Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul. Various

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      Waiting for God to begin;

      While, growing strong in the dust,

      Rests the bruised serpent of sin.

      Right and Wrong—both cannot live

      Death-grappled. Which shall we see?

      Strike! Only Justice can give

      Safety to all that shall be.

      Shame! to stand faltering thus,

      Tricked by the balancing odds;

      Strike! God is waiting for us!

      Strike! for the vengeance is God's!

      —John Hay.

      ———

      Bear a lily in thy hand;

      Gates of brass cannot withstand

      One touch of that magic wand.

      Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,

      In thy heart the dew of youth,

      On thy lips the smile of truth.

      —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

      ———

      A SINGLE STITCH

      One stitch dropped as the weaver drove

      His nimble shuttle to and fro,

      In and out, beneath, above,

      Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow

      As if the fairies had helping been;

      One small stitch which could scarce be seen,

      But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,

      And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;

      And the perfect pattern was marred for aye

      By the one small stitch that was dropped that day.

      One small life in God's great plan,

      How futile it seems as the ages roll,

      Do what it may or strive how it can

      To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!

      A single stitch in an endless web,

      A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!

      But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,

      Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;

      And each life that fails of its true intent

      Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.

      —Susan Coolidge.

      ———

      THE BLESSINGS

      An angel came from the courts of gold,

      With gifts and tidings manifold;

      With blessings many to crown the one

      Whose work of life was the noblest done.

      He came to a rich man's gilded door;

      Where a beautiful lady stood before

      His vision, fair as the saints are fair,

      With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.

      He needed not to be told her life—

      The pure young mother, the tender wife;

      He needed not to be told that she,

      In home of sorrow and poverty,

      Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;

      He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.

      "No! no!" a voice to the angel heart

      Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."

      He found a door that was worn and old;

      The night was damp and the wind was cold.

      A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;

      The midnight lamp to her features lent

      A paler look as she toiled the while,

      But yet the mouth had a restful smile.

      Doing her duty with honest pride;

      Breasting temptation on every side.

      "For her the blessings," the angel said,

      And touched with pity the girlish head.

      "No time nor money for alms has she,

      But duty is higher than charity."

      —Sarah Knowles Bolton.

      ———

      DUTIES

      I reach a duty, yet I do it not,

      And therefore see no higher; but, if done,

      My view is brightened and another spot

      Seen on my moral sun.

      For, be the duty high as angels' flight,

      Fulfill it, and a higher will arise

      E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite—

      Receding as the skies.

      And thus it is the purest most deplore

      Their want of purity. As fold by fold,

      In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more

      Of duty they behold.

      Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes

      On duties crowding only to appal?

      No; duty is our ladder to the skies,

      And, СКАЧАТЬ