Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 37

I have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; All hearts of men my coffers are, My ores arterial tides convey; The fields and skies And sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold-dust, The oaks and brooks And speaking looks Of lovers' faith and friends.h.i.+p's trust.

Life's youngest tides joy-br.i.m.m.i.n.g flow For him who lives above all years; Who all-immortal makes the Now, And is not ta'en in Time's arrears; His life's a hymn The seraphim Might stop to hear or help to sing, And to his soul The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring.

"All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith; "The wealth I am must then become Richer and richer, breath by breath-- Immortal gain, immortal room!"

And since all his Mine also is, Life's gift outruns my fancies far, And drowns the dream In larger stream, As morning drinks the morning star.

--David Atwood Wa.s.son.

HOW DOTH DEATH SPEAK OF OUR BELOVED?

How doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low, When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow?

It clothes their every gift and grace With radiance from the holiest place, With light as from an angel's face,

Recalling with resistless force And tracing to their hidden source Deeds scarcely noticed in their course--

This little loving fond device, That daily act of sacrifice, Of which too late we learned the price.

Opening our weeping eyes to trace Simple unnoticed kindnesses, Forgotten tones of tenderness,

Which evermore to us must be Sacred as hymns in infancy Learnt listening at a mother's knee.

Thus doth death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low.

Then let love antedate the work of death, And speak thus now.

How does death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low, When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow?

It sweeps their faults with heavy hand As sweeps the sea the trampled sand, Till scarce the faintest print is scanned.

It shows how much the vexing deed Was but a generous nature's weed Or some choice virtue run to seed;

How that small fretting fretfulness Was but love's overanxiousness, Which had not been had love been less;

This failing at which we repined But the dim shade of day declined Which should have made us doubly kind.

It takes each failing on our part And brands it in upon the heart With caustic power and cruel art.

The small neglect that may have pained A giant stature will have gained When it can never be explained;

The little service which had proved How tenderly we watched and loved, And those mute lips to smiles had moved;

The little gift from out our store Which might have cheered some cheerless hour When they with earth's poor needs were poor.

It shows our faults like fires at night; It sweeps their failings out of sight; It clothes their good in heavenly light.

O Christ, our life, foredate the work of death And do this now; Thou, who art love, thus hallow our beloved; Not death, but Thou!

--Elizabeth Rundle Charles.

G.o.d gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives That lamp due measure of oil: Lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide, Its comfort for others to share!

--Muleykeh.

THE NEW ERA

It is coming! it is coming! The day is just a-dawning When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother; When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning, Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother.

When the men who work for wages shall not toil from morn till even, With no vision of the sunlight, nor flowers, nor birds a-singing; When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven, Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing.

The time is coming when the man who cares not for another Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation; Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother, As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation.

The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling, And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be; And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity.

It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper; They are giving of their millions as they never gave before; They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper, And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

To a darning-needle once exclaimed the kitchen sieve, "You've a hole right through your body, and I wonder how you live."

But the needle (who was sharp) replied, "I too have wondered That you notice my _one_ hole, when in you there are a hundred!"

--Saadi, tr. by James Freeman Clarke.

LOOKING FOR PEARLS

The Master came one evening to the gate Of a fair city; it was growing late, And sending his disciples to buy food, He wandered forth intent on doing good, As was his wont. And in the market-place He saw a crowd, close gathered in one s.p.a.ce, Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground, Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck-- A dead dog with a halter round his neck, And those who stood by mocked the object there, And one said, scoffing, "It pollutes the air!"

Another, jeering, asked, "How long to-night Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?"

"Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jewish wit, "You could not cut even a shoe from it,"

And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed,"

A fourth chimed in, "an unclean wretch indeed!"

"He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried.

And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side.

Then Jesus, standing by them in the street, Looked on the poor, spent creature at his feet, And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men, "_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._" And then The people at each other gazed, asking, "Who is this stranger pitying this vile thing?"

Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath, "This surely is the Man of Nazareth; This must be Jesus, for none else but he Something to praise in a dead dog could see!"

And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head, And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

--Alexander Pope.

WHAT MIGHT BE DONE