Sonnet XXIX

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's
            eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless
            cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends pos-
            sess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's
            scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despis-
            ing,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's
            gate:
    For thy sweet love remember'd such
            wealth brings
    That then I scorn to change my state with
            kings.

                       ~ William Shakespeare

Crowded Ways of Life

[Written in reply to The House by the Side
    of the Road, by Sam Walter Foss.]

'Tis only a half truth the poet has sung
   Of the "house by the side of the way."
Our Master had neither a house nor a home,
   But He walked with the crowd day by day.
And I think, when I read of the poet's desire,
   That a house by the road would be good;
But service is found in its tenderest form
   When we walk with the crowd in the road.

So I say, Let me walk with the men in the road,
   Let me seek out the burdens that crush,
Let me speak a kind word of good cheer to the weak
   Who are falling behind in the rush.
There are wounds to be healed, there are breaks we must mend,
   There's a cup of cold water to give;
And the man in the road by the side of his friend
   Is the man who has learned to live.

Then tell me no more of the house by the road;
   There is only one place I can live--
It's there with the men who are toiling along,
   Who are needing the cheer I can give.
It is pleasant to live in the house by the way
   And be a friend, as the poet has said;
But the Master is bidding us: "Bear ye their load,
   For your rest waiteth younder ahead."

I could not remain in the house by the road
   And watch as the toilers go on,
Their faces beclouded with pain and with sin,
   So burdened their strength nearly gone.
I'll go to their side, I'll speak in good cheer,
   I'll help them to carry their load;
And I'll smile at the man in the house by the way,
   Too happy for such an abode.
And my heart sings its praise to the Master of all,
   Who is helping me serve in the road.

                              ~ Walter S. Gresham

The House By the Side of the Road

"He was a friend to man, and lived
in a house by the side of the road."
                                    ~ Homer

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
   In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
   In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
   Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
   And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
   Where the race of men go by--
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
   As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
   Or hurl the cynic's ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
   And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
   By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
   The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears--
   Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
   And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
   And mountains of wearisome height,
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
   And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
   And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
   Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
   Where the race of men go by--
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
   Wise, foolish--so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
   Or hurl the cynic's ban?--
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
   And be a friend to man.
              
                                         ~ Sam Walter Foss

Morning Prayer

ALMIGHTY GOD, Who art ever present in
the world without me, in my spirit within me,
and in the unseen world above me, let me car-
ry with me through this day's life a most real
sense of Thy power and Thy glory.

O God without me, forbid that I should look
today upon the work of Thy hands and give
no thought to Thee the Maker. Let the heav-
ens declare Thy glory to me and the hills Thy
majesty. Let every fleeting loveliness I see
speak to me of a loveliness that does not fade.
Let the beauty of earth be to me a sacrament
of the beauty of holiness made manifest in
Jesus Christ my Lord.

O God within me, give me grace today to
recognize the stirrings of Thy Spirit within
my soul and to listen most attentively to all
that Thou hast to say to me. Let not the noises
of the world ever so confuse me that I cannot
hear Thee speak. . .

O God above me, God Who dwellest in light
unapproachable, teach me, I beseech Thee,
that even my highest thoughts of Thee are but
dim and distant shadowings of Thy transcend-
ent glory. Teach me that if Thou art in nature,
still more art Thou greater than nature. Teach
me that if Thou art in my heart, still more art
Thou greater than my heart. Let my soul re-
joice in Thy mysterious greatness. Let me take
refuge in the thought that Thou art utterly be-
yond me, beyond the sweep of my imagination,
beyond the comprehension of my mind; Thy
judgments being unsearchable and Thy ways
past finding out.

O Lord, hallowed be Thy name. Amen

                       ~ A Diary of Private Prayer
                          John Baillie, D.D., D.Litt.

OPPORTUNITY

They do me wrong who say I come no more
   When once I knock and fail to find you in,
For every day I stand outside your door
   And bid you wake, and rise to fight and win.

Wail not for precious chances passed away,
   Weep not for golden ages on the wane!
Each night I burn the records of the day;
   At sunrise every soul is born again.

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,
   To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;
My judgments seal the dead past with its dead,
   But never bind a moment yet to come.

Tho' deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep;
   I lend my arm to all who say, "I can!"
No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep
   But yet might rise and be again a man.

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?
   Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?
Then turn from blotted archives of the past
   And find the future's pages white as snow.

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell;
   Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven;
Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell,
   Each night a star to guide thy feet to Heaven.

                                  ~ Walter Malone

Who Are My People?

My People? Who are they?
I went into the church where the congregation
Worshiped my God. Were they my people?
I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.
My people! Where are they?
I went into the land where I was born,
Where men spoke my language . . .
I was a stranger there.
"My people," my soul cried. "Who are my people?"

Last night in the rain I met an old man
Who spoke a language I do not speak,
Which marked him as one who does not know my God.
With apologetic smile he offered me
The shelter of his patched umbrella.
I met his eyes . . . and then I knew . . .

                   ~ Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni

Hold Fast Your Dreams

Hold fast your dreams!
Within your heart
Keep one still, secret spot
Where dreams may go,
And, sheltered so,
May thrive and grow
Where doubt and fear are not.
O keep a place apart,
Within your heart,
For little dreams to go!

Think still of lovely things that are not true.
Let wish and magic work at will in you.
Be sometimes blind to sorrow. Make believe!
Forget the calm that lies
In disillusioned eyes.
Though we all know that we must die,
Yet you and I
May walk like gods and be
Even now at home in immortality.

We see so many ugly things--
Deceits and wrongs and quarrelings;
We know, alas! we know
How quickly fade
The color in the west,
The bloom upon the flower,
The bloom upon the breast
And youth's blind hour.
Yet keep within your heart
A place apart
Where little dreams may go,
May thrive and grow.
Hold fast--hold fast your dreams!

                ~ Louise Driscoll

WAITING

Serene I fold my arms and wait,
   Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea:
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
   For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
   For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
   And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
   The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
   Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?
   I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
   And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own, and draw
   The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
   Unto the soul of pure delight.

The floweret nodding in the wind
   Is ready plighted to the bee;
And, maiden, why that look unkind?
   For lo! thy lover seeketh thee.

The stars come nightly to the sky;
   The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high
   Can keep my own away from me.

                     ~ John Burroughs

Who Walks With Beauty

Who walks with Beauty has no need of fear;
The sun and moon and stars keep pace with him;
Invisible hands restore the ruined year,
And time itself grows beautifully dim.
One hill will keep the footprints of the moon
That came and went a hushed and secret hour;
One star at dusk will yield the lasting boon;
Remembered beauty's white immortal flower.

Who takes of Beauty wine and daily bread
Will know no lack when bitter years are lean;
The brimming cup is by, the feast is spread;
The sun and moon and stars his eyes have seen
Are for his hunger and the thirst he slakes:
The wine of beauty and the bread he breaks.

                               ~ David Morton

A Farewell

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
   No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
                    For every day.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
   Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
                    One grand, sweet song.

                                     ~ Charles Kingsley

HAPPINESS

Happiness is like a crystal,
Fair and exquisite and clear,
Broken in a million pieces,
Shattered, scattered far and near.
Now and then along life's pathway,
Lo! some shining fragments fall;
But there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

You may find a bit of beauty,
Or an honest share of wealth,
While another just beside you
Gathers honor, love or health.
Vain to choose or grasp unduly,
Broken is the perfect ball;
And there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

Yet the wise as on they journey
Treasure every fragment clear,
Fit them as they may together,
Imaging the shattered sphere,
Learning ever to be thankful,
Though their share of it is small;
For it has so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

              ~ Priscilla Leonard

Where Are You Going, Greatheart?

Where are you going, Greatheart,
With your eager face and your fiery grace?
   Where are you going, Greatheart?

"To fight a fight with all my might,
For Truth and Justice, God and Right,
To grace all Life with His fair Light."
   Then God go with you, Greatheart!

Where are you going, Greatheart?
"To beard the Devil in his den;
To smite him with the strength of ten;
To set at large the souls of men."
   Then God go with you, Greatheart!

        *      *      *      *      *      *     

Where are you going, Greatheart?
"To cleanse the earth of noisome things;
To draw from life its poison stings;
To give free play to Freedom's wings."
   Then God go with you, Greatheart!

Where are you going, Greatheart?
"To lift Today above the Past;
To make Tomorrow sure and fast;
To nail God's colors to the mast."
   Then God go with you, Greatheart!

Where are you going, Greatheart?
"To break down old dividing lines;
To carry out my Lord's designs;
To build again His broken shrines."
   Then God go with you, Greatheart!

Where are you going, Greatheart?
"To set all burdened peoples free;
To win for all God's liberty;
To 'stablish His sweet sovereignty."
   God goeth with you, Greatheart!

                    ~ John Oxenham

The Abiding Love

It singeth low in every heart,
   We hear it each and all--
A song of those who answer not,
   However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast,
   We see them as of yore--
The kind, the brave, the sweet,
   Who walk with us no more.

'Tis hard to take the burden up
   When these have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
   They softened every frown;
But, Oh, 'tis good to think of them
   When we are troubled sore!
Thanks be to God that such have been.
   Although they are no more.

More homelike seems the vast unknown
   Since they have entered there;
To follow them were not so hard,
   Wherever they may fare;
They cannot be where God is not,
   On any sea or shore;
Whate'er betides, thy love abides,
   Our God, forever more.

     ~ John White Chadwick

The Rose Still Grows Beyond the Wall

Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
   Budded and blossomed in God's free light,
Watered and fed by morning dew,
   Shedding its sweetness day and night.

As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
   Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall,
   Through which there shone a beam of light.

Onward it crept with added strength,
   With never a thought of fear or pride.
It followed the light through the crevice's length
   And unfolded itself on the other side.

The light, the dew, the broadening view
   Were found the same as they were before;
And it lost itself in beauties new,
   Breathing its fragrance more and more.

Shall claim of death cause us to grieve,
   And make our courage faint or fail?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive:
   The rose still grows beyond the wall.

Scattering fragrance far and wide,
   Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
   Just as it will for evermore.

        ~ A. L. Frink

The Unknown

I do not understand . . .
   They bring so many, many flowers to me--
Rainbows of roses, wreaths from every land;
   And hosts of solemn strangers come to see
My tomb here on these quiet, wooded heights.
   My tomb here seems to be
One of the sights.

The low-voiced men, who speak
   Of me quite fondly, call me "The Unknown":
But now and then at dusk, Madonna-meek,
   Bent, mournful mothers come to me alone
And whisper down--the flowers and grasses through--
   Such names as "Jim" and "John" . . .
I wish they knew.

And once my sweetheart came.
   She did not--nay, of course she could not--know,
But thought of me and crooned to me the name
   She called me by--how many years ago?
A very precious name. Her eyes were wet,
   Yet glowing, flaming so . . .
She won't forget.

                ~ E. O. Laughlin

Methuselah

Methuselah ate what he found on his plate,
And never, as people do now,
Did he note the amount of the calory count;
He ate it because it was chow.
He wasn't disturbed as at dinner he sat,
Devouring a roast or a pie,
To think it was lacking in granular fat
Or a couple of vitamins shy.
He cheerfully chewed each species of food,
Unmindful of troubles or fears
Lest his health might be hurt
By some fancy dessert;
And he lived over nine hundred years.

                              ~ Unknown

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

Reward of Service

The sweetest lives are those to duty wed,
Whose deeds both great and small
Are close-knit strands of an unbroken thread,
Where love ennobles all.
The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells,
The Book of Life the slurring record tells.

Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes,
After its own like working. A child's kiss
Set on thy singing lips shall make thee glad;
A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;
Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest.

                    ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

God, The Artist

God, when You thought of a pine tree,
   How did You think of a star?
How did You dream of a damson West
   Crossed by an inky bar?
How did You think of a clear brown pool
   Where flocks of shadows are?

God, when You thought of a cobweb,
   How did You think of dew?
How did You know a spider's house
   Had shingles, bright and new?
How did You know we human folk
   Would love them as we do?

God, when You patterned a bird song,
   Flung on a silver string,
How did You know the ecstasy
   That crystal call would bring?
How did You think of a bubbling throat
   And a darling speckled wing?

God, when You chiseled a raindrop,
   How did You think of a stem
Bearing a lovely satin leaf
   To hold the tiny gem?
How did You know a million drops
   Would deck the morning's hem?

Why did You mate the moonlit night
   With the honeysuckle vines?
How did You know Madeira bloom
   Distilled ecstatic wines?
How did You weave the velvet dusk
   Where tangled perfumes are?
God, when You thought of pine tree,
   How did You think of a star?

                     ~ Angela Morgan

When Wilt Thou Save the People?

When wilt Thou save the people?
   O God of mercy, when?
Not kings and lords, but nations!
   Not thrones and crowns, but men!
Flowers of Thy heart, O God, are they;
Let them not pass, like weeds, away,
Their heritage, a sunless day.
   God, save the people.

Shall crime bring crime forever,
   Strength aiding still the strong?
Is it Thy will, O Father,
   That man shall toil for wrong?
No, say Thy mountains; No, Thy skies;
Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise,
And songs ascend, instead of sighs.
   God, save the people!

When wilt Thou save the people?
   O God of mercy, when?
The people, Lord, the people,
   Not thrones and crowns, but men!
God, save the people, Thine they are,
Thy children as Thine angels fair.
From vice, oppression, and despair,
   God, save the people!

                ~ Ebenezer Elliott

Life Sculpture

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy
   With his marble block before him,
And his eyes lit up with a smile of joy,
   As an angel dream passed o'er him.

He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
   With many a sharp incision;
With Heaven's own light the sculptor shone--
   He'd caught that angel vision.

Children of life are we, as we stand
   With our lives uncarved before us,
Waiting the hour when, at God's command,
   Our life dream shall pass o'er us.

If we carve it then on the yielding stone,
   With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
   Our lives that angel vision.

                   ~ William Croswell Doane

O God, The Rock of Ages

O God, the Rock of Ages,
   Who evermore hast been,
What time the tempest rages,
   Our dwelling-place serene:
Before Thy first creations,
   O Lord, the same as now,
To endless generations,
   The Everlasting Thou!

Our years are like the shadows
   On sunny hills that lie,
Or grasses in the meadows
   That blossom but to die:
A sleep, a dream, a story,
   By strangers quickly told,
An unremaining glory
   Of things that soon are old.

O Thou Who canst not slumber,
   Whose light grows never pale,
Teach us aright to number
   Our years before they fail!
On us Thy mercy lighten,
   On us Thy goodness rest,
And let Thy Spirit brighten
   The hearts Thyself hast blessed!

           ~ Edward H. Bickersteth

The Hidden Line

There is a time, we know not when,
   A point we know not where,
That marks the destiny of men
   To glory or despair.

There is a line by us unseen,
   That crosses every path;
The hidden boundary between
   God's patience and His wrath.

To pass that limit is to die,
   To die as if by stealth;
It does not quench the beaming eye,
   Or pale the glow of health.

The conscience may be still at ease,
   The spirits light and gay;
That which is pleasing still may please,
   And care be thrust away.

But on that forehead God has set
   Indelibly a mark,
Unseen by man, for man as yet
   Is blind and in the dark.

And yet the doomed man's path below
   May bloom as Eden bloomed;
He did not, does not, will not know,
   Or feel that he is doomed.

He knows, he feels that all is well,
   And every fear is calmed;
He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell,
   Not only doomed, but damned.

Oh! where is that mysterious bourne
   By which our path is crossed;
Beyond which, God Himself hath sworn,
   That he who goes is lost.

How far may we go on in sin?
   How long will God forbear?
Where does hope end, and where begin
   The confines of despair?

An answer from the skies is sent;
   "Ye that from God depart,
While it's called to-day, repent,
   And harden not your heart."

         ~ Dr. J. Addison Alexander

Dried Apple Pies

I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat,
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried apple pies.
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit,
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

                    ~ Unknown

Sleep Sweet

Sleep sweet within this quiet room,
   O thou, whoe'er thou art,
And let no mournful yesterdays
   Disturb thy peaceful heart.

Nor let tomorrow mar thy rest
   With dreams of coming ill:
Thy Maker is thy changeless friend,
   His love surrounds thee still.

Forget thyself and all the world,
   Put out each garish light:
The stars are shining overhead--
   Sleep sweet! Good night! Good night!

        ~ Ellen M. Huntington Gates

LOVE

I LOVE YOU,
Not for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can't help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good,
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.

You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

     ~ Roy Croft

Love's Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river,
   And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever,
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle:--
   Why not I with thine?

See! the mountains kiss high heaven,
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:--
What are all these kissings worth,
   If thou kiss not me?

                 ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

Beautiful Things

Beautiful faces are those that wear--
It matters little if dark or fair--
Whole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where hearthfires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is honest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go
On kindly ministries to and fro,
Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care
With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless
Silent rivers of happiness,
Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.

Beautiful twilight at set of sun,
Beautiful goal with race well won,
Beautiful rest with work well done.

Beautiful graves where grasses creep,
Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep
Over worn-out hands--oh! beautiful sleep!

                          ~ Ellen P. Allerton