The Bible Story Part 114

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like m.u.f.fled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,--act in the living Present!

Heart within, and G.o.d o'erhead! {441}

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and s.h.i.+pwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_.

By permission of Houghton. Mifflin & Co.

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WHILE THEE I SEEK, PROTECTING POWER

While Thee I seek, protecting Power, Be my vain wishes stilled; And may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled.

Thy love the power of thought bestowed, To Thee my thoughts would soar, Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed, That mercy I adore.

In each event of life, how clear Thy ruling hand I see; Each blessing to my soul more dear, Because conferred by Thee.

In every joy that crowns my days, In every pain I bear, My heart shall find delight in praise, Or seek relief in prayer.

When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall fill; Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet Thy will.

My lifted eye, without a tear, The lowering storm shall see; My steadfast heart shall know no fear, That heart will rest on Thee.

--_Helen Maria Williams_.

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[Ill.u.s.tration]

MADONNA DELLA TENDA By Raphael (1483-1520)

"Think ye the notes of holy song On Milton's tuneful ear have died?

Think ye that Raphael's angel throng Has vanished from his side?

"Oh, no!--We live our life again; Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, The pictures of the Past remain,-- Man's works shall follow him!"

--_John Greenleaf Whittier_.

[End ill.u.s.tration]

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OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT

Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken, The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.

When I remember all The friends, so link'd together, I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one Who treads alone, Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.

Thus in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.

--_Thomas Moore_.

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THE BRIDGE

I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church tower.

I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them, Rose the belated tide, And, streaming into the moonlight, The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rus.h.i.+ng Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o'er me That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, O how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky! {447}

How often, O how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me, It is buried in the sea; And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands Of care enc.u.mbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow, Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession Still pa.s.sing to and fro, The young heart hot and restless, And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever, As long as the river flows, As long as the heart has pa.s.sions, As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection And its shadows shall appear As the symbol of love in heaven, And its wavering image here.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_.