Part 3
The lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moistening shower; Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.
The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; She draws her favors to the lowest ebb; Her tides have equal times to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in time amend.
Not always fall of leaf, nor ever Spring; Not endless night, yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. Thus, with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.
A chance may win that by mischance was lost, That net that holds no great takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crost; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall; Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. --_Robert Southwell._
OPPORTUNITY
"Master of human destinies am I! Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace--soon or late-- I knock unbidden once at every gate!
"If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore. I answer not, and I return no more." --_John James Ingalls._
The star of the unconquered will, He rises to my breast; Serene and resolute and still, And calm and self-possessed.
Oh, fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is, To suffer and be strong. --_H. W. Longfellow._
SERVICE
When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide-- Doth God exact day-labor, light denied? I fondly ask: But Patience to prevent That murmur soon replies: God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts: who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: His state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait. --_John Milton._
WHEN THE BIRDS GO NORTH AGAIN
Oh, every year hath its winter, And every year hath its rain-- But a day is always coming When the birds go north again.
When new leaves swell in the forest, And grass springs green on the plain, And the alder's veins turn crimson-- And the birds go north again.
Oh, every heart hath its sorrow, And every heart hath its pain-- But a day is always coming When the birds go north again.
'Tis the sweetest thing to remember If courage be on the wane, When the cold, dark days are over-- Why, the birds go north again. --_Ella Higginson._
BALANCING
The good we meant to do--the deeds So oft misunderstood; The thwarted good we try to do, And would do, if we could, The noble deeds we set upon And have accomplished none-- Write them--and with them credit all The bad we have not done. --_Wilbur D. Nesbit._
Believe not each accusing tongue, As most weak persons do; But still believe that story wrong Which ought not to be true. --_Sheridan._
THE INEVITABLE
I like the man who faces what he must With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; Who fights the daily battle without fear; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God--that somehow, true and just His plans work out for mortals; not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, Falls from his grasp--better, with love, a crust Than living in dishonor; envies not, Nor loses faith in man; but does his best, Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot; But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest To every toiler. He alone is great Who by a life heroic conquers fate. --_Sarah Knowles Bolton._
SYMPATHY
'Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happier hours. It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort which by daily use Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmourned 'twill fall Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellowship again; And shed on the departing soul a sense, More precious than the benison of friends About the honored deathbed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels. --_Sir Thomas N. Talfourd._
COME GOOD OR EVIL
Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart. Who misses or who wins the prize Go, lose or conquer as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman. --_William Makepeace Thackeray._
"Then let us smile when skies are gray, And laugh at stormy weather, And sing life's lonesome times away: So worry and the dreariest day Will find an end together."
RESOLVE
To keep my health! To do my work! To live! To see to it I grow and gain and give! Never to look behind me for an hour! To wait in weakness, and to walk in power; But always fronting onward toward the light, Always and always facing towards the right. Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide astray-- On, with what strength I have! Back to the way! --_Charlotte Perkins Stetson._
THE SLUGGARD
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, "You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head.
"A little more sleep, and a little more slumber," Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number, And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.
I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grew broader and higher; The clothes that hung on him are turning to rags; And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs.
I made him a visit, still hoping to find That he took better care for improving his mind; He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking; But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.
Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; This man's but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me betimes to love working and reading." --_Isaac Watts._
CROSSING THE BAR
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me, And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep, Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark; And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark.
For tho' from out our bourne of time and place, The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. --_Tennyson._
YOUNG AND OLD
When all the world is young, lad, When all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And around the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.
When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home and take your place there, The spent and maimed among; God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young. --_Charles Kingsley._
"Yes, they whose feet upon good errands run Are friends of God, with Michael of the sun; Yes, each accomplished service of the day Paves for the feet of God a lordlier way. The souls that love and labor through all wrong, They clasp His hand and make the circle strong: They lay the deep foundations, stone by stone, And build into Eternity God's throne." --_Edwin Markham._
WHEN IN DISGRACE
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee--and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at Heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. --_Shakespeare._
But in the mud and scum of things There always, always, something sings. --_Ralph Waldo Emerson._
MIZPAH
"The Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from the other."
Go thou thy way and I go mine; Apart, yet not afar; Only a thin veil hangs between The Pathways where we are; And "God keep watch t'ween thee and me," This is my prayer; He looks thy way. He looketh mine. And keeps us near.
I know not where thy road may lie, Or which way mine may be; If mine will lead through parching sands, And thine beside the sea; Yet God keeps watch 'tween thee and me. So never fear; He holds thy hand, He claspeth mine, And keeps us near.
Should wealth and fame perchance be thine, And my lot lowly be, Or you be sad or sorrowful, And glory be for me; Yet "God keeps watch 'tween thee and me," Both be His care, One arm 'round thee and one 'round me Will keep us near.
I'll sigh sometimes to see thy face, But since this cannot be, I'll leave thee to the care of Him Who cares for thee and me. "I'll keep thee both beneath my wings," This comfort dear, One wing o'er thee and one o'er me So we are near.
And though our paths be separate And thy way is not mine, Yet, coming to the mercy seat, My soul will meet with thine; And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me," I'll whisper there. He blesseth thee, He blesseth me, And we are near. --_Julia A. Baker._
TWENTY YEARS AGO
I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the schoolhouse playground, which sheltered you and me, But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know, That played with us upon the grass some twenty years ago.
The grass is just as green, Tom--barefooted boys at play Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as gay; But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow, Afforded us a sliding place, just twenty years ago.
The old schoolhouse is alter'd some, the benches are replaced By new ones, very like the same our pen-knives had defaced, But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro, It's music, just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago.
The boys were playing the same old game, beneath the same old tree-- I do forget the name just now; you've played the same with me On that same spot; 'twas play'd with knives, by throwing so and so, The loser had a task to do, just twenty years ago.
The river's running just as still, the willows on its side Are larger than they were, Tom, the stream appears less wide. But the grape-vine swing is ruin'd now where once we play'd the beau, And swung our sweethearts--"pretty girls"--just twenty years ago.
The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beech, Is very low--'twas once so high that we could almost reach; And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I even started so! To see how much that I am changed since twenty years ago.
Nearby the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same-- Some heartless wretch had peel'd the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, Just as the one whose name was cut, died twenty years ago.
My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came in my eyes, I thought of her I loved so well--those early broken ties-- I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago.
Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea, But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me, And when our time is come, Tom, and we are call'd to go, I hope they'll lay us where we played just twenty years ago. --_A. J. Gault._
'Tis not the weight of jewel or plate, Or the fondle of silk or fur; 'Tis the spirit in which the gift is rich, As the gifts of the wise ones were; And we are not told whose gift was gold, Or whose was the gift of myrrh.