Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 50

II.

The Man who Loved the Soul of Things Went forth serene and glad, And mused upon the mighty world, And people called him mad.

An unseen presence walked with him Forever by his side, The wedded mistress of his soul-- For Wisdom was his bride.

She showed him all this mighty frame, And bade him feel--but named no name.

She stood with him upon the hills Ringed by the azure sky, And shamed his lowly thought with stars And bade it climb as high.

And all the birds he could not name, The nameless stars that roll, The unnamed blossoms at his feet Talked with him soul to soul; He heard the Nameless Glory speak In silence--and was very meek.

--Sam Walter Foss.

THE INQUIRY

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!

I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpa.s.sed the meter!

I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought!

Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost heart portrayed!

I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!

Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!

Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest, And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pa.s.s the portals of s.h.i.+ning gold.

A SONG OF LOW DEGREE

He that is down need fear no fall; He that is low, no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have G.o.d to be his guide.

I am content with what I have, Little be it, or much; And, Lord, contentment still I crave, Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is That go on pilgrimage; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age.

--John Bunyan.

NOT YET PREPARED

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?

O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?

Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?

Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.

Submit thyself to G.o.d for preparation, Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord; Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.

Satan is pleased when man dictates to G.o.d.

Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample On each self-flattering fancy that appears; Did not the Lord himself, for our example, Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?

RECESSIONAL

G.o.d of our fathers, known of old-- Lord of our far-flung battle-line-- Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine-- Lord G.o.d of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies-- The Captains and the Kings depart-- Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord G.o.d of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget.

Far-called our navies melt away-- On dune and headland sinks the fire-- Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.

Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget.

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not thee in awe-- Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law-- Lord G.o.d of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget.

For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard-- All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard.

For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.

--Rudyard Kipling.

In humbleness, O Lord, I ask That thou bestow on me The will and strength to do some task For growth of love for thee; Some task, not of my chosen will-- For wisdom is not mine-- But let my frailsome life fulfill Some perfect thought of thine.

I WILL NOT SEEK

I cannot think but G.o.d must know About the thing I long for so; I know he is so good, so kind, I cannot think but he will find Some way to help, some way to show Me to the thing I long for so.

I stretch my hand; it lies so near, It looks so sweet, it looks so dear, "Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know If it is wrong to want it so!"

He only smiles, he does not speak; My heart grows weaker and more weak With looking at the thing so dear, Which lies so far, and yet so near.

Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet This thing which looks so near, so sweet; I will not seek, I will not long; I almost fear I have been wrong; I'll go, and work the harder, Lord, And wait, till by some loud, clear word Thou callest me to thy loved feet To take this thing so dear, so sweet.

--Saxe Holm.

TRIUMPHING IN OTHERS

Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong, Finish what I begin, And all I fail of win.

What matter, I or they, Mine or another's day, So the right word be said, And life the sweeter made?

Ring, bells in unreared steeples, The joy of unborn peoples!

Sound, trumpets far-off blown, Your triumph is my own.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be; Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.

A grain of glory mixed with humbleness Cures both a fever and lethargickness.

--George Herbert.