Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 133

LIFE

TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER

WITHOUT HASTE AND WITHOUT REST

Without haste and without rest; Bind the motto to thy breast.

Bear it with thee as a spell, Storm or sunshine, guard it well!

Heed not flowers that round thee bloom; Bear it onward to the tomb!

Haste not--let no thoughtless deed Mar the spirit's steady speed; Ponder well, and know the right, Onward, then, with all thy might; Haste not--years can ne'er atone For one reckless action done!

Rest not--life is sweeping by.

Do and dare before you die; Something worthy and sublime Leave behind to conquer time; Glorious 'tis to live for aye, When these forms have pa.s.sed away.

Haste not--rest not. Calm in strife Meekly bear the storms of life; Duty be thy polar guide; Do the right, whate'er betide; Haste not--rest not. Conflicts past, G.o.d shall crown thy work at last!

--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

WHY DO I LIVE?

I live for those who love me; For those I know are true; For the heaven that smiles above me And awaits my spirit too; For all human ties that bind me, For the task my G.o.d a.s.signed me, For the bright hope left behind me, And the good that I can do.

I live to learn their story Who suffered for my sake, To emulate their glory And follow in their wake; Bards, martyrs, patriots, sages, The n.o.bles of all ages.

Whose deeds crown History's pages And time's great volume make.

I live to hail the season-- By gifted minds foretold-- When man shall live by reason, And not alone for gold; When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was of old.

I live to hold communion With all that is divine, To feel that there is union 'Twixt nature's heart and mine; To profit by affliction, Reap truth from fields of fiction, Grow wiser from conviction, Fulfilling G.o.d's design.

I live for those who love me, For those who know me true, For the heaven that smiles above me And awaits my spirit too; For the wrongs that need resistance, For the cause that needs a.s.sistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do.

--George Linnaeus Banks.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Beautiful faces are those that wear-- It matters little if dark or fair-- Whole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show Like crystal panes where hearth fires glow, Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words Leap from the heart like songs of birds, Yet whose utterances prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do Work that is earnest, and brave, and true, Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go On kindly ministries to and fro-- Down lowliest ways, if G.o.d wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear Ceaseless burdens of homely care With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless-- Silent rivers of happiness Whose hidden fountain but few may guess.

Beautiful twilight, at set of sun; Beautiful goal, with race well won; Beautiful rest, with work well done.

Beautiful graves, where gra.s.ses creep, Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep Over worn-out hands--O, beautiful sleep.

AT SUNSET

It isn't the thing you do, dear, It's the thing you've left undone Which gives you a bit of heartache At the setting of the sun.

The tender word forgotten, The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts to-night.

The stone you might have lifted Out of a brother's way, The bit of heartsome counsel You were hurried too much to say, The loving touch of the hand, dear, The gentle and winsome tone That you had no time or thought for, With troubles enough of your own.

The little act of kindness, So easily out of mind; Those chances to be angels, Which every mortal finds-- They come in night and silence-- Each chill, reproachful wraith-- When hope is faint and flagging, And a blight has dropped on faith.

For life is all too short, dear, And sorrow is all too great, To suffer our slow compa.s.sion That tarries until too late; And it's not the thing you do, dear, It's the thing you leave undone, Which gives you the bit of heartache At the setting of the sun.

--Margaret E. Sangster.

THE BUILDERS

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with ma.s.sive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise Time is with material filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the G.o.ds see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house where G.o.ds may dwell Beautiful, entire, and clean;

Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain To those turrets where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain And one boundless reach of sky.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.

--Joseph Addison.