While His tired disciples And the proud Corn rustled, "Consider the Lilies, How beautiful they grow! L CLEANSING FIRES. 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! I ADELAIDE PROCTOR WHAT I LIVE FOR. LIVE for those who love me, For those I know are true; For all human ties that bind me, I live to learn their story, To emulate their glory And follow in their wake; Whose deeds crown history's pages, I live to hail the season; By gifted minds foretold; When men shall live by reason, And not alone for gold. When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted, I live to hold communion To feel that there is union '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. THE THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 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. LONGFELLOW. THOUGH THE USES OF LIFE. HOUGH we climb fame's proudest height, 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 streams; 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, We have lived our life in vain. 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 674810 |