Then teach us, Lord, to bow beneath the rod,
Even for the chastisement to love the more;
To trust the mercy of the loving God,

And in the very blow His hand adore.

So snall we walk through our life's checkered day.
Safe from its noontide heat, its evening blight,
Till the last hour of gloom shall pass away,
And leave us to awake in endless light.

THE WAY TO BE BRAVE

SPEAK kindly to that poor old man,
Pick up his fallen cane,

And place it gently in his hand,
That he may walk again.

His bundle, too, replace with care
Beneath his trembling arm;

Brave all the taunts that you may hear,
To give his life a charm.

A braver deed than scorners boast
Will be your triumph then,
A braver deed than annals tell
Of some distinguished men.

Yes; leave that thoughtless, sneering crowd;
Dare to be good and kind;

Then let them laugh, as laugh they may;

Pass on; but never mind.

Pass on; but think once more of him

The wreck that you have seen,

How once a happy boy like you

He sported on the green;
A cloudless sky above his head,
The future bright and fair,

And friends all watching o'er his couch,
To breathe affection's prayer.

But ah, the change! He wanders now,
Forsaken, lone, and sad;

Thrice blessed is the task of those

Who strive to make him glad.
Speak kindly to that poor old man,
Pick up his fallen cane,

For that will ease his burdened heart,
And make him smile again.

I

LEAD ME, O LORD!

Do not ask, O Lord, that life may be

A pleasant road;

I do not ask that Thou would'st take from me Aught of its load.

I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;

I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I pleadLead me aright,

Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed,

Through peace to light.

I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;

Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand,
And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day, but peace divine
Like quiet night;

Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine
Through peace to light.

ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

I

MAXIMUS.

HOLD him great who, for love's sake
Can give with generous, earnest will;
Yet him who takes for love's sweet sake
I think I hold more generous still.

I bow before the noble mind

That freely some great wrong forgives;
Yet nobler is the one forgiven

Who bears that burden well and lives.

It may be hard to gain, and still

To keep a lowly, steadfast heart;

Yet he who loses has to fill

A harder and a truer part.

Glorious is it to wear the crown

Of a deserved and pure success;
He who knows how to fail, has won
A crown whose lustre is not less.

Great may he be who can command
And rule with just and tender sway;
Yet is diviner wisdom taught

Better by him who can obey.

Blessed are they who die for God

And earn the martyr's crown of light;

Yet he who lives for God may be

A greater conqueror in His sight.

ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

THY neighbor? It is he whom thou

Hast power to aid and bless;
Whose aching heart or burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door
Go thou and succor him!

Thy neighbor? 'Tis that weary man,
Whose years are at the brim,

Bent low with sickness, care and pain-
Go thou and comfort him!

I

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the heart bereft
Of every earthly gem;
Widow and orphan, helpless left-
Go thou and shelter them!

Thy neighbor? Yonder toiling slave,
Fetter'd in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave→
Go thou and ransom him!

Whene'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favor'd than thine own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbor worm,
Thy brother or thy son.

Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by!
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery-
Go, share thy lot with him!

THE TRUE FAITH.

DEEM his faith the best

Who daily puts it into loving deeds

Done for the poor, the sorrowing, the oppressed
For these are more than creeds;
And, though overblinded reason oft may err,
The heart that loves is faith's interpreter.

The schoolman's subtle skill

Wearies itself with vain philosophies

That leave the world to grope in darkness still, Haply, from lies to lies: