made her shame,
  Our strength has built her powers,
And we have hoped and we have striven
That to her children might be given
  A fairer world than ours.

We dreamed to hold her safe, apart
  From strife; the dream was vain.
Her heart is now earth's bleeding heart,
  She shares the whole earth's pain.
To men oppressed in all the lands
  One flashing hope has gone,
One vision wide as earth appears,
We seek, across the warring years,
  The gray world's golden dawn.

--Anna Louise Strong

Eternal God, Whose Power Upholds

Eternal God, whose power upholds
Both flower and flaming star,
To whom there is no here nor there,
No time, no near nor far,
No alien race, no foreign shore,
No child unsought, unknown,
O, send us forth, Thy prophets true,
To make all lands Thine own!

O God of love, whose spirit wakes
In every human breast,
Whom love, and love alone, can know,
In whom all hearts find rest,
Help us to spread Thy gracious reign
Till greed and hate shall cease,
And kindness dwell in human hearts,
And all the earth find peace!

O God of truth, whom science seeks
And reverent souls adore,
Who lightest every earnest mind
Of every clime and shore,
Dispel the gloom of error's night,
Of ignorance and fear,
Until true wisdom from above
Shall make life's pathway clear!

O God of beauty, oft revealed
In dreams of human art,
In speech that flows to melody,
In holiness of heart;
Teach us to ban all ugliness
That blinds our eyes to Thee,
Till all shall know the loveliness
Of lives made fair and free.

O God of righteousness and grace,
Seen in the Christ, Thy Son,
Whose life and death reveal Thy face,
By whom Thy will was done,
Inspire Thy heralds of good news
To live Thy life divine,
Till Christ is formed in all mankind
And every land is Thine!

--Henry Hallam Tweedy

Knowledge Without Wisdom

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings un nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.

I journeyed to London, to the timekept City,
Where the River flows, with foreign flotations.
There I was told: we have too many churches,
And too few chop-houses. There I was told
Let the vicars retire. Men do not need the Church
In the place where they work, but where they spend their Sundays.
In the City, we need no bells:
Let them waken the suburbs.
I journeyed to the suburbs, and there I was told:
We toil for six days, on the seventh we must motor
To Hindhead, or Maidenhead.
If the weather is foul we stay at home and read the papers,
In industrial districts, there I was told
Of economic laws.
In the pleasant countryside, there it seemed
That the country now is only fit for picnics.
And the church does not seem to be wanted
In country or in suburb; and in the town
Only for important weddings.

--T.S. Eliot, 1888-1965

Is This the Time to Halt?

Is this the time, O Church of Christ! to sound
Retreat? To arm with weapons cheap and
     blunt
The men and women who have borne the
     brunt
Of truth's fierce strife, and nobly held their
     ground?
Is this the time to halt, when all around
Horizons lift, new destinies confront,
Stern duties wait our nation, never wont
To play the laggard, when God's will was
     found?

No! rather, strengthen stakes and lengthen
     cords,
Enlarge thy plans and gifts, O thou elect,
And to thy kingdom come for such a time!
The earth with all its fullness is the Lord's.
Great things attempt for Him great things
     expect,
Whose love imperial is, whose power sublime.

--Charles Sumner Hoyt

On Entering A Chapel

Love built this shrine; these hallowed walls uprose
To give seclusion from the hurrying throng,
From tumult of the street, complaint and wrong,
From rivalry and strife, from taunt of foes--
If foes thou hast. On silent feet come in,
Bow low in penitence. Whoe'er thou art
Thou, too, hast sinned. Uplift in prayer thy heart.
Thy Father's blessing waiteth. Read within
This holy place, in pictured light portrayed,
The characters of worthies who, from years
Long past, still speak the message here displayed
In universal language not to fade.
Leave then thy burden, all thy cares and fears;
Faith, hope, and love are thine, for thou hast prayed.

--John Davidson, 1857-1909

Love's Strength

Measure thy life by loss instead of gain,
Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth;
For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice,
And whoso suffers most hath most to give.
For labor, the common lot of man,
Is part of the kind Creator's plan;
And he is a king whose brow is wet
With the pearl-gemmed crown of honest sweat.
Some glorious day, this understood,
All toilers will be a brotherhood,
With brain or hand the purpose is one,
And the Master-workman, God's own Son.

--Author unknown

To Win The World

Would you win all the world for Christ?
  One way there is and only one;
You must live Christ from day to day,
  And see His will be done.

But who lives Christ must tread His way,
  Leave self and all the world behind,
Press ever up and on, and serve
  His kind with single mind.

No easy way,--rough--strewn with stones,
  And wearisome, the path He trod.
But His way is the only way
  That leads man back to God.

And lonesome oft, and often dark
  With shame, and outcastry, and scorn,
And, at the end, perchance a cross,
  And many a crown of thorn.

But His lone cross and crown of thorn
  Endure when crowns and empires fall.
The might of His undying love
  In dying conquered all.

Only by treading in His steps
  The all-compelling ways of Love,
Shall earth be won, and man made one
  With that Great Love above.

--John Oxenham, 1852-1941

Friendly Obstacles

For every hill I've had to climb,
  For every stone that bruised my feet,
For all the blood and sweat and grime,
  For blinding storms and burning heat,
My heart sings but a grateful song--
These were the things that made me strong!

For all the heartaches and the tears,
  For all the anguish and the pain,
For gloomy days and fruitless years,
  And for the hopes that lived in vain,
I do give thanks, for now I know
These were the things that helped me grow!

'Tis not the softer things of life
  Which stimulate man's will to strive;
But bleak adversity and strife
  Do most to keep man's will alive.
O'er rose-strewn paths the weaklings creep,
But brave hearts dare to climb the steep.

--Author unknown

Rest And Work

The camel, at the close of day,
  Kneels down upon the sandy plain
To have his burden lifted off,
  And rest to gain.

My soul, thou too, shouldst to thy knees
  When daylight draweth to a close,
And let thy Master lift thy load
  And grant repose.

Else how canst thou tomorrow meet,
  With all tomorrow's work to do,
If thou thy burden all the night
  Dost carry through?

The camel kneels at break of day
  To have his guide replace his load,
Then rises up anew to take
  The desert road.

So thou shouldst kneel at morning dawn,
  That God may give thee daily care,
Assured that He no load too great
  Will make thee bear.

--Anne Whitney

What Is Prayer?

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
  Uttered or unexpressed;
The motion of a hidden fire,
  That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
  The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,
  When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
  That infant lips can try;
Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach
  The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
  Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice,
  And cry, "Behold! He prays!"

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
  The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gate of death--
  He enters heaven with prayer.

The saints in prayer appear as one
  In word and deed and mind;
Where with the Father and the Son
  Sweet fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made by man alone:
  The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on the eternal Throne,
  For sinners intercedes.

O Thou by whom we come to God--
  The Life, The Truth, the Way!
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod;
  Lord, teach us how to pray!

--James Montgomery, 1771-1854

Apprehension

     I do not fear
To walk the lonely road
Which leads far out into
The sullen night. Nor do
I fear the rebel, wind-tossed
Sea that stretches onward, far,
Beyond the might of human hands
Or human loves. It is the
Brooding, sharp-thorned discontent
I fear, the nagging days without
A sound of song; the sunlit
Noon of ease; the burden of
Delight and--flattery. It is
The hate-touched soul I dread,
The joyless heart; the unhappy
Faces in the streets; the
Smouldering fires of unforgiven
Slights. These do I fear. Not
Night, nor surging seas, nor
Rebel winds. But hearts unlovely,
And unloved.

--James A. Fraser

Love Thyself Last

Love thyself last; look near, behold thy duty
  To those who walk beside thee down life's road,
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,
  And help them bear the burden of earth's load.

Love thyself last; look far and find the stranger
  Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;
Go, lend a hand and lead him out of danger
  To heights where he may see the world is fair.

Love thyself last; the vastnesses above thee
  Are filled with spirit forces, strong and pure;
And fervently these faithful friends shall love thee,
  Keep thy watch over others and endure.

Love thyself last; and thou shalt grow in spirit
  To see, to hear, to know and understand;
The message of the stars, lo, thou shalt hear it,
  And all God's joys shall be at thy command.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 1855-1919

What I Live For

I live for those who love me,
  Whose hearts are kind and true;
For the Heaven that smiles above me,
  And awaits my spirit too;
For all human ties that bind me,
For the task by God assigned me,
For the bright hopes yet to find me,
  And the good that I can do.

I live to learn their story
  Who suffered for my sake;
To emulate their glory
  And follow in their wake:
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages,
The heroic of all ages,
Whose deeds crowd History's pages
  And Time's great volume make.

I live to hold communion
  With all that is divine,
To feel there is a union
  'Twixt Nature's heart and mine;
To profit by affliction,
Reap truth from fields of fiction,
Grow wiser from conviction,
  And fulfill God's grand design.

I live to hail the season,
  By gifted ones foretold,
When man shall live by reason,
  And not alone by gold;
When man to man united,
And every wrong thing righted,
The whole world shall be lighted,
  As Eden was of old.

I live for those who love me,
  For those who know me true;
For the heaven that smiles above me,
  And awaits my spirit too;
For the cause that lacks assistance,
For the wrong that needs resistance,
For the future in the distance,
  And the good that I can do.

--G. Linnaeus Banks, 1821-1881

Three Lessons

There are three lessons I would write--
  Three words as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,
  Upon the hearts of men.

Have Hope. Though clouds environ now,
  And gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put thou the shadow from thy brow--
  No night but hath its morn.

Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven--
  The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth--
Know this: God rules the host of heaven,
  The inhabitants of earth.

Have Love. Not love alone for one,
  But man as man thy brother call;
And scatter like the circling sun
  Thy charities on all.

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul--
  Faith, Hope, and Love--and thou shalt
    find
Strength when life's surges rudest roll,
  Light when thou else wert blind.

--Johann Christopher Friedrich von Schiller,
1759-1805

Prayer For A Little Home

God send us a little home,
To come back to, when we roam--

Low walls and fluted tiles;
Wide windows, a view for miles;

Red firelight and deep chairs;
Small white beds upstairs;

Great talk in little nooks;
Dim colors, rows of books;

One picture on each wall;
Not many things at all.

God send us a little ground,
Tall trees standing round.

Homely flowers in brown sod,
Overhead, Thy stars, O God.

God bless Thee, when winds blow,
Our home, and all we know!

--Florence Bone

The Cup of Happiness

Lord God, how full our cup of happiness!
We drink and drink--and yet it grows not less;
But every morn the newly risen sun
Finds it replenished, sparkling, over-run!
Hast Thou not given us raiment, warmth, and meat,
And in due season all earth's fruits to eat?--
Work for our hands and rainbows for our eyes,
And for our souls the wings of butterflies?--
A father's smile, a mother's fond embrace,
The tender light upon a lover's face?--
The talk of friends, the twinkling eye of mirth,
The whispering silence of the good green earth?--
Hope for our youth, and memories for age,
And psalms upon the heavens' moving page?

And dost Thou not of pain a mingling pour,
To make the cup but overflow the more?

--Gilbert Thomas

To Mother

You painted no Madonnas
  On chapel walls in Rome,
But with a touch diviner
  You lived one in your home.

You wrote no lofty poems
  That critics counted art,
But with a nobler vision
  You lived them in your heart.

You carved no shapeless marble
  To some high souled design,
But with a finer sculpture
  You shaped this soul of mine.

You built no great cathedrals
  That centuries applaud
But with a grace exquisite
  Your life cathedraled God.

Had I the gift of Raphael,
  Or Michelangelo,
Oh, what a rare Madonna
  My mother's life would show!

--T.W. Fessenden

Lord, While For All Mankind We Pray...

Lord, while for all mankind we pray,
Of every clime and coast,
O hear us for our native land,
The land we love the most.

O guard our shores from every foe;
With peace our borders bless;
With prosp'rous times our cities crown,
Our fields with plenteousness.

Unite us in the sacred love
Of knowledge, truth, and Thee,
And let our hills and valleys shout
The songs of liberty.

Lord of the nations, thus to Thee
Our country we commend;
Be Thou her refuge and her trust,
Her everlasting friend.

--John R. Wreford, 1800-1881

Give Us Men!

Give us Men!
Men--from every rank,
Fresh and free and frank;
Men of thought and reading,
Men of light and leading,
Men of loyal breeding,
The nation's welfare speeding;
Men of faith and not of fiction,
Men of lofty aim in action;
  Give us Men--I say again,
    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!

Give us Men!
Men who, when the tempest gathers,
Grasp the standard of their fathers
  In the thickest fight;
Men who strike for home and altar,
(Let the coward cringe and falter),
  God defend the right!
True as truth the lorn and lonely,
Tender, as the brave are only;
Men who tread where saints have trod,
Men for Country, Home--and God:
  Give us Men! I say again--again--
    Give us Men!

--Edward Henry Bickersteth, 1825-1906

Servants of the Great Adventure

Servants of the great adventure,
  Patriots of God's fatherland,
Fir'd by one supreme ambition,
  Ready for the call we stand.
Cleanse our minds, thou Love all-ruling,
  Steel our wills, unbind our eyes
That we see a-right Thy kingdom;
  Make us daring, free and wise.

Millions lie in crying darkness,
  Unredeemed, untam'd, untaught,
Women prone in seal'd oppression,
  Men like cattle sold and bought;
Millions grope through out-worn systems;
  Many a cruel ancient faith
Binds the earth; and many a rebel,
  Dooms the Christ again to death.

Yet men ev'rywhere have found Thee,
  Christ, the crown of ev'ry creed;
All the faiths and all the systems,
  Who hast won the hearts of men;
Thou wilt fill the world with splendor,
  In our hands the how and when.

All the world shall live in kindness,
  Hate and war shall pass away,
When men grow from out their blindness,
  Wake, and see the blaze of day:
Each but needs the truth to win him,
  Shape the beauty of his soul,
Fan the fire of love within him,
  Save from self and make him whole.

Praise God for the hidden leaven,
  For the depths yet unexplored;
Praise Him for the Realm of Heaven--
  All ye peoples, praise the Lord!
Sing, the round world all together,
  With one mind and heart and mouth;
Glorify the Lord All-Father,
  East and West and North and South!

--Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936

Within The Gates

I love to step inside a church,
  To rest, and think, and pray;
The quiet, calm, and holy place
  Can drive all cares away.

I feel that from these simple walls
  There breathes a moving sound
Of sacred music, murmured prayers,
  Caught in the endless round

Of bygone worship, from the store
  The swinging seasons bring--
Gay Christmas pageant, Lenten tears,
  And the sweet hallowing

Of all that makes our human life:
  Birth, and the union blest
Of couples at the altar wed,
  And loved ones laid to rest.

Into my soul this harmony
  Has poured, and now is still;
The Lord's own benediction falls
  Upon me, as I kneel.

Once more, with lifted head, I go
  Out in the jarring mart,
The spring of gladness in my step,
  God's peace about my heart.

--David W. Foley

Survival

A thousand years from this tonight
  When Orion climbs the sky,
The same swift snow will still the roofs,
  The same mad stars run by.

And who will know of China's war,
  Or poison gas in Spain?
The dead. . .they'll be forgotten, lost,
  Whether they lose or gain.

Of all the brilliant strategies
  Of war-lords now alive,
Perhaps a Chinese iris vase
  Of porcelain, may survive . . .

Perhaps a prayer, perhaps a song,
  Fashioned of love and tears,
But only beauty . . . only truth
  Will last a thousand years.

--Margaret Moore Meuttman

Of A Contented Mind

When all is done and said,
  In the end this shall you find:
He most of all doth bathe in bliss
  That hath a quiet mind;
And, clear from worldly cares,
  To deem can be content
The sweetest time in all his life
  In thinking to be spent.

The body subject is
  To fickle Fortune's power,
And to a million of mishaps
  Is casual every hour;
And death in time doth change
  It to a clod of clay;
Whenas the mind, which is divine,
  Runs never to decay.

Companion none is like
  Unto the mind alone;
For many have been harmed by speech,
  Through thinking, few, or none:
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
  But makes not thought to cease;
And he speaks best that hath the skill
  When for to hold his peace.

Our wealth leaves us at death,
  Our kinsmen at the grave;
But virtues of the mind unto
  The heavens with us we have:
Wherefore, for Virtue's sake,
  I can be well content
The sweetest time in all my life
  To deem in thinking spent.

--Sir Thomas Vaux, 1510-1556

The Harder Task

Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die--
  Gently and silently to pass away--
On earth's long night to close the heavy eye,
  And waken in the glorious realms of day.

Teach me that harder lesson--how to live
  To serve Thee in the darkest paths of life.
Arm me for conflict, now fresh vigor give,
  And make me more than conqu'ror in the
    strife.
--Author unknown

Lead On, O King Eternal

Lead on, O King Eternal,
The day of march has come;
Hence-forth in fields of conquest
Thy tents shall be our home;
Through days of preparation
Thy grace has made us strong,
And now, O King Eternal,
We lift our battle song.

Lead on, O King Eternal,
Till sin's fierce war shall cease,
And holiness shall whisper
The sweet Amen of peace;
For not with swords loud clashing,
Nor roll of stirring drums,
With deeds of love and mercy,
The heav'nly kingdom comes.

Lead on, O King Eternal,
We follow, not with fears,
For gladness breaks like morning
Where'er Thy face appears;
Thy cross is lifted o'er us;
We journey in its light;
The crown awaits the conquest;
Lead on, O God of might.

--Ernest W. Shurtleff, 1862-1917

The Broken Pinion

I walked through the woodland
      meadows,
  Where sweet the thrushes sing;
And I found on a bed of mosses
  A bird with a broken wing.
I healed its wound, and each morning
  It sang its old sweet strain,
But the bird with the broken pinion
  Never soared as high again.

I found a young life broken
  By sin's seductive art;
And, touched with a Christ-like pity,
  I took him to my heart.
He lived with a noble purpose
  And struggled not in vain;
But the life that sin had stricken
  Never soared as high again.

But the bird with the broken pinion
  Kept another from the snare;
And the life that sin had stricken
  Raised another from despair.
Each loss has its compensation,
  There is healing for every pain;
But the bird with a broken pinion
  Never soars as high again.

--Hezekiah Butterworth, 1839-1905

A Prayer

Oh, not for more or longer days, dear Lord,
  My prayer shall be--
But rather teach me how to use the days
  Now given me.

I ask not more of pleasure or of joy
  For this brief while--
But rather let me for the joys I have
  Be glad and smile.

I ask not ownership of vast estates
  Nor piles of gold--
But make me generous with the little store
  My hands now hold.

Nor shall I ask that life should give to me
  Another friend--
Just keep me true to those I have, dear Lord,
  Until the end.

--B.Y. Williams

Pass It On

Have you had a kindness shown?
  Pass it on.
'Twas not given for thee alone,
  Pass it on.
Let it travel down the years,
Let it wipe another's tears,
'Till in heav'n the deed appears--
  Pass it on.

Did you hear the loving word?
  Pass it on--
Like the singing of a bird?
  Pass it on.
Let its music live and grow,
Let it cheer another's woe;
You have reaped what others sow--
  Pass it on.

'Twas the sunshine of a smile--
  Pass it on.
Staying but a little while!
  Pass it on.
April beam a little thing,
Still it wakes the flowers of spring,
Makes the silent birds to sing--
  Pass it on.

Have you found the heavenly light?
  Pass it on.
Souls are groping in the night,
  Daylight gone--
Hold thy lighted lamp on high,
Be a star in someone's sky,
He may live who else would die--
  Pass it on.

Be not selfish in thy greed,
  Pass it on.
Look upon thy brother's need,
  Pass it on.
Live for self, you live in vain;
Live for Christ, you live again;
Live for Him, with Him you reign--
  Pass it on.

--Henry Burton, 1840-1930

God and Man

Whenever I am prone to doubt and wonder,
  I check myself, and say, the mighty One
Who made the solar system cannot blunder,
  And for the best all things are being done.
He who set the stars on their eternal courses,
  Has fashioned this strange earth by some sure plan.
Bow low--bow low to those majestic forces,
  Nor dare to doubt their wisdom, puny man!

You cannot put one little star in motion,
  You cannot shape one single forest leaf,
Nor fling a mountain up, nor sink an ocean,
  Presumptuous pygmy, large with unbelief!
You cannot bring one dawn of regal splendor,
  Nor bid the day to shadowy twilight fall,
Nor send the pale moon forth with radiance tender;
  And dare you doubt the One who has done all?

--S.A. Nagel

The Doubter's Prayer

Eternal Power, of earth and air!
  Unseen, yet seen in all around;
Remote, but dwelling everywhere;
  Though silent heard in every sound;

If e'er Thine ear in Mercy lent,
  When wretched mortals cried to Thee,
And if indeed, Thy Son was sent,
  To save lost sinners such as me:

Then hear me now, while kneeling here,
  I lift to Thee my heart and eye,
And all my soul ascends in prayer,
  Oh, give me--Give me Faith! I cry.

While Faith is with me, I am blest;
  It turns my darkest night to day;
But while I clasp it to my breast,
  I often feel it slide away.

Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks,
  To see my light of life depart;
And every fiend of Hell, methinks,
  Enjoys the anguish of my heart.

What shall I do if all my love,
  My hopes, my toil, are cast away,
And if there be no God above,
  To hear and bless me while I pray?

If this be vain delusion all,
  If death be an eternal sleep
And none can hear my secret call,
  Or see the silent tears I weep!

O help me God! for Thou alone
  Canst my distracted soul relieve;
Forsake it not, it is Thine own,
  Though weak, yet longing to believe.

--Anne Brontë, 1820-1849

What If I Say--

What If I say--
  "The Bible is God's Holy Word,
Complete, inspired, without a flaw"--
  But let its pages stay
Unread from day to day,
And fail to learn therefrom God's law;
What if I go not there to seek
  The truth of which I glibly speak,
  For guidance on this earthly way,--
  Does it matter what I say?

What if I say
  That Jesus Christ is Lord divine;
  Yet fellow-pilgrims can behold
  Naught of the Master's love in me,
  No grace of kindly sympathy?
  If I am of the Shepherd's fold,
  Then shall I know the Shepherd's voice
  And gladly make his way my choice.
We are saved by faith, yet faith is one
With life, like daylight and the sun.
Unless they flower in our deeds,
  Dead, empty husks are all the creeds.
  To call Christ, Lord, but strive not to obey,
  Belies the homage that with words I pay.

--Maud Frazer Jackson

UNBELIEF

  There is no unbelief;
Whoever plants a seed beneath the sod
And waits to see it push away the clod,
  He trusts in God.

Whoever says when clouds are in the sky,
"Be patient, heart; light breaketh by and by,"
  Trusts the Most High.

Whoever sees 'neath winter's field of snow,
The silent harvest of the future grow,
  God's power must know.

Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep,
Content to lock each sense in slumber deep,
  Knows God will keep.

Whoever says "Tomorrow," "The
       unknown,"
"The future," trusts that Power alone
  He dares disown.

The heart that looks on when the eyelids
       close,
And dares to live when life has only woes,
  God's comfort knows.

  There is no unbelief;
For thus by day and night unconsciously
The heart lives by the faith the lips deny.
    God knoweth why!

--Elizabeth York Case, 1840-1911

The Search

I sought His love in sun and stars,
And where the wild seas roll,
I found it not, as mute I stood,
Fear overwhelmed my soul;
But when I gave to one in need,
I found the Lord of Love indeed.

I sought His love in lore of books,
In charts of science's skill;
They left me orphaned as before--
His love eluded still;
Then in despair I breathed a prayer;
The Lord of Love was standing there!

--Thomas Curtis Clark

I Am Not Bound To Win

I am not bound to win,
But I am bound to be true.
I am not bound to succeed,
But I am bound to live up to what light
     I have.
I must stand with anybody that stands right;
Stand with him while he is right,
And part with him when he goes wrong.

--Abraham Lincoln, 1809-1865

God's Way

Thy way, not mine, O Lord!
  However dark it be;
Lead me by Thine own hand,
  Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be, or rough,
  It will be still the best;
Winding or straight it matters not,
  It leads me to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot,
  I would not, if I might;
Choose Thou for me, O God!
  So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek
  Is Thine; so let the way
That leads to it be Thine;
  Else I must surely stray.

Take Thou my cup, and it
  With joy or sorrow fill;
As best to Thee may seem;
  Choose Thou my good or ill.

                    *

Not mine, not mine the choice
  In things or great or small;
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
  My wisdom and my all.

--Horatius Bonar, 1808-1889

My Creed (Guest)

To live as gently as I can;
To be, no matter where, a man;
To take what comes of good or ill
And cling to faith and honor still;
To do my best, and let that stand
The record of my brain and hand;
And then, should failure come to me,
Still work and hope for victory.

To have no secret place wherein
I stoop unseen to shame or sin;
To be the same when I'm alone
As when my every deed is known;
To live undaunted, unafraid
Of any step that I have made;
To be without pretense or sham
Exactly what men think I am.

To leave some simple mark behind
To keep my having lived in mind;
If enmity to aught I show,
To be an honest, generous foe,
To play my little part, nor whine
That greater honors are not mine.
This, I believe, is all I need
For my philosophy and creed.

--Edgar A. Guest

Day By Day

I heard a voice at evening softly say:
  Bear not thy yesterday into tomorrow,
  Nor load this week with last week's load of sorrow;
  Lift all thy burdens as they come, nor try
  To weight the present with the by and by,
One step, and then another, take thy way--
      Live day by day.

      Live day by day.
Though the autumn leaves are withering round thy way,
  Walk in the sunshine. It is all for thee.
  Push straight ahead as long as thou canst see.
  Dread not the winter where thou mayst go;
  But when it comes, be thankful for the snow.
Onward and upward. Look and smile and pray--
      Live day by day.

      Live day by day.
The path before thee doth not lead astray.
  Do the next duty. It must surely be
  The Christ is in the one that's close to thee.
  Onward, still onward, with a sunny smile,
  Till step by step shall end in mile by mile.
"I'll do my best," unto my conscience say--
      Live day by day.

      Live day by day.
Why art thou bending toward the backward way?
  One summit and another thou shalt mount.
  Why stop at every round the space to count
  The past mistakes if thou must still remember?
  Watch not the ashes of the dying ember.
Kindle thy hope. Put all thy fears away--
      Live day by day.

--Julia Harris May, 1833-1912

Making Life Worthwhile

Every soul that touches yours--
Be it the slightest contact--
Gets therefrom some good;
Some little grace; one kindly thought;
One aspiration yet unfelt;
One bit of courage
For the darkening sky;
One gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life;
One glimpse of brighter skies--
To make this life worthwhile
And heaven a surer heritage.

--George Eliot, 1819-1880

Christ--And We

Christ has no hands but our hands
  To do His work today;
He has no feet but our feet
  To lead men in His way;
He has no tongue but our tongues
  To tell men how He died;
He has no help but our help
  To bring them to His side.

We are the only Bible
  The careless world will read;
We are the sinner's gospel,
  We are the scoffer's creed;
We are the Lord's last message
  Given in deed and word--
What if the line is crooked?
  What if the type is blurred?

What if our hands are busy
  With other work than His?
What if our feet are walking
  Where sin's allurement is?

What if our tongues are speaking
  Of things His lips would spurn?
How can we hope to help Him
  Unless from Him we learn?

--Annie Johnson Flint, 1862-1932

Is Life Worth Living?

Is life worth living? Yes, so long
  As there is wrong to right,
Wail of the weak against the strong
  Or tyranny to fight;
Long as there lingers gloom to chase,
  Or streaming tear to dry,
One kindred woe, one sorrowing face
  That smiles as we draw nigh;
Long as a tale of anguish swells
  The heart, and lids grow wet,
And at the sound of Christmas bells
  We pardon and forget;
So long as Faith with Freedom reigns,
  And loyal Hope survives,
And gracious Charity remains
  To leaven lowly lives;
While there is one untrodden tract
  For Intellect or Will,
And men are free to think and act
  Life is worth living still.

--Alfred Austin, 1835-1913

Things That Never Die

The pure, the bright, the beautiful
  That stirred our hearts in youth,
The impulses to wordless prayer,
  The streams of love and truth,
The longing after something lost,
  The spirit's yearning cry,
The striving after better hopes--
  These things can never die.

The timid hand stretched forth to aid
  A brother in his need;
A kindly word in grief's dark hour
  That proves a friend indeed;
The plea for mercy softly breathed,
  When justice threatens high,
The sorrow of a contrite heart--
  These things shall never die.

Let nothing pass, for every hand
  Must find some work to do,
Lose not a chance to waken love--
  Be firm and just and true.
So shall a light that cannot fade
  Beam on thee from on high,
And angel voices say to thee--
  "These things shall never die."

--Charles Dickens, 1812-1870

Rise Up, O Men of God

Rise up, O men of God!
Have done with lesser things,
Give heart and soul and mind and strength
To serve the King of kings.

Rise up, O men of God!
His kingdom tarries long.
Bring in the day of brotherhood
And end the night of wrong.

Rise up, O men of God!
The church for you doth wait,
Her strength unequal to her task;
Rise up, and make her great!

Lift high the cross of Christ!
Tread where His feet have trod;
As brothers of the Son of Man
Rise up, O men of God!

--William Pierson Merrill

God's Ways

I asked for grace to lift me high
  Above the world's depressing cares;
God sent me sorrows,--with a sigh
  I said, "He has not heard my prayers."

I asked for light, that I might see
  My path along life's thorny road;
But clouds and darkness shadowed me
  When I expected light from God.

I asked for peace, that I might rest
  To think my sacred duties o'er,
When, lo! such horrors filled my breast
  As I had never felt before.

"And, oh," I cried, "can this be prayer
  Whose plaints the steadfast mountains
    move?
Can this be Heaven's prevailing care?
  And, O my God, is this Thy love?"

But soon I found that sorrow, worn
  As Duty's garment, strength supplies,
And out of darkness meekly borne
  Unto the righteous light doth rise.

And soon I found that fears which stirred
  My startled soul God's will to do,
On me more lasting peace conferred
  Than in life's calm I ever knew. . . .

--Author unknown

One Of Us Two

The day will dawn, when one of us shall harken
  In vain to hear a voice that has grown dumb,
And morns will fade, noons pale, and shadows darken,
  While sad eyes watch for feet that never come.

One of us two must sometime face existence
  Alone with memories that but sharpen pain.
And these sweet days shall shine back in the distance,
  Like dreams of summer dawns, in nights of rain.

One of us two, with tortured heart half broken,
  Shall read long-treasured letters through salt tears,
Shall kiss with angiuished lips each cherished token,
  That speaks of these love-crowned, delicious years.

One of us two shall find all light, all beauty,
  All joy on earth, a tale forever done;
Shall know henceforth that life means only duty.
  Oh, God! Oh, God! have pity on that one.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Abide With Me

Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide.
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day.
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away.
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me!

I need Thy presence ev'ry passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Thro' clouds and sunshine, oh, abide with me!

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still if Thou abide with me!

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine thro' the gloom, and point me to the skies.
Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee!
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!

--Henry F. Lyte

In Him Confiding

Sometimes a light surprises
   The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord who rises
   With healing on His wings.
When comforts are declining
   He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining,
   To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation
   We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
   And find it ever new.
Set free from present sorrow,
   We cheerfully can say,
Let the unknown to-morrow
   Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing
   But He will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing,
   Will clothe His people too.
Beneath the spreading heavens
   No creature but is fed;
And He who feeds the ravens
   Will give His children bread.

Though vine nor fig tree neither
   Their wonted fruit should bear,
Though all the fields should wither,
   Nor flocks nor herds be there;
Yet God the same abiding,
   His praise shall tune my voice;
For while in Him confiding,
   I cannot but rejoice.

--William Cowper, 1731-1800

A Prayer In Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid-air still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only need that we fulfill.

--Robert Frost

[Holy Week]: #26; He Lives

I serve a risen Savior, He's in the world today;
I know that He is living, whatever men may say;
I see His hand of mercy, I hear His voice of cheer,
And just the time I need Him He's always near.

Refrain
He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me
Along life's narrow way.
He lives, He lives, salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart.

In all the world around me I see His loving care,
And tho' my heart grows weary, I never will despair;
I know that He is leading thro' all the stormy blast,
The day of His appearing will come at last.

Rejoice, rejoice, O Christian, lift up your voice and sing
Eternal hal-le-lu-jahs to Jesus Christ the King!
The Hope of all who seek Him, the Help of all who find,
None other is so loving, so good and kind.

Refrain
He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me
Along life's narrow way,
He lives, He lives, salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart.

--Alfred H. Ackley

[Holy Week]: #25; Easter Hymn

Christ the Lord is risen to-day,
Sons of men and angels say:
Raise your joys and triumphs high,
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply.

Love's redeeming work is done,
Fought the fight, the battle won;
Lo! our Sun's eclipse is o'er;
Lo! He sets in blood no more.

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal;
Christ hath burst the gates of hell!
Death in vain forbids His rise;
Christ hath opened Paradise!

Lives again our glorious King:
Where, O Death, is now thy sting?
Once He died, our souls to save:
Where thy victory, O Grave?

--Charles Wesley, 1707-1788

[Holy Week]: #24; Easter Morning

Tomb, thou shalt not hold Him longer:
Death is strong, but life is stronger;
Stronger than the dark, the light;
Faith and hope triumphant say,
"Christ will rise on Easter Day!"

While the patient earth lies waking
Till the morning shall be breaking,
Shuddering 'neath the burden dread
Of her Master, cold and dead,
Hark! she hears the angels say,
"Christ will rise on Easter Day!"

And when sunrise smites the mountains,
Pouring light from heavenly fountains,
Then the earth blooms out to greet
Once again the blessed feet;
And her countless voices say:
"Christ has risen on Easter Day!"

--Phillips Brooks, 1835-1893

[Holy Week]: #23; Jesus' Burial

   Now when evening had come, there came a
rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who
himself had also become a disciple of Jesus.
This man went to Pilate and asked for the body
of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to
be given to him. When Joseph had taken the
body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and
laid it in his new tomb which he had hewn out of
the rock; and he rolled a large stone against the
door of the tomb, and departed. And Mary
Magdalene was there, and the other Mary, sit-
ting opposite the tomb.
   On the next day, which followed the Day of
Preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees
gathered together to Pilate, saying, "Sir, we re-
member, while He was still alive, how that de-
ceiver said, 'After three days I will rise.' There-
fore command that the tomb be made secure
until the third day, lest His disciples come by
night and steal Him away, and say to the peo-
ple, 'He has risen from the dead.' So the last
deception will be worse than the first."
   Pilate said to them, "You have a guard; go
your way, make it as secure as you know how."
So they went and made the tomb secure, seal-
ing the stone and setting the guard.

Matthew 27:57-66

[Holy Week]: #22; When I Survey...

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the cross of Christ my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

--Isaac Watts, 1674-1748

[Holy Week]: #21; Beneath the Cross

Beneath the Cross of Jesus,
  I fain would take my stand,
The shadow of a mighty rock
  Within a weary land;
A home within the wilderness,
  A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat,
  And the burden of the day.

Upon the Cross of Jesus,
  Mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One
  Who suffered there for me.
And from my smitten heart, with tears,
  Two wonders I confess,--
The wonder of His glorious love,
  And my unworthiness.

I take, O Cross, thy shadow
  For my abiding-place;
I ask no other sunshine than
  The sunshine of His face:
Content to let the world go by,
  To know no gain nor loss,
My sinful self my only shame,
  My glory all, the Cross.

--Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane, 1830-1869

[Holy Week]: #20; Jesus' Death

   Now from the sixth hour until the ninth hour there
was darkness over all the land. And about the ninth
hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, "Eli,
Eli, lama sabachthani?" that is, "My God, My God,
why have You forsaken Me?"
   Some of those who stood there, when they heard
that, said, "This Man is calling for Elijah!" Immediate-
ly one of them ran and took a sponge, filled it with
sour wine and put it on a reed, and offered it to Him
to drink.
   The rest said, "Let Him alone; let us see if Elijah
will come to save Him."
   And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice, and
yielded up His spirit.
   Then, behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two
from top to bottom; and the earth quaked, and the
rocks were split, and the graves were opened; and
many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were
raised; and coming out of the graves after His resur-
rection, they went into the holy city and appeared to
many.
   So when the centurion and those with him, who
were guarding Jesus, saw the earthquake and the
things that had happened, they feared greatly, saying,
"Truly this was the Son of God!"

Matthew 27:45-54

[Holy Week]: #19; GOLGOTHA

   When they had twisted a crown of thorns, they
put it on His head, and a reed in His right hand.
And they bowed the knee before Him and mocked
Him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews!" Then they
spat on Him, and took the reed and struck Him on
the head. And when they had mocked Him, they
took the robe off Him, put His own clothes on Him,
and led Him away to be crucified.
   Now as they came out, they found a man of Cy-
rene, Simon by name. Him they compelled to bear
His cross. And when they had come to a place cal-
led Golgotha, that is to say, Place of a Skull, they
gave Him sour wine mingled with gall to drink. But
when He had tasted it, He would not drink.
   Then they crucified Him, and divided His garments,
casting lots, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken
by the prophet:

     They divided My garments among
          them,
     And for My clothing they cast lots."

Sitting down, they kept watch over Him there. And
they put up over His head the accusation written a-
gainst Him:

                        THIS IS JESUS
               THE KING OF THE JEWS.

   Then two robbers were crucified with Him, one
on the right and another on the left.
   And those who passed by blasphemed Him, wag-
ging their heads and saying, "You who destroy the
temple and build it in three days, save Yourself! If
You are the Son of God, come down from the
cross."
   Likewise the chief priests also, mocking with the
scribes and elders, said, "He saved others; Himself
He cannot save. If He is the King of Israel, let Him
now come down from the cross, and we will be-
lieve Him. He trusted in God; let Him deliver Him
now if He will have Him; for He said, 'I am the Son
of God.'"
   Even the robbers who were crucified with Him
reviled Him with the same thing.

Matthew 27:29-44