Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 26

Find out what G.o.d would have you do, And do that little well; For what is great and what is small 'Tis only he can tell.

SERVICE

USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR

WAKING

I have done at length with dreaming; Henceforth, O thou soul of mine!

Thou must take up sword and buckler, Waging warfare most divine.

Life is struggle, combat, victory!

Wherefore have I slumbered on With my forces all unmarshaled, With my weapons all undrawn?

O how many a glorious record Had the angels of me kept Had I done instead of doubted, Had I warred instead of wept!

But begone, regret, bewailing!

Ye had weakened at the best; I have tried the trusty weapons Resting erst within my breast.

I have wakened to my duty, To a knowledge strong and deep, That I recked not of aforetime, In my long inglorious sleep.

For the end of life is service, And I felt it not before, And I dreamed not how stupendous Was the meaning that it bore.

In this subtle sense of being, Newly stirred in every vein, I can feel a throb electric-- Pleasure half allied with pain.

'Tis so sweet, and yet so awful, So bewildering, yet brave, To be king in every conflict Where before I crouched a slave!

'Tis so glorious to be conscious Of a growing power within Stronger than the rallying forces Of a charged and marshaled sin!

Never in those old romances Felt I half the thrill of life That I feel within me stirring, Standing in this place of strife.

O those olden days of dalliance, When I wantoned with my fate; When I trifled with the knowledge That had well-nigh come too late.

Yet, my soul, look not behind thee; Thou hast work to do at last; Let the brave toil of the present Overarch the crumbling past.

Build thy great acts high and higher; Build them on the conquered sod Where thy weakness first fell bleeding, And thy first prayer rose to G.o.d.

--Caroline Atherton Mason.

SMALL BEGINNINGS

A traveler through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breathe its early vows; And age was pleased, in heat of noon, to bask beneath its boughs; The dormouse loved its dangling twigs the birds sweet music bore; It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way amid the gra.s.s and fern, A pa.s.sing stranger scooped a well where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.

He pa.s.sed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside.

A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new; A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true.

It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame.

The thought was small; its issue great; a watchfire on the hill, It shed its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still!

A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unstudied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown--a transitory breath-- It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death.

O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast!

Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last!

--Charles Mackay.

THE CHOIR INVISIBLE

O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rect.i.tude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.

So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing as beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man.

So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed and agonized, With widening retrospect that bred despair.

Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child Poor, anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air.

And all our rarer, better, truer, self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better--saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the mult.i.tude Divinely human, raising wors.h.i.+p so To higher reverence more mixed with love-- That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, Unread forever.

This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty-- Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense.

So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.

--George Eliot.

MY TASK

To love some one more dearly ev'ry day, To help a wandering child to find his way, To ponder o'er a n.o.ble thought, and pray, And smile when evening falls.

To follow truth as blind men long for light, To do my best from dawn of day till night, To keep my heart fit for His holy sight, And answer when He calls.

--Maude Louise Ray.

"IT IS MORE BLESSED"

Give! as the morning that flows out of heaven; Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give! as the free air and suns.h.i.+ne are given; Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give!

Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing; Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing; Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing: Give as He gave thee who gave thee to live.

Pour out thy love like the rush of a river, Wasting its waters, forever and ever, Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver: Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.

Scatter thy life as the summer's shower pouring; What if no bird through the pearl rain is soaring?

What if no blossom looks upward adoring?

Look to the life that was lavished for thee!

So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses: Evil and thankless the desert it blesses; Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses; Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.

What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?

What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?