Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 40

THE MAN WITH A GRUDGE

There once was a man who bore a grudge.

Stoutly he bore it many a year.

"Beware!" said the parson. He answered, "Fudge!

Well it becomes me, never fear.

"Men for this world, and saints for heaven; Too much of meekness shows a fool; My loaf shall rise with a livelier leaven; 'Give as you get,' is a good old rule."

The longer he bore it, the more it grew, Grew his grudge, as he trudged along; Till in sight of a pearly gate he drew, And he heard within it a wondrous song.

The shining porter said, "Walk in."

He sought to do so; the gate was strait: Hard he struggled his way to win, The way was narrow, the grudge was great.

He turned in haste to lay it down; He strove to tear it away--to cut-- But it had fast to his heart strings grown, "O wait," he cried; but the door was shut.

Through windows bright and clear he saw The blessed going with their Lord to sup.

But Satan clapped on his grudge a claw; h.e.l.l opened her mouth and swallowed him up.

--Sara Hammond Palfrey.

Man judges from a partial view, None ever yet his brother knew; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul, And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inward side.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

O brothers! are ye asking how The hills of happiness to find?

Then know they lie beyond the vow-- "G.o.d helping me, I will be kind."

--Nixon Waterman.

A BLESSING

Not to the man of dollars, Not to the man of deeds, Not unto craft and cunning, Not unto human creeds; Not to the one whose pa.s.sion Is for the world's renown, Not in the form of fashion Cometh a blessing down.

But to the one whose spirit Yearns for the great and good; Unto the one whose storehouse Yieldeth the hungry food; Unto the one who labors Fearless of foe or frown; Unto the kindly-hearted, Cometh a blessing down.

--Mary Frances Tucker.

WEAPONS

Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt, And so are tongue and pen, And so are sheaves of good bank notes, To sway the souls of men.

But guns and swords and piles of gold, Though mighty in their sphere, Are sometimes feebler than a smile, And poorer than a tear.

--Charles Mackay.

Enough to know that, through the winter's frost And summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost, And every duty pays at last its cost.

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

A kindly act is a kernel sown That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time is flown Down the gulf of Eternity.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

The kindly word unspoken is a sin-- A sin that wraps itself in purest guise, And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, That, not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.

--John Boyle O'Reilly.

CONSECRATION

SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY

THE CHARIOTEER

O G.o.d, take the reins of my life!

I have driven it blindly, to left and to right, In mock of the rock, in the chasm's despite, Where the brambles were rife, In the blaze of the sun and the deadliest black of the night.

O G.o.d, take the reins of my life!

For I am so weary and weak.

My hands are a-quiver and so is my heart, And my eyes are too tired for the tear-drops to start, And the worn horses reek With the anguishing pull and the hot, heavy harness's smart, While I am all weary and weak.

But Thou wilt be peace, wilt be power.

Thy hand on the reins and thine eye on the way Shall be wisdom to guide and controlling to stay, And my life in that hour Shall be led into leading, and rest when it comes to obey; For thou wilt be peace and all power.

Now, Lord, without tarrying, now!

While eyes can look up and while reason remains, And my hand yet has strength to surrender the reins, Ere death stamp my brow And pour coldness and stillness through all the mad course of my veins-- Come, Lord, without tarrying, now!

I yield Thee my place, which is thine.

Appoint me to lie on the chariot floor; Yea, appoint me to lie at thy feet, and no more, While the glad axles shine, And the happy wheels run on their course to the heavenly door,-- Now thou hast my place, which is thine.

--Amos R. Wells.

WHOLLY THE LORD'S

My whole though broken heart, O Lord, From henceforth shall be thine; And here I do my vow record-- This hand, these words are mine: All that I have, without reserve, I offer here to thee: Thy will and honor all shall serve That thou bestow'st on me.

All that exceptions save I lose; All that I lose I save; The treasures of thy love I choose, And Thou art all I crave.

My G.o.d, thou hast my heart and hand; I all to thee resign; I'll ever to this covenant stand, Though flesh hereat repine.