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A cheery maiden's love As large as heaven and earth-- That were a gift to prove How much this life is worth.
XIII.
Fast by Eternal Truth, And on a sunny mountain, Springs that perennial fountain Which gives immortal youth; And all who bathe therein Are washed from every sin.
XIV.
It is to _do_ the best, Unmindful of reward, Which brings the sweetest rest And nearness to the Lord; And this has been thy aim, And will be to the end, Knows she who writes her name As thy unchanging friend.
XV.
Words--words--and pen and ink, But not a thought to think!
And yet, perhaps, perchance, Who knows his ignorance Is not the greatest fool, Although long out of school.
XVI.
Our greatest glory, friend, Is chiefly found herein-- That when we fall, offend, We quickly rise from sin, And make the very shame, Which gathered round our name Like many scorpion rings, The stairs to better things In that high citadel Which has a warning bell.
XVII.
Whence honor, wealth, or fame, Which G.o.d delights to see?
Out of a blameless name, Born of Eternity.
And these are prizes At G.o.d's a.s.sizes, Reported day by day, Which no man takes away.
XVIII.
Life is movement, action, Joy, and benefaction.
Rest is bravely doing, While the past reviewing, Still the years forecasting With the Everlasting.
Such be days of thine, Such thy rest divine.
XIX.
The brook's joy Does not cloy.
Too much sun, Too much rain; Work is done Not in vain.
Sun receives And cloud leaves Just enough.
Skies are black And winds rough, Yet no lack Of good will; For 'tis still Understood G.o.d is good.
XX.
The brook's rest Is rest indeed; The brook's quest Is daily need.
Thoughts of to-morrow They bring no sorrow; And so it babbles away, And does the work of to-day.
XXI.
The brook knows the joy Down in the heart of a boy, And the swallow kens the whirl Up in the head of a girl.
XXII.
How many a psalm is heard From yon rejoicing bird, That finds its daily food And feels that G.o.d is good!
That little life's employ Is toil and song and joy.
Hast music in thy heart, O toiler day by day, Along life's rugged way?
Then what thou hast thou art.
XXIII.
True, Good, and Beautiful!
A perfect line Of love and sainthood full-- And it is thine.
XXIV.
Thou doest well, dear friend, Thy labor is not lost.
As notes in music blend, So here Affection's host.
Their names thy book within, Their thoughts of love and truth, Are worth the cost to win-- First trophies of thy youth.
This little Alb.u.m thine Suggests to Book Divine-- The Book of Life, G.o.d's own.
What names are written there!
What names are there unknown!
Hast thou no thought or care?
I do thee wrong to ask-- G.o.d speed the n.o.bler task Until thy labor prove Indeed a work of love!
XXV.
True friends Are through friends To the next world-- That unvexed world.
What will friends be good for When the witness is needless they stood for?
