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