Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 36

KINDNESS

A little word in kindness spoken, A motion, or a tear, Has often healed the heart that's broken And made a friend sincere.

A word, a look, has crushed to earth Full many a budding flower, Which, had a smile but owned its birth, Would bless life's darkest hour.

Then deem it not an idle thing A pleasant word to speak; The face you wear, the thought you bring, A heart may heal or break.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

IF WE KNEW

If we knew the cares and sorrows Crowded round our neighbor's way, If we knew the little losses, Sorely grievous, day by day, Would we then so often chide him For the lack of thrift and gain, Leaving on his heart a shadow Leaving on our hearts a stain?

If we knew the clouds above us, Held by gentle blessings there, Would we turn away, all trembling, In our blind and weak despair?

Would we shrink from little shadows Lying on the dewy gra.s.s While 'tis only birds of Eden Just in mercy flying past?

Let us reach within our bosoms For the key to other lives, And with love to erring natures Cherish good that still survives; So that when our disrobed spirits Soar to realms of light again, We may say, "Dear Father, judge us As we judged our fellow men."

Time to me this truth hath taught, 'Tis a truth that's worth revealing: More offend from want of thought Than from want of feeling.

If advice we would convey, There's a time we should convey it; If we've but a word to say, There's a time in which to say it.

HONOR ALL MEN

Great Master! teach us how to hope in man: We lift our eyes upon his works and ways, And disappointment chills us as we gaze, Our dream of him so far the truth outran, So far his deeds are ever falling short.

And then we fold our graceful hands and say, "The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away, O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought, Because the humble souls of Galilee Were tuned not to the music of thine own And chimed not to the pulsing undertone Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea?

Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend, When we so daintily do condescend.

--Martha Perry Howe.

BROTHERHOOD

That plenty but reproaches me Which leaves my neighbor bare.

Not wholly glad my heart can be While his is bowed with care.

If I go free, and sound, and stout, While his poor fetters clank, Unsated still, I'll still cry out, And plead with Whom I thank.

Almighty, thou who Father be Of him, of me, of all, Draw us together, him and me, That, whichsoever fall,

The other's hand may fail him not-- The other's strength decline No task of succor that his lot May claim from son of thine.

I would be fed. I would be clad.

I would be housed and dry.

But if so be my heart is sad-- What benefit have I?

Best he whose shoulders best endure The load that brings relief; And best shall be his joy secure Who shares that joy with grief.

--Edward Sandford Martin.

THE LIFE I SEEK

Not in some cloistered cell Dost thou, Lord, bid me dwell My love to show, But 'mid the busy marts, Where men with burdened hearts Do come and go.

Some tempted soul to cheer When breath of ill is near And foes annoy; The sinning to restrain, To ease the throb of pain-- Be such my joy.

Lord, make me quick to see Each task awaiting me, And quick to do; Oh, grant me strength, I pray, With lowly love each day, And purpose true,

To go as Jesus went, Spending and being spent, Myself forgot; Supplying human needs By loving words and deeds-- Oh, happy lot!

--Robert M. Offord.

THY BROTHER

When thy heart with joy o'erflowing Sings a thankful prayer, In thy joy, O let thy brother With thee share.

When the harvest sheaves ingathered Fill thy barns with store, To thy G.o.d and to thy brother Give the more.

If thy soul with power uplifted Yearns for glorious deed, Give thy strength to serve thy brother In his need.

Hast thou borne a secret sorrow In thy lonely breast?

Take to thee thy sorrowing brother For a guest.

Share with him thy bread of blessing, Sorrow's burden share; When thy heart enfolds a brother, G.o.d is there.

--Theodore Chickering Williams.

ALL'S WELL

Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half life's good to me: Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force To show how sweet it is to be!

Thy witching dream And pictured scheme To match the fact still want the power: Thy promise brave-- From birth to grave-- Life's boon may beggar in an hour.

"Ask and receive," 'tis sweetly said; Yet what to plead for know I not; For wish is wasted, hope o'ersped, And aye to thanks returns my thought.

If I would pray, I've naught to say But this, that G.o.d may be G.o.d still; For him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish, his will.

O wealth of life beyond all bound!

Eternity each moment given!

What plummet may the Present sound Who promises a future heaven?

Or glad or grieved, Oppressed, relieved, In blackest night or brightest day, Still pours the flood Of golden good, And more than heartful fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I possess No petty province, but the whole.

What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul, Talk not of store, Millions or more-- Of values which the purse may hold-- But this divine!

I own the mine Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.