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While His tired disciples
And the proud Corn rustled,
"The life is more than meat.
"Consider the Lilies,
How beautiful they grow!
ET thy gold be cast into the furnace,
Thy red gold, precious and bright; Do not fear for the hungry fire, With its caverns of burning light. And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain;
For gold must be tried by fire,
As a heart must be tried by pain!
In the cruel fire of sorrow
Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail;
And take thy heart again;
For, as gold is tried by fire,
So a heart must be tried by pain!
I shall know by the gleam and the glitter
By your heart's calm strength in loving,
Shine bright, strong, golden chain;
And the furnace of living pain!
WHAT I LIVE FOR.
LIVE for those who love me,
For those I know are true;
For all human ties that bind me,
To emulate their glory
And follow in their wake; Bards, martyrs, patriots, sages, The nobles 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 men shall live by reason,
When man to man united,
And every wrong thing righted,
I live to hold communion
"Twixt Nature's heart and mine;
Reap truth from fields of fiction,
I live for those that love me,
For the wrongs that need resistance,
And the good that I can do.
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
HERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he;
"Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again."
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"
"They shall all bloom in fields of light,
And saints, upon their garments white,
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
She knew she should find them all again
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
THE USES OF LIFE.
HOUGH we climb fame's proudest height,
Though we sit on hills afar,
Where the thrones of triumph are;
Though all deepest mysteries be open to our sight, If we win not by that power
For the world another dower
If this great Humanity share not in our gain,
Though we revel in sweet dreams;
Though with poet's eye we look
Full on Nature's open book,
And our spirits wander, singing with the birds and the
If we let no music in
To the world of grief and sin-
Though our lot be calm and bright;
Though upon our brows we wear
Youth, and grace, and beauty rare,
And the hours go swiftly, singing in their flight;
Any darkened life to crown—
If our grace and joyance have no ministry for pain,
Though for weary years we toil;
Though we gather all the gold
From the mines of wealth untold,
Though from farthest shores of ocean we have brought the spoil;
What at the last is won
If we hear not God's "Well done"?
If the world's want and sorrow be not lessened by our gain,
We have lived our life in vain.
Though we be, in heart and hand,
Mighty with all foes to cope,
Rich in courage and in hope,
Fitted as strong laborers in the world to stand