Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 59

By G.o.d's gold Afternoon! peace ye shall have; Man is in loss except he live aright, And help his fellow to be firm and brave, Faithful and patient; then the restful night.

--Edwin Arnold, from the Arabian.

THE TRULY RICH

They're richer who diminish their desires, Though their possessions be not amplified, Than monarchs, who in owning large empires, Have minds that never will be satisfied.

For he is poor who wants what he would have, And rich who, having naught, doth nothing crave.

--T. Urchard.

THY ALLOTMENT

Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident, It is the very place G.o.d meant for thee; And shouldst thou there small scope for action see Do not for this give room to discontent, Nor let the time thou owest G.o.d be spent In idle dreaming how thou mightest be, In what concerns thy spiritual life, more free From outward hindrance or impediment.

For presently this hindrance thou shalt find That without which all goodness were a task So slight that virtue never could grow strong; And wouldst thou do one duty to His mind-- The Imposer's--over-burdened thou shalt ask, And own thy need of, grace to help ere long.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

THE HAPPIEST HEART

Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way.

The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Aye, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down.

The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest.

--John Vance Cheney.

WELCOME THE SHADOWS

Welcome the shadows; where they blackest are Burns through the bright supernal hour; From blindness of wide dark looks out the star, From all death's night the April flower.

For beauty and for gladness of the days Bring but the meed of trust; The April gra.s.s looks up from barren ways, The daisy from the dust.

When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill, The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee then: The heavens repeat themselves in waters still And in the faces of contented men.

--John Vance Cheney.

THE DAILY COURSE

New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies each returning day Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of G.o.d, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, G.o.d will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be As more of heaven in each we see; Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care.

We need not bid, for cloistered cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky.

The trivial round, the common task, Will furnish all we ought to ask: Room to deny ourselves a road To bring us daily nearer G.o.d.

Seek we no more; content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, As Heaven shall bid them, come and go; The secret, this, of rest below.

Only, O Lord, in thy dear love Fit us for perfect rest above; And help us this and every day, To live more nearly as we pray.

--John Keble.

G.o.d ENOUGH

Let nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee; All things are pa.s.sing; G.o.d never changeth; Patient endurance Attaineth to all things; Who G.o.d possesseth In nothing is wanting; Alone G.o.d sufficeth.

--St. Teresa, tr. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE GOLDEN MEAN

He that holds fast the golden mean And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Embittering all his state.

WITHOUT AND WITHIN

If every man's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?

The fatal secret, when revealed, Of every aching breast, Would prove that only while concealed Their lot appeared the best.

--Pietro Metastasio.

Let us be content in work To do the thing we can, and not presume To fret because it's little.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

If none were sick and none were sad, What service could we render?

I think if _we_ were always glad, We scarcely could be tender.

If sorrow never claimed our heart, And every wish were granted, Patience would die and hope depart-- Life would be disenchanted.

A pilgrim, bound to Mecca, quite away his sandals wore, And on the desert's blistering sand his feet grew very sore.

"To let me suffer thus, great Allah, is not kind nor just, While in thine service I confront the painful heat and dust."

He murmured in complaining tone; and in this temper came To where, around the Kaaba, pilgrims knelt of every name; And there he saw, while pity and remorse his bosom beat, A pilgrim who not only wanted shoes, but _feet_.