The preachin'? Well, I can't just tell all that the preacher
I know it wasn't written, I know it was n't read;
He had n't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye
Went flashing 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by.
The sermon was n't flowery; 't was simple gospel truth;
It fitted poor old men like me, it fitted hopeful youth;
"I was full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed,
And bade us copy Him in thought and word and deed.
The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews; He shot the golden sentences down into the finest pews; And-though I can't see very well — I saw the falling tear That told me hell was some ways off and heaven very near.
How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place; How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face!
Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with friend,
"When congregations ne'er break up and Sabbaths have no
I hope to meet that minister- that congregation too
In the dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's
I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening gray,
The happy hours of worship in that model church to-day.
Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory be won;
The shinin' goal is just ahead, the race is nearly run;
O'er the river we are nearin' they are throngin' to the shore,
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.
THE royal feast was done; the king
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried, "Sir Fool,
Kneel now for us and make a prayer!"
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch's silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
"No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool;
The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
""Tis by our guilt the onward sweep Of truth and light, O Lord, we stay; 'Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.
"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.
The ill-time truth that we have kept-
We know how sharp it pierced and stung!
The word we had not sense to say -
Who knows how grandly it had rung?
"Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;
But for our blunders oh, in shame
Before the eyes of Heaven we fall.
"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but thou, O Lord, off
Be merciful to me, a fool!"
The room was hushed. In silence rose
The king, and sought his garden cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me, a fool!”
HE left a load of anthracite
In front of a poor widow's door
When the deep snow, frozen and white,
Wrapped street and square, mountain and moor.
That was his deed!
He did it well!
"What was his creed?"
I cannot tell!
Blessed "in his basket and his store,"
In sitting down and rising up;
When more he got, he gave the more
Withholding not the crust and cup.
He took the lead
In each good task.
"What was his creed?"
I did not ask.
His charity was like the snow-
Soft, white, and silent in its fall;
Not like the noisy winds that blow
From shivering trees the leaves
For flower and weed,
Dropping below!
"What was his creed?"
The poor may know.
He had great faith in loaves of bread
For hungry people, young and old;
And hope-inspired, kind words he said
To those he sheltered from the cold.
For we must feed
As well as pray.
"What was his creed?"
I cannot say.
In works he did not put his trust;
His faith in words he never writ;
He loved to share his cup and crust
With all mankind who needed it.
In time of need
"What was his creed?"
He told not me.
He put his trust in Heaven, and he
Worked well with hand and head;
And what he gave in charity
Sweetened his sleep and daily bread.
Let us take heed,
For life is brief;
"What was his creed,
What his belief?"
TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE.
By thine own soul's law learn to live,
And if men thwart thee take no heed,
And if men hate thee have no care;
Sing thou thy song and do thy deed.
Hope thou thy hope and pray thy prayer,
And claim no crown they will not give,
Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair.
Keep thou thy soul-sworn steadfast oath,
And to thy heart be true thy heart;
What thy soul teaches learn to know,
And play out thine appointed part;
And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow,
Nor helped nor hindered in thy growth,
To thy full stature thou shalt grow.
Fix on the future's goal thy face,
And let thy feet be lured to stray
Nowhither, but be swift to run,
And nowhere tarry by the way,
Until at last the end is won,
And thou mayst look back from thy place
And see thy long day's journey done.
I THINK till I weary with thinking,
Said the sad-eyed Hindoo king,
And I see but shadows around me,
Illusion in everything.
How knowest thou aught of God,
Of his favor or his wrath?
Can the little fish tell what the lion thinks,
Or map out the eagle's path?
Can the finite the Infinite search?
Did the blind discover the stars?
Is the thought that I think a thought,
Or a throb of the brain in its bars?
For aught that my eye can discern,
Your God is what you think good,
Yourself flashed back from the glass,
When the light pours on it in flood.
You preach to me to be just,
And this is his realm, you say;
And the good are dying of hunger,
And the bad gorge every day.
You say that he loveth mercy,
And the famine is not yet gone;
That he hateth the shedder of blood,
And he slayeth us every one.
You say I must have a meaning,
So must dung, and its meaning is flowers;
What if our souls are but nurture
For lives that are greater than ours?
When the fish swims out of the water,
When the birds soar out of the blue,
Man's thought may transcend man's knowledge,
And your God be no reflex of you.
INTO all lives some rain must fall,
Into all eyes some tear-drops start,
Whether they fall as gentle shower,
Or fall like fire from an aching heart.
Into all hearts some sorrow must creep,
Into all souls some doubtings come,
Lashing the waves of life's great deep
From dimpling waters to seething foam.
Over all paths some clouds must lower,
Under all feet some sharp thorns spring,
Tearing the flesh to bitter wounds,
Or entering the heart with their bitter sting.
Upon all brows rough winds must blow,
Over all shoulders a cross be lain,
Bowing the form in its lofty height
Down to the dust in bitter pain.
Into all hands some duty 's thrust;
Unto all arms some burden's given,
Crushing the heart with its weary weight,
Or lifting the soul from earth to heaven.
Into all hearts and homes and lives
God's dear sunlight comes streaming down,
Gilding the ruins of life's great plain —
Weaving for all a golden crown.
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