Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 107

"Cheer up," the sparrow chirpeth, "Thy Father feedeth me; Think how much more he careth, O lonely child, for thee!"

"Fear not," the flowers whisper; "Since thus he hath arrayed The b.u.t.tercup and daisy, How canst thou be afraid?"

Then don't you trouble trouble, Till trouble troubles you; You'll only double trouble, And trouble others too.

HE LEADS US ON

He leads us on By paths we did not know; Upward he leads us, though our steps be slow, Though oft we faint and falter on the way, Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day, Yet when the clouds are gone We know he leads us on.

He leads us on.

Through all the unquiet years; Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears, He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days We know his will is done; And still he leads us on.

And he, at last, After the weary strife-- After the restless fever we call life-- After the dreariness, the aching pain, The wayward struggles which have proved in vain, After our toils are past, Will give us rest at last.

THE DEVIL IS A FOOL

Saint Dominic, the glory of the schools, Writing, one day, "The Inquisition's" rules, Stopt, when the evening came, for want of light.

The devils, who below from morn till night, Well pleased, had seen his work, exclaimed with sorrow, "Something he will forget before to-morrow!"

One zealous imp flew upward from the place, And stood before him, with an angel face.

"I come," said he, "sent from G.o.d's Realm of Peace, To light you, lest your holy labors cease."

Well pleased, the saint wrote on with careful pen.

The candle was consumed; the devil then Lighted his _thumb_; the saint, quite undisturbed, Finished his treatise to the final word.

Then he looked up, and started with affright; For lo! the thumb blazed with a lurid light.

"Your thumb is burned!" said he. The child of sin Changed to his proper form, and with a grin Said, "I will quench it in the martyrs' blood Your book will cause to flow--a crimson flood!"

Triumphantly the fiend returned to h.e.l.l And told his story. Satan said, "'Tis well!

Your aim was good, but foolish was the deed; For blood of martyrs is the Church's seed."

--Herder, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

PROVIDENCE

We all acknowledge both thy power and love To be exact, transcendent, and divine; Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move, While all things have their will, yet none but thine,

For either thy _command_ or thy _permission_ Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left: The first puts on with speed and expedition; The other curbs sin's stealing pace and theft.

Nothing escapes them both; all must appear And be disposed and dressed and tuned by thee, Who sweetly temperest all. If we could hear Thy skill and art what music would it be!

Thou art in small things great, nor small in any; Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall.

Thou art in all things one, in each thing many; For thou art infinite in one and all.

--George Herbert.

THE MYSTERIOUS WAY

G.o.d moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take: The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; G.o.d is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.

--William Cowper.

DISAPPOINTMENT

Our yet unfinished story Is tending all to this: To G.o.d the greatest glory, To us the greatest bliss.

If all things work together For ends so grand and blest, What need to wonder whether Each in itself is best!

If some things were omitted, Or altered as we would, The whole might be unfitted To work for perfect good.

Our plans may be disjointed, But we may calmly rest; What G.o.d has once appointed, Is better than our best.

We cannot see before us, But our all-seeing Friend Is always watching o'er us, And knows the very end.

What though we seem to stumble?

He will not let us fall; And learning to be humble Is not lost time at all.

What though we fondly reckoned A smoother way to go Than where his hand hath beckoned?

It will be better so.

What only seemed a barrier A stepping-stone shall be; Our G.o.d is no long tarrier, A present help is he.

And when amid our blindness His disappointments fall, We trust his loving-kindness Whose wisdom sends them all;

The discord that involveth Some startling change of key, The Master's hand revolveth In richest harmony.

Then tremble not, and shrink not, When disappointment nears; Be trustful still, and think not To realize all fears.

While we are meekly kneeling We shall behold her rise, Our Father's love revealing, An angel in disguise.

--Frances Ridley Havergal.

G.o.d'S CARE

Not a brooklet floweth Onward to the sea, Not a sunbeam gloweth On its bosom free, Not a seed unfoldeth To the glorious air, But our Father holdeth It within his care.