Grace Greater Than Our Sin

"Where sin increased, grace increased all the more." --Rom. 5:20

Marvelous grace of our loving Lord, Grace that exceeds our
sin and our guilt! Yonder on Calvary's mount out-poured--
There where the blood of the Lamb was spilt.

Grace, grace, God's grace. Grace that will pardon and cleanse
within, Grace, grace, God's grace, Grace that is greater than
all our sin!

Sin and despair, like the sea waves cold, Threaten the soul with
infinite loss; Grace that is greater--yes, grace untold--
Points to the refuge, the mighty cross.

Dark is the stain that we cannot hide--What can avail to
wash it away? Look! there is flowing a crimson tide--
Whiter than snow you may be today.

Marvelous, infinite, matchless grace, Freely bestowed on
all who believe! You that are longing to see His face,
Will you this moment His grace receive?

Grace, grace, God's grace. Grace that will pardon and cleanse
within, Grace, grace, God's grace, Grace that is greater than
all our sin!

--Julia H. Johnston

[George Washington] Mini-Bio; #7

     The stately column that stretches
heavenward from the plain whereon we
stand bears witness to all who behold it,
that the covenant which  our fathers made,
their children have fulfilled. In the com-
pletion of this great work of patriotic en-
deavor there is abundant cause for national
rejoicing, for while this structure shall en-
dure it shall be to all mankind a steadfast
token for the affectionate and reverent re-
gard in which this people continue to hold
the memory of Washington. Well may he
ever keep the foremost place in the hearts
of his countrymen.
--Chester A. Arthur, 1885, On Presenting
the Washington National Monument to
the People, Feb. 21.

     However, to say nothing of eloquence,
Washington had not those brilliant and
extraordinary qualities, which strike the
imagination of men at the first glance.
He did not belong to the class of men of
vivid genius, who pant for an opportunity
of display, are impelled by great thoughts
or great passions, and diffuse around them
the wealth of their own natures, before any
outward occasion or necessity calls for its
employment. Free from all internal restles-
sness, and the promptings and pride of
ambition, Washington did not seek oppor-
tunities to distinguish himself, and never as-
pired to the admiration of the world. This
spirit, so resolute, this heart so lofty, was
profoundly calm and modest. Capable of
rising to a level with the highest destiny, he
might have lived in ignorance of his real
power, without suffering from it, and have
found, in the cultivation of his estates, a
satisfactory employment for those energet-
ic faculties, which were to be proved equal
to the task of commanding armies and
founding a government. But, when the op-
portunity presented itself, when the exi-
gence occurred, without effort on his part,
without any surprise on the part of others,
indeed rather, as we have just seen, in con-
formity with their expectations the prudent
planter stood forth a great man. He had, in
a remarkable degree, those two qualities
which, in active life, make men capable of
great things. He could confide strongly in
his own views, and act resolutely in con-
formity with them, without fearing to as-
sume the responsibility.
--Francois Pierre Guillaume Guizot, 1840,
An Essay on the Character of Washington
and his Influence in the Revolution of the
United States of America.

[George Washington] Mini-Bio; #6

     Perhaps the strongest feature in his
character was prudence, never acting until
every circumstance, every consideration,
was maturely weighed; refraining if he
saw a doubt, but, when once decided, going
through with his purpose, whatever ob-
stacles opposed. His integrity was most
pure, his justice the most inflexible I have
ever known. . . . On the whole, his charac-
ter was in its mass, perfect; in nothing bad,
in few points indifferent; and it may truly
be said, that never did nature and fortune
combine more perfectly to make a man
great, and to place him in the same constel-
lation with whatever worthies have merited
from man an everlasting remembrance.
For his was the singular destiny and merit,
of leading the armies of his country suc-
cessfully through an arduous war, for the
establishment of its independence; of con-
ducting its councils through the birth of a
government, new in its forms and princi-
ples, until it had settled down into a quiet
and orderly train; and of scrupulously
obeying the laws through the whole of his
career, civil and military, of which  the
history of the world furnishes no other
example. --Thomas Jefferson, 1814,
Letter to Dr. Walter Jones, Jan. 2

He is eminently conspicuous as one of
the great benefactors of the human race,
for he not only gave liberty to millions,
but his name now stands, and will for-
ever stand, a noble example of high and
low. He is a great work of the Almighty
Artist, which none can study without re-
ceiving purer ideas and more lofty con-
ceptions of the grace and beauty of the
human character. He is one that all may
copy at different distances, and whom
none can contemplate without receiving
lasting and salutary impressions of the
sterling value, the inexpressible beauty
of piety, integrity, courage, and patriot-
ism, associated with a clear, vigorous,
and well-poised intellect. . . . He is al-
ready become the saint of liberty, which
has gathered new honors by being as-
sociated with his name; and when men
aspire to free nations, they must take
him for their model. --James Kirke
Paulding, 1835, Life of George Wash-
ington, p. 283

[George Washington] Mini-Bio; #5

    There was indeed in this patriot some-
thing that all felt, but could not describe.
A strength of understanding, a keenness
of perception, a loftiness of thought, that
convinced without argument, and subdued
without effort. His language, like his car-
riage, was impressive, elegant and manly.
It had secured a grace beyond the reach
of rhetoric; it had created an illumination
beyond the coloring of metaphor. His in-
tegrity overruled persuasion; and his maj-
esty overawed sophistry. Corruption stood
abashed in his presence, and venality
blushed into shame. The administration
caught the character of their leader, and
seconded the energies of his irresistible
influence. --Joseph Story, 1800, Eulogy
on Washington, Delivered at Marblehead,
Mass., Feb. 22.

    There has scarcely appeared a really
great man whose character has been more
admired in his lifetime, or less correctly un-
derstood by his admirers. When it is com-
prehended, it is no easy task to delineate its
excellence in such a manner as to give to the
portrait both interest and resemblance; for
it requires thought and study to understand
the true ground of the superiority of his char-
acter over many others, whom he resembled
in the principles of an action, and even in the
manner of acting. But perhaps he excels all
the great men that ever lived, in the steadi-
ness of his adherence to his maxims of life,
and in the uniformity of all his conduct to the
same maxims. . . .His talents were such as
assist a sound judgment, and ripen with it.
His prudence was consummate, and seemed
to take the direction of his powers and pas-
sions; for as a soldier, he was more solicitous
to avoid mistakes that might be fatal, than to
perform exploits that are brilliant; and as a
statesman, to adhere to just prinicples, how-
ever old, than to pursue novelties; and there-
fore, in both characters, his qualities were
singularly adapted to the interest, and were
tried in the greatest perils, of the country.
--Fisher Ames, 1800, Eulogy Delivered
before the Massachusetts Legislature,
Feb. 8

[George Washington] Mini-Bio; #4

Is Mr. Washington among your acquaint-
ances? If not, I recommend you to em-
brace the first opportunity to form his
friendship. He is about twenty-three years
of age; with a countenance both mild and
pleasant, promising both wit and judgment.
He is of comely and dignified demeanor,
at the same time displays much self-reliance
and decision. He strikes me as being a
young man of extraordinary and exalted
character, and is destined to make no in-
considerable figure in our country.
--Gen. Edward Braddock, 1755, Letters.

I have seen General Washington, that
most singular man--the soul and support
of one of the greatest revolutions that has
ever happened, or can happen. I fixed my
eyes upon him with that keen attention
which the sight of a great man always in-
spires. We naturally entertain a secret
hope of discovering in the features of such
illustrious persons some traces of that
genius which distinguishes them from, and
elevates them above, their fellow mortals.
Perhaps the exterior of no man was better
calculated to gratify these expectations
than that of General Washington. He is
of a tall and noble stature, well propor-
tioned, a fine, cheerful, open countenance,
a simple and modest carriage; and his
whole mien has something in it that inter-
ests the French, the Americans, and even
enemies themselves in his favor. . . .
His reputation has, at length, arisen to a
most brilliant height; and he may now
grasp at the most unbounded power, with-
out provoking envy or exciting suspicion.
He has ever shown himself superior to
fortune, and in the most trying adversity
has discovered resources until then un-
known; and, as if his abilities only in-
creased and dilated at the prospect of
difficulty, he is never better supplied than
when he seems destitute of everything, nor
have his arms ever been so fatal to his
enemies, as at the very instant when they
thought they had crushed him forever. . . .
he is frugal and sober in regard to himself,
but profuse in the public cause; like Peter
the Great, he has by defeats conducted his
army to victory; and like Fabius, but with
fewer resources and more difficulty, he has
conquered without fighting and saved his
country. --Claude C. Robin, 1781, Letter
from Camp of Phillipsburg, Aug. 4; Maga-
zine of American History, vol. 20, pp.
137, 138.

That's Success

It's doing your job the best you can
And being just to your fellow man;
It's making money--but holding friends
And true to your aims and ends;
It's figuring how and learning why
And looking forward and thinking high
And dreaming a little and doing much.
It's keeping always in closest touch
With what is finest in word and deed;
It's being thorough, yet making speed;
It's daring blithely the field of chance
While making labor a brave romance;
It's going onward despite defeat
And fighting stanchly, but keeping sweet;
It's being clean and it's playing fair;
It's laughing lightly at Dame Despair;
It's looking up at the stars above
And drinking deeply of life and love.
It's struggling on with the will to win
But taking loss with a cheerful grin;
It's sharing sorrow and work and mirth
And making better this good old earth;
It's serving, striving through strain and stress;
It's doing your noblest--that's Success!

--Berton Braley

[Jane Austen] Mini-Bio; #3

No book published in Jane Austen's
lifetime bore her name on the title-page;
she was never lionized by society; she was
never two hundred miles from home; she
died when forty-two years of age, and it
was sixty years before a biography was
attempted or asked for. She sleeps in the
cathedral at Winchester, and not so very
long ago a visitor, on asking the verger
to see her grave, was conducted thither,
and the verger asked, "Was she anybody
in particular? so many folks ask where
she's buried, you know!" But this is
changed now, for when the verger took
me to her grave and we stood by that plain
black marble slab, he spoke intelligently
of her life and work. And many visitors
now go to the cathedral only because it is
the resting-place of Jane Austen, who
lived a beautiful, helpful life and produced
great art, yet knew it not.
--Elbert Hubbard, 1897, Little Journeys
to the Homes of Famous Women, p. 353

The precise locality of the gravestone
is in the pavement of the fifth bay of the
north aisle, counting from the west. It
is a slab of black marble with the follow-
ing inscription:--"In memory of JANE
AUSTEN, youngest daughter of the late
Rev. George Austen, formerly Rector of
Steventon in this County. She departed
this life on July 18, 1817, aged 41, after
a long illness, supported with the patience
and hope of a Christian. The benevolence
of her heart, the sweetness of her temper,
and the extraordinary endowments of her
mind, obtained the regard of all who knew
her, and the warmest love of her immediate
connexions. Their grief is in proportion
to their affection; they know their loss to
be irreparable, but in their deepest afflic-
tion they are consoled by a firm, though
humble, hope that her charity, devotion,
faith, and purity have rendered her soul
acceptable in the sight of her Redeemer."
--Oscar Fay Adams, 1891-96, The Story
of Jane Austen's Life, p. 220.

[Jane Austen] Mini-Bio; #2

Jane is described as tall, slender, and
remarkably graceful; she was a clear bru-
nette with a rich color, hazel eyes, fine
features, and curling brown hair. Her
domestic relations were delightful, and
she was specially attractive to chiildren.
A vague record is preserved of an attach-
ment for a gentleman whom she met at the
seaside, and who soon afterwards died
suddenly. But there is no indication of any
serious disturbance of her habitual serenity.
--Leslie Stephen, 1885, Dictionary of
National Biography, vol. II, p. 259.

All the time that she was writing her
three best novels she had no private study:
she wrote in the general sittingroom at
her little mahogany desk, and when visitors
interrupted, a handerchief or a news-
paper was thrown over the tell-tale MSS.
Very often her nephews and nieces rushed
in, and she was always ready to break off
from her writing to tell them long delight-
ful fairy stories. . . . She was essentially
a womanly woman. Everything that she
did with her fingers was well done. She
wrote a clear, firm hand, as easy to read
as print. --Catherine J. Hamilton, 1892,
Women Writers, First Series, pp. 203,204.

[Jane Austen] Mini-Bio; #1

There were twenty dances, and I danced
them all, and without fatigue. I was glad
to find myself capable of dancing so much
and with so much satisfaction as I did;
from my slender enjoyment of the Ashford
balls, I had not thought myself equal to
it, but in cold weather and with few
couples I fancy I could just as well dance
for a week together as for half an hour.
--Jane Austen, 1799, To her Sister, Dec.
24; Letters, ed. Brabourne.

In person she was very attractive; her
figure was rather tall and slender, her step
light and firm, and her whole appearance
expressive of health and animation. In
complexion she was a clear brunette with
a rich color; she had full round cheeks,
with mouth and nose small and well
formed, bright hazel eyes, and brown hair
forming natural curls close round her face.
If not so regularly handsome as her sister,
yet her countenance had a peculiar charm
of its own to the eyes of most beholders.
. . . . She was not highly accomplished
according to the present standard, . . .
was fond of music, and had a sweet voice,
both in singing and in conversation; in
her youth she had received some instruc-
tion of the pianoforte; and at Chawton she
practiced daily, chiefly before breakfast.
. . . .She read French with facility,
and knew something of Italian. In those
days German was no more thought of than
Hindostanee, as part of a Lady's educa-
tion. . . . She was well acquainted
with the old periodicals from the "Spec-
tator" downwards. Her knowledge of
Richardson's works was such as no one is
likely again to acquire, now that the multi-
tude and the merits of our light literature
have called off the attention of readers
from that great master.
--J.E. Leigh, Austen, 1870, A Memoir
of Jane Austen, by her Nephew, pp. 82-84.

Cloak of Laughter

I wear a cloak of laughter
  Lest anyone should see
My dress of sorrow underneath
  And stop to pity me.

I wear a cloak of laughter
  Lest anyone should guess
That what is hid beneath it
  Is less than happiness. . . .

But, ah, what does it matter
  To you who are so wise?
My cloak falls tattered at my feet
  Before your tender eyes.

For cloaks to cover sorrow
  Are meant for stranger folk;
One cannot hide away from friends
  Beneath a laughing cloak.

Oh, futile cloak of laughter,
  How frail you are and thin!
Love looks through you so easily
  And sees the grief within.

--Abigail Cresson

Life's Lesson

  There are times in one's life when all the world seems to
turn against us. Our motives are misunderstood, our words
misconstrued, an unkind word reveals to us the unfriendly
feelings of others.
  The fact is, that it is rare when injustice, or slights, pa-
tiently borne, do not leave the heart at the close of the day
filled with a marvelous sense of peace--perhaps not at once
--but after you've had a chance to reflect a bit. It is the seed
God has sown, springing up and bearing fruit.

  We learn, as the years roll onward and we leave the
  past behind, that much we had counted sorrow, but
  proved that God is kind; that many a flower we'd
  longed for had hidden a thorn of pain, and many a
  rugged by-path led to fields of ripened grain.

The clouds that cover the sunshine; they cannot ban-
ish the sun. And the earth shines out the brighter when
the weary rain is done. We must stand in the deepest
shadow to see the clearest light; and often through
Wrong's own darkness comes the welcome strength of
Right.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Those We Love the Best

One great truth in life I've found,
  While journeying to the West--
The only folks we really wound
  Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
  Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
  At things mere strangers do.

But those are only passing ills;
  This rule all lives will prove;
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
  Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
  Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
  Are given to our own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,
  We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
  To those we love the best. . . .

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

'Tis a Little Journey

'Tis a little journey
  This we walk;
Hardly time for murmurs--
  Time for talk.

Yet we learn to quarrel
  And to hate;
Afterward regret it
  When too late.

Now and then 'tis sunshine--
  Sometimes dark;
Sometimes care and sorrow
  Leave their mark.

Yet we walk the pathway
  Side by side;
Where so many others
  Lived and died.

We can see the moral,
  Understand;
Yet we walk not always
  Hand in hand.

Why must there be hatred?
  Greed and strife?
Do we need such shadows
  Here in life?

--Author Unknown

New Friends and Old Friends

Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
New-made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.
Friendships that have stood the test--
Time and change--are surely best;
Brow may wrinkle, hair grow gray;
Friendship never knows decay.
For 'mid old friends, tried and true,
Once more we our youth renew.
But old friends, alas! may die;
New friends must their place supply.
Cherish friendship in your breast--
New is good, but old is best;
Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.

--Joseph Parry

If I Knew You and You Knew Me

If I knew you and you knew me--
  If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine
  The meaning of your heart and mine--
I'm sure that we would differ less
  And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
  If I knew you and you knew me.

If I knew you and you knew me,
  As each one knows his own self, we
Could look each other in the face
  And see therein a truer grace.
Life has so many hidden woes,
  So many thorns for every rose;
The "why" of things our hearts would see,
  If I knew you and you knew me.

--Nixon Waterman

Hungering Hearts

Some hearts go hungering thro' the world
  And never find the love they seek.
Some lips with pride or scorn are curled
  To hide the pain they may not speak.
The eyes may flash, the mouth may smile--
And yet beneath them all the while
  The hungering heart is pining still.

For them does life's dull desert hold
  No fountain's shade, no gardens fair,
Nor gush of waters clear and cold,
  But sandy reaches wide and bare.
The foot may fail, the soul may faint,
  And weigh to earth the weary frame,
Yet still they make no weak complaint
  And speak no word of grief or blame.

O eager eyes, which gaze afar,
  O arms which clasp the empty air,
Not all unmarked your sorrows are,
  Not all unpitied your despair.
Smile, patient lips, so proudly dumb--
  Have Faith! Before life's tent is furled
Your recompense shall come,
  O hearts that hunger through the world!

--Author Unknown

The Joy of Incompleteness

If all our life were one broad glare
  Of sunlight clear, unclouded:
If all our path were smooth and fair,
  By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
  Without the sweet unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
  On hands too weak for holding--
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
  The gentle haze and sadness?
Should we not long for storms and showers
  To break the constant gladness?

If none were sick and none were sad,
  What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad
  We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
  Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed
  Its sweetest consolation:
If sorrow never claimed our heart
  And every wish were granted
Patience would die, and hope depart--
  Life would be disenchanted.

--Albert Crowell

Dream House

Let there be within these phantom walls
Beauty where the hearth fire's shadow falls . . .
Quiet pictures--books--and welcoming chairs . . .
Music that the very silence shares . . .
Kitchen windows curtained blue and white . . .
Shelves and cupboards built for my delight . . .
Little things that lure and beckon me
With their tranquil joy! And let there be
Lilt of laughter--swift-forgotten tears
Woven through the fabric of the years . . .
Strength to guard me--eyes to answer mine,
Mutely clear. And though without may shine
Stars of dawn or sunset's wistful glow--
All of life and love my house shall know!

--Catherine Parmenter Newell

The Sculptor

I took a piece of plastic clay
And idly fashioned it one day,
And as my fingers pressed it, still
It bent and yielded to my will.

I came again, when days were passed,
The bit of clay was hard at last,
The form I gave it, still it bore,
But I could change that form no more.

Then I took a piece of living clay
And gently formed it, day by day
And molded with my power and art,
A young child's soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years were gone,
It was a man I looked upon.
He still that early impress bore,
And I could change it, nevermore.

--Author Unknown

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care
  A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
                 In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
  Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
                 In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
  Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
                 Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
  Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
                 With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
  Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
                 Tell where I lie.

--Alexander Pope

Talk Happiness

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough
  Without your woe. No path is wholly rough;
Look for the places that are smooth and clear,
  And speak of those, to rest the weary ear
Of Earth, so hurt by one continuous strain
  Of human discontent and grief and pain.

Talk fatih.  The world is better off without
  Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt.
If you have faith in God, or man, or self,
  Say so. If not, push back upon the shelf
Of silence, all your thoughts, till faith shall come;
  No one will grieve because your lips are dumb.

Talk health. The dreary, never-ending tale
  Of mortal maladies is more than stale.
One cannot charm, or interest, or please
  By harping on that minor chord, disease.
Say you are well, or all is well with you,
  And God shall hear your words and make them true.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Kindly Neighbor

I have a kindly neighbor, one who stands
Beside my gate and chats with me awhile,
Gives me the glory of his radiant smile
And comes at times to help with willing hands,
No station high or rank this man commands;
He, too, must trudge, as I, the long day's mile;
And yet, devoid of pomp or gaudy style,
He has a worth exceeding stocks or lands.

To him I go when sorrow's at my door;
On him I lean when burdens come my way;
Together oft we talk our trials o'er,
And there is warmth in each good night we say.
A kindly neighbor! Wars and strife shall end
When man has made the man next door his friend.

--Edgar A. Guest

Harmony

In the far spaces of eternity
  The planets swing, each following some sun.
  In perfect rhythm, each and every one,
The singing spheres keep time to harmony.

And this, our little earth, swings with its moon
  To the sure rhythm of the Master Hand
  Whose unseen movements are Divine command
To which the silent symphony must attune.

One discord and the Universe would fall;
  One false note in the measured march of Time,
  One halt, one pause in rhythm or in rhyme,
And then wild chaos would engulf us all.

But still they move in perfect harmony,
  The near, cold moon, the farthest, unseen star;
  There is perfection in each note and bar
Of the great paeon of eternity.

Only we trivial crawlers on the earth
  Abound in discord, jangle out of tune,
  Defy the majesty of night and noon,
And mock the very symphony of birth.

But still the singing spheres swing on through space
  And heed us not, for in their harmony
  No muted echoes come from such as we--
In their grand anthem discord has no place.

--Thomas Grant Springer

Around The Corner

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end;
Yet days go by, and weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year is gone,
And I never see my old friend's face,
For Life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days when I rang his bell
And he rang mine. We were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men:
Tired with playing a foolish game,
Tired with trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow," I say, "I will call on Jim,
Just to show that I'm thinking of him."
But tomorrow comes--and tomorrow goes,
And the distance between us grows and grows
Around the corner!--yet miles away. . . .
"Here's a telegram, sir. . . ."
                                 "Jim died today."
And that's what we get, and deserve in the end:
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

--Charles Hanson Towne

The Common Tasks

The common tasks are beautiful if we
Have eyes to see their shining ministry.
The plowman with his share deep in the loam;
The carpenter whose skilled hands build a home;
The gardener working with reluctant sod,
Faithful to his partnership with God--
These are the artisans of life. And, oh,
A woman with her eyes and cheeks aglow,
Watching a kettle, tending a scarlet flame,
Guarding a little child--there is no name
For these great ministries, and eyes are dull
That do not see that they are beautiful;
That do not see within the common tasks
The simple answer to the thing God asks
Of any child, a pride within His breast;
That at our given work we do our best.

--Grace Noll Crowell

Thank God!

  Thank God for life!
E'en though it bring much bitterness and strife,
  And all our fairest hopes be wrecked and lost,
E'en though there be more ill than good in life,
  We cling to life and reckon not the cost.
        Thank God for life!

  Thank God for love!
For though sometimes grief follows in its wake,
  Still we forget love's sorrow in love's joy,
And cherish tears with smiles for love's dear sake;
  Only in heaven is bliss without alloy.
        Thank God for love!

  Thank God for pain!
No tear hath ever yet been shed in vain,
  And in the end each sorrowing heart shall find
No curse, but blessings in the hand of pain;
  Even when he smiteth, then is God most kind.
        Thank God for pain!

  Thank God for death!
Who touches anguished lips and stills their breath
  And giveth peace unto each troubled breast;
Grief flies before thy touch, O blessed death;
  God's sweetest gift; thy name in heaven is Rest.
        Thank God for death!

--Author Unknown

Your House

  The walls of a house are not built of wood, brick or stone,
but of truth and loyalty.

  Unpleasant sounds of grumbling, the friction of living,
the clash of personalities, are not deadened by Persian rugs
or polished floors, but by conciliation, and concession. . . .

  The house is not a structure where bodies meet, but a
hearthstone upon which flames mingle, separate flames of
souls, which, the more perfectly they unite, the more clearly
they shine and the straighter they rise toward heaven.

  Your house is your fortress in a warring world, where a
woman's hand buckles on your armor in the morning and
soothes your fatigue and wounds at night.

  The beauty of a house is harmony.
  The security of a house is loyalty.
  The joy of a house is love.
  The plenty of a house is in children.
  The rule of a house is service.
  The comfort of a house is in contented spirits.
  The maker of a house, of a real human house, is God
Himself, the same Who made the stars and built the world.

--Author Unknown

The Story of Life

Say! what is life? "Tis to be born
  A hapless babe; to greet the light
With a sharp wail, as if the morn
  Foretold a cloudy morn and night;
To weep, to sleep and weep again,
With sunny smiles between; and then;--

And then apace the infant grows
  To be a laughing, sprightly boy,
Happy despite his little woes;
  Were he but conscious of his joy,
To be, in short, from two to ten,
A merry, moody child; and then;--

And then, in coat and trousers clad,
  To learn to say the decalogue;
And break it--an unthinking lad,
  With mirth and mischief all agog,
A truant oft; by field and fen
To capture butterflies; and then;--

And then, increased in strength and size,
  To be anon, a youth, full grown,
A hero in his mother's eyes;
  A young Apollo in his own,
To imitate the ways of men
In fashionable sins; and then;--

And then, at last, to be a man;
  To fall in love, to woo, to wed;
With seething brain to scheme and plan;
  To gather gold, or toil for bread;
To sue for fame, with tongue or pen;
To gain or lose the prize; and then;--

And then in gray and wrinkled eld,
  To mourn the speed of life's decline;
To praise the scenes his youth beheld,
  And dwell in memory of Lang Syne;
To dream awhile with darkened ken,
Then drop into his grave; and then;--

by John G. Saxe

To A Waterfowl

  Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
  Thy solitary way?

  Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
  Thy figure floats along.

  Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
  On the chafed oceanside?

  There is a Power Whose care
Teaches thy way along the pathless coast--
The desert and illimitable air--
  Lone wandering, but not lost.

  All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
  Though the dark night is near.

  And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
  Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

  Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
  And shall not soon depart.

  He Who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
  Will lead my steps aright.

--William Cullen Bryant

[This is one of my all-time favorites!]

No Friend Like Music

There is no whispering of any friend,
  No solace that can touch the quivering heart
In that lone hour when a sudden end
  Has captured laughter and there falls apart
A rainbow that has bridged a distant hill;
  When roses shatter on the stem, and dark
Crowds out the candle's shimmering flame and still
  The night creeps on with neither torch nor spark.

No friend like music when the last word's spoken
  And every pleading is a plea in vain;
No friend like music when the heart is broken,
  To mend its wings and give it flight again;
No friend like music, breaking chains and bars
To let the soul march with the quiet stars!

--Daniel Whitehead Hicky

Open Your Eyes

Open your eyes that you may see
The beauty that around you lies,
The misty loveliness of the dawn,
The glowing colors of the skies;
The child's bright eager eyes of blue,
The gnarled and wrinkled face of age,
The bird with crimson on his wing
Whose spirit never knew a cage;
The roadsides' blooming goldenrod
So brave through summer's wind and heat,
The brook that rushes to the sea
With courage that naught may defeat.
Open your eyes that you may see
The wonder that around you lies;
It will enrich your every day
And make you glad and kind and wise.

--Emma Boge Whisenand

Little Roads to Happiness

The little roads to happiness, they are not hard to find;
They do not lead to great success--but to a quiet mind.
They do not lead to mighty power, nor to substantial wealth.
They bring one to a book, a flower, a song of cheer and
  health.
The little roads to happiness are free to everyone;
They lead one to the wind's caress, to kiss of friendly sun.
These little roads are shining white, for all the world to see;
Their sign-board, pointing left and right, are love and
  sympathy.
The little roads of happiness have this most charming way;
No matter how they may digress throughout the busy day;
No matter where they twist and wind through fields of rich
  delight,
They're always of the self-same mind to lead us home at
  night.

--Wilhelmina Stitch

Two Kinds of People

There are two kinds of people on earth today,
Just two kinds of people, no more, I say,
Not the good and the bad, for 'tis well understood
The good are half bad and the bad are half good.

Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years
Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.
Not the rich and the poor, for to count a man's wealth
You must first know the state of his conscience and health.

Not the humble and proud, for in life's busy span
Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man.
No! The two kinds of people on earth I mean
Are the people who lift, and the people who lean.

Wherever you go you will find the world's masses
Are ever divided in just these two classes.
And, strangely enough, you will find, too, I wean,
There is only one lifter to twenty who lean.

This one question I ask. Are you easing the load
Of overtaxed lifters who toil down the road?
Or are you a leaner who lets others bear
Your portion of worry and labor and care?

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Friendship

Oh, the comfort--the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe
  with a person,
Having neither to weigh thoughts,
Nor measure words--but pouring them
All right out--just as they are--
Chaff and grain together--
Certain that a faithful hand will
Take and sift them--
Keep what is worth keeping--
And with the breath of kindness
Blow the rest away.

--Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

Recipe For Living

Some things a man must surely know,
  If he is going to live and grow:
He needs to know that life is more
  Than what a man lays by in store,
That more than all he may obtain,
  Contentment offers greater gain.
He needs to feel the thrill of mirth,
  To sense the beauty of the earth,
To know the joy that kindness brings
  And all the worth of little things.
He needs to have an open mind,
  A friendly heart for all mankind,
A trust in self--without conceit--
  And strength to rise above defeat.
He needs to have the will to share,
  A mind to dream, a soul to dare,
A purpose firm, a path to plod,
  A faith in man, a trust in God.

--Alfred Grant Walton

It Might Have Been Worse

Of all sad words
of tongue or pen
the saddest are these:
IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

Let's add this thought
unto this verse:
It might have been
A GREAT DEAL WORSE.

Sometimes I pause and sadly think
  Of the things that might have been,
Of the golden chances I let slip by,
  And which never returned again.

Think of the joys that might have been mine;
  The prizes I almost won,
The goals I missed by a mere hair's breadth;
  And the things I might have done.

It fills me with gloom when I ponder thus,
  Till I look on the other side,
How I might have been completely engulfed
  By misfortune's surging tide.

The unknown dangers lurking about,
  Which I passed safely through
The evils and sorrows that I've been spared
  Pass plainly now in review.

So when I am downcast and feeling sad,
  I repeat over and over again,
Things are far from being as bad
  As they easily might have been.

--G.J. Russell

Should You Go First

Should you go first and I remain
  To walk the road alone,
I'll live in memory's garden, dear,
  With happy days we've known.
In Spring I'll watch for roses red
  When fades the lilac blue,
In early Fall when brown leaves call
  I'll catch a glimpse of you.

Should you go first and I remain
  For battles to be fought,
Each thing you've touched along the way
  Will be a hallowed spot.
I'll hear your voice, I'll see your smile,
  Though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
  Will buoy me on with hope.

Should you go first and I remain
  To finish with the scroll,
No length'ning shadows shall creep in
  To make this life seem droll.
We've known so much of happiness,
  We've had our cup of joy
And memory is one gift of God
  That death cannot destroy.

Should you go first and I remain,
  One thing I'd have you do;
Walk slowly down that long, lone path,
  For soon I'll follow you.
I'll want to know each step you take
  That I may walk the same.
For someday, down that lonely road,
  You'll hear me call your name.

--Albert Rowswell

The Dreams Ahead

What would we do in this world of ours
  Were it not for the dreams ahead?
For thorns are mixed with the blooming flowers
  No matter which path we tread.

And each of us has his golden goal,
  Stretching far into the years;
And ever he climbs with a hopeful soul,
  With alternate smiles and tears.

That dream ahead is what holds him up
  Through the storms of a ceaseless fight;
When his lips are pressed to the wormwood's cup
  And clouds shut out the light.

To some it's a dream of high estate;
  To some it's a dream of wealth;
To some it's a dream of a truce with Fate
  In a constant search for health.

To some it's a dream of home and wife;
  To some it's a crown above;
The dreams ahead are what make each life--
  The dreams--and faith--and love!

--Edwin Carlile Litsey

Ring Out, Wild Bells, to the Wild Sky

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
  The flying cloud, the frosty light:
  The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
  Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
  The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
  For those that here we see no more;
  Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
  And ancient forms of party strife;
  Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
  The faithless coldness of the times;
  Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
  The civic slander and the spite;
  Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
  Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
  Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
  The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
  Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

from In Memoriam
by Alfred Lord Tennyson