Shaker Commonplace Book

This page is blank

MORRILL & SILSBY, Printers, Binders, Stationers, and Blank Book Manufacturers, Concord, N. H.

Eo

Presented To

Mary. Ella. Briggs

By

Eldress Caroline Whitcher

Enfield. N. H

Codex 002489

Mary Ella Briggs. July 4th. 1890.

Rosetta Cummings. Mar. 1908.

[top left clipping]

A FAILURE. He cast his net at morn where fishers toiled, At eve he drew it empty to the shore; He took the diver's plunge into the sea, But thence within his hand no pearl he bore.

He ran a race, but never reached his goal; He sped an arrow, but he missed his aim; And slept at least beneath a simple stone, With no achievements carved about his name.

Men called it failure, but for my own part I dare not use that word, for what if heaven Shall question, ere its judgment shall be read, Not "hast thou won?" but only "hast thou striven?" ---Sunday School Times.

[top right clipping]

WAITING. Serene I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark away, Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own, and draw The brook that springs in yonder heights; So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delights.

Yon floweret nodding in the wind Is ready plighted to the bee; And, maiden, why that look unkind? For, lo! thy lover seeketh thee.

The stars come nightly to the sky, The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me. --John Burroughs.

[lower right clipping]

The following lines of Whittier's were a favorite selection of Lucy Stone's and were repeated at her funeral:— I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies.

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air, I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.

And so beside the silent sea I wait the muffled oar. No harm from Him can come to me, On ocean or on shore.

True dignity does not depend on the place we occupy in life, but on the spirit and manner in which the duties of the place are acquitted.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

What does it Matter? June 90.

Wealth and glory place and power, What are they worth to me or you For the lease of life runs out, in an hour. And death stands ready to claim his due. Sounding honors or heaps of gold What are they all, when all is told?

A pain or a pleasure, a smile, or a tear What does it matter what we claim For we step from the cradle, into the bier, And a careless world, goes on, the same. Hours of gladness, or hours of sorrow What does it matter to us tomorrow.

Truth of love, or vow of friend, Tender caresses, or cruel sneers What do they matter to me in the end For the brief day dies, & the long night nears. Passionate kisses, or tears of gall. The grave will open, & cover them all.

Homeless vagrant, or honored guest, Poor and humble, or rich and great, All are racked, with the world's unrest All must meet with the common fate. Life from childood, till we are old What is it all, when all is told?.

July 90. After All. Susan Coolidge.

Grief is strong, but joy is stronger. Night is long, but day is longer When lifes riddle solves and clears And the Angels in our ears Whisper the sweet answer low, Answer full of love and blessing How how wonderment will grow At the blindness of our guessing All the hard things we recall Made so easy, after all.

Earth is sweet, but heaven is sweeter Love complete, but faith completer,

Close beside our wandering ways Through dark nights and weary days, Stand the angels, with bright eyes And the shadow of the cross Falls upon and sanctifies All our pain, ,, all our loss. Tho' we stumble, tho' we fall God is helping, after all.

Sigh then soul, but sing, in sighing To the happier things replying. Dry the tears that dim thy seeing Give glad thots, for life, and being. Time, is but the little entry To Eternity's large dwelling, And the heavenly guards keep sentry Urging, guiding, half compelling Till, the puzzling way quite past Thou shalt enter in ___ at last!

Thought Odors. Ella Wheeler.

Not what we do, not what we say speaks for us To fine souls here, or to the throne of Light. Tho' words & acts be fair, God will abhor us, And men distrust, if our hearts are not right.

Our secret aim, our hidden wish, or longing Our silent thots of men, or worlds above These are the tell tale forces, that come thronging To point to us, as ones to loathe, or love.

Our thots are odors, and we cannot seal them So close with actions, but they will creep out, And delicately fashioned souls, will feel them And know them sweet or vile, beyond a doubt.

Good deeds fall dead, if selfish causes guide them Good words fall flat, that but from lips have birth And eloquent & noble, seems beside them The silence, or inaction, of true worth.

I will be Worthy of it. The Home.

I may not reach the heights I seek My untried strength may fail me Or half way up the mountain peak Fierce tempests may assail me. But tho' that place I never gain Here in his comfort for my pain I will be worthy of it.

I may not triumph in success Despite my earnest labor, I may not grasp results that bless The efforts of my neighbor. But tho' my goal I never fee This thot shall ever dwell with me I will be worthy of it. ............... My path may always lead thro' night Like some deserted by way But tho' life's dearest joy I miss There lies a nameless joy in this I will be worthy of it.

One Day at a Time. Helen Hunt.

One day at a time, thats all it can be No faster than that, is the hardest fate And days have their limits, how ever we Begin them too early, & stretch them too late.

One day at a time, every heart that aches Knowing only too well, how long they can seem But its never today, which the spirit breaks Its the darkened future, without a gleam. * * * * * One day at a time. But a single day Whatever its load, whatever its length There's a bit of precious Scripture to say That according to each, shall be our strength.

One day at a time, tis the whole of life, All sorrow, all joy, are measured there-in The bound of our purpose, our noblest strife The one only countersign, sure to win.

He Careth for Me.

What can it mean? is it aught to Him That the nights are long and the days are dim? Can He be touched by the griefs I bear Which sadden the heart, and whiten the hair? Around His throne are Eternal calms And strong, glad music of happy psalms, And bliss unruffled by any strife How can He care for my poor life?

And yet I want Him to care for me While I live in this world, where the sorrows be. When the lights die down, on the path I take When strength is feeble and friends forsake When love and music that once did bless Have left me, to silence and lonliness And life song changes to sobbing prayers - Then my heart cries out, for a God who cares.

When shadows hang o'er me the whole day long And my spirit is bowed with shame and wrong; When I am not good, and the deeper shade

Of conscious sin, makes my heart afraid And the busy world has too much to do To stay, in its course, to help me through And I long for a Savoir - can it be That the God of the Universe, cares for me?

Oh! wonderful story of deathless love Each child is dear to that heart above he fights for me, when I cannot fight He comforts me in the gloom of night He lifts the burden, for He is strong He stills the sigh and awakes the song The sorrow that bound me down He bears And loves, & pardons, because He cares.

Let all who are sad, take heart again We are not alone in the hours of pain; Our Father stoops from His throne above To soothe, and quiet us, with His love. He leaves us not, when the storm is high And we have safety, for He is night Can it be trouble , when He doth share Oh, rest in peace, for the Lord does care.

Thankfulness. Susan Coolidge. Thank God for life! it is not always sweet Hands may be heavy laden, hearts care full Unwelcome nights follow unwelcome days And dreams divine, end in awakening dull. Still, it is life, and life is cause for praise This ache, this restlesness, this quickening sting Prove me no torpid, and inanimate thing. Prove me of Him, who is of life the spring I am alive, and that is beautiful.

Thank God for love; tho' it may hurt & wound Tho' set with sharpest thorns, its rose may be, Roses are not of winter, all attuned Must be the earth filled with soft air & free

Thank God for Death; bright thing with dreamy name We heap her with reproaches, & with blame But calmly mid our clamor and surmise She touches each in turn, & each grows wise. Taught by the light in her mysterious eyes I shall be glad, & I am thankful now.

A Resolve. Ella Wheeler.

As the dead year is clasped by a dead December So let your dead sins, with your dead days lie A new life is yours, and a new hope. Remember We build our own ladders, to climb to the sky. Stand out, in the sunlight of promise, forgetting Whatever the past held of sorrow or wrong. We waste half our time, in a useless regretting We sit by old tombs in the dark, too long.

Have you missed in your aim? the mark is still shining Did you faint in the race? then take breath for the next Did the clouds drive you back? see yonder their lining Were you tempted + fell? let it serve for a text. As each year hurries by, let it join that procession Of skeleton shapes that march down to the past. While you take your place in the line of progression With your eyes on the heavens, your face, to the blast.

I tell you the future holds no terrors [For] any sad soul, while the stars revolve If he will stand firm, on the grave of his errors.

And instead of regretting, resolve. Resolve. It is never too late to begin rebuilding Tho' all into ruin your life seems hurled For look! how the light of the New Year is gilding The worn wan face, of the bruised old world.

As you go through Life. " Ella Wheeler.

Don't look for the flaws, as you go thro life And even when you find them, It is wise & kind to be somewhat blind And look for the virtue behind them. For the cloudiest night, has a hint of light Some where in its shadows hiding, It is better by far, to look for a star Than the spots on the sun, abiding.

The current of life runs ever away To the bosom of God's great ocean Dont set your force, 'gainst the river's course And think to alter its motion. Dont waste a curse, on the Universe Remember it lived before you

Dont butt at the storm with your puny form, But bend, & let it go o'er you.

The world will never adjust it self To suit your whims, to the letter Some things must go wrong, your whole life long And the sooner you know it, the better. It is folly, to fight with the Infinie And go under, at last, in the wrestle. The wiser man, shapes into God's plan As the water shapes into a vessel.

Deathless.

In the heart of each mortal lies hidden A longing & love for the pure A longing so strong, & a love so great The radical part shall endure.

Over, around, and under us lies A love so boundless deep & broad, A love in naming, we speak of, as God Surely, no remnant of good ever dies. Belle Waldron

The Way of the World. Belle Waldron.

This world is a queer sort of place. As you journey along you will find You had better conceal any trouble you feel If you wish to make friends with mankind.

No matter how heavy your load Pray don't mention the fact, as you go And dont ask for a lift, while your burden you shift, Or your friends a cold shoulder will show.

If your heart is breaking with grief Or misfortune embitters your days You just bear it alone, without murmur or groan And the world will accord you its praise.

Since ever life's journey must be Along ways where the mortal crowd goes You'd best laugh & make friends For you'll compass your ends Much easier, than if you make foes.

Our Daily Bread Susan Coolidge

"Give me our daily bread," we pray And know but half of what we say The bread on which our bodies feed is but the moiety of our need. The soul, the heart, must nourished be And share the daily urgency. And tho' it may be bitter bread

On which our nobler parts are fed. No less we crave the daily dole O Lord of body, and of soul. The sting for pride, the smart for sin The purging draught, for self within.

The sorrows which are shuddering meet Not knowing the after taste of sweet. All these we ask for, when we pray "Give us our daily bread each day." Lord! have us not thirst, unfed Give us this but substantial bread. Until, these mortal deeds all past We sit at Thy full feast at last. The Bread of angels broken by Thee The wine of joy, poured constantly.

Perhaps. Laura Brown.

It is not for me to sing the songs That rush with a thrill, to the heart It is not for me with pen or brush, To glorify nature and art. It is not for me to wield the sword Without reproach or fear, There are only left the quiet paths That no one, counteth dear. Just to sit and bear it, beside the way With no regret or pain, While others achieve the things I love And take what I would gain. T'is to give my soul by slow degrees To the healing of other's woes, And to kiss the cross, I bear my part From the morning of life to its close. But there stands the Christ, with wounded hands, The Christ with His tender heart Perhaps it is love that moves the world And I, may be bearing my part.

Soul Saving. Hattie Tyng Griswold.

It seems to me like a selfish cry This telling a man that the only thing Of any importance here below, Is saving himself from a future sting Far nobler, far better it seems to me To tell a man to save some other To send him up & down thro' the world Seeking & saving his fallen brother.

To put him off from the beaten path Out into the hedges of sin & shame To teach, & to tell to the captives there The bounty & glory of virtues name. To rescue the starving one from death To rescue the sinning one, from crime To preach the gospel of present help To the weary ones, on the shores of time.

To seek out those whom the world forgets And plant a flower, on a nameless grave,

To hide the erring one in the heart And strengthen it, with a purpose brave.

To do the little ones of God The things which the world does, to the great. To walk the world with a purpose grand And, with eye on the final good, to wait.

If a man does this, I dare affirm That he can afford to forego all care About going to heaven, and give his whole time To the work of getting his brother there.

The Disappointed.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There are songs enough for the hero Who dwells on the heights of fame I sing for the dis-appointed For those who have missed their aim. I sing with a tearful cadence For one who stands in the dark And knows that his last, best arow has bounded back, from the mask.

I sing for the breathless runner The cager, anxious soul Who falle, with his strength exhausted Almost in sight of the goal. For the hearte that nreak in silence With a sorrow all unknown, For those who mud companions Yet, walk they ways alone.

There are songs enough, for the lover Who share love's tender pain I sing for the one whose loving Is given, but in vain For those whose spirit comrades Have missed them, on the way. I sing with a heart over flowing, The minor strain today.

And I know the solar system, must somewhere keep in space A prize, for that spent runner, who barely lost the race. For the plan would be imperfect, unless it held some sphere That fraid for the toil I talent, and love that are wasted here.

Not as I Will

Helen Hunt Jackson

Blindfolded and alone I stand With unknown thresholds on each hand; The darkness deepens. As I grope Afraid to fear, afraid to hope. Yet, this one thing, I learn to know. Each day more surely as I go. That doors are opened, ways are made Burdens are lifted, or are laid By some great law unseen and strill, Unfathomed purpose to fulfill. "Not as I will" Blindfolded & alone I wait. Loss seems too bitter, pain too late Too heavy burdens in the load And joy is weak, and grief is strong And years & days, so lomg, so long. Yet this one thing I learn to know Each day more surely I go, That I am glad, the good and ill By changeless law, are ordered still. "Not as I will"

"Not as I will," the sound grows sweet Each time my lips the words repeat "Not as I will", the darkness feels More safe than light, when this thot steals Like whispered voice, to calm and bless All unrest, and all lonliness. "Not as I will" because the one Who loved us first & best has gone Before us on the road, and still For us, must all His love fulfill "Not as we will".

Fact and Fancy.

It is easy enough to be prudent When nothing tempts you to stray - When without or within, no voice of sin Is luring our soul away; But its only a negative virtue Until it is tried by fire And the life that is worth the honor of earth Is the one that resists desire.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Chide Not

Fanny Morcharg

Chide not, Chide not, unless you must As day after day onward places There s much of pain, that must needs be borne Full enough of sorrw, for which to mourn When men are weary, and women are worn With grief shadowed hearts and faces.

O brother! sister! why suffer the hours To go frieghted with frowns and fault finding So few, & fast fleeting, the sweet sheltered years, In which, to be mingled your laughter & tears Ere youth plumes its wings, the sad parting nears And you're left, to the future's reminding.

Ah friend; tho' oft thro lifes wildering way Erring feet must be turned, hearts need guiding. If to check & reprove, be stern duty's decree Let that matchless reproving "Lovest thou me?" Whisper down thro the ages, its message to thee That love be felt, e'en thro' the chiding..

Contrasts.

Strange! that we creatures of such petty ways Poor prisoners, behind these fleshly bare Should sometimes, think us thoughts with God ablaze. Touching the fringes, of the outer stars. And stranger still, that having flown so high, And stood, unshamed, in shining presence That we resume our smallness, nor imply, In mien, or gesture, what that memory is. _ _ _ _ _ _

Resolve Speak a shade more kindly Than the year before, Pray, a little oftener Love a great deal more. Cling a deal more closely To the voice of love. Life below, shall liken grow To the life above.

Kissing the Rod Agnes Pratt

O heart of mine, we should not worry so What you miss of sunshine We would have you know. What we've met of stormy pain Or of sorrows driving rain We can better meet again, if it blow.

That we've erred, in the dark hour, we have known When our tears fell, with the [shorn?] all alone, Were not shine and shadow blent, As the gracious Master meant? Let us temper our content with His own.

For we know not, every morrow Will be sad, So forgetting all the sorrow, we have had, Let us fold away our fears, And put by, our foolish tears, And through all the coming years, Just be glad.

Song for Today. Louis Manning

Groweth the morning from gray to gold; Up! my heart, and greet the sun. Yesterdays cares are a tale that is told " " tasks are a work that is done. Buried beneath the billows of sleep Yesterdays burdens are as they were not - Say them low, in the soundless deep.

Share thy crust, and ask no [dole?] Offer the cup, thou wouldst never drain Only he who saveth his soul Loseth all that he fain would gain Smile with him who has gained the day Smile the gladder, if at thy cost It was his to fo, I think to aspire It is his today who loved the most Pluck the flower that blooms at thy door Cherish the love that the day may send Gratefully take what life offereth Look to heaven, nor seek a reward So shall thou find, come life or death Earth and heaven are in sweet accord.

Justice not Charity Ella W. Wilcox.

All hail the dawn of a new day breaking When a strong armed motion, shall take away The weary burden, from backs that are aching With maximum work, and minimum pay. When no man is honored who hoards his millions, When no man feasts, on another's toil And God's poor suffering starving billions Shall share his riches, of sun and soil.

There is gold for all, in the worlds broad bosom There is food for all, in the .. great store Enough is provided, if rightly divided; Let each man take what he needs - no more. Shame on the miser, with unused riches Who robs the toiler, to swell his hoard Who beats down the wage of the digger of ditches And steals the bread from the poor mans board.

Shame on the owner of mines! whose cruel And selfish measures, have got him wealth While the ragged wretches, who dig his fuel

Are robbed of comfort, and hope & health. Shame on the ruler, who rides in his carriage Bought by the labor of half paid men - Men who are shut out of home & marriage And are herded like sheep in a hovel pen.

Look Highter! Ella Wheeler. (To the quarreling Clergy men of N York.)

And is there no way that is better To help the sad world in its needs. Than this; to fight over the letter Forgetting the spirit of creeds? What ever the excuse or the reason You hold for the strife, in the end Your quarrel can only be treason To Christ, whom you claim, to defend.

The man of the crude middle ages Has grown into something too high, To feed his starved soul on dull pages Of dogmas, as useless, as dry.

The thot of the world is up reaching To! lay your cold creeds on the shelves! Away with your technical teaching And show us "the Christ" in ourselves. Rise out of old ruts with their hollow. And fear laden faiths, mount above Where the world is all ready to follow And seek the religion of love.

As sure as the stars in their course We circle toward truth, & the right We are part of the infinite forces - Our faces are turned to the light - We cannot plod on - in dark by ways That limit the light of the soul. Our spirits soar up to the high ways, We see we are part of the whole.

We know that mans creed, does not matter So long as his deeds, speak of God So long as his aim is, to scatter The seeds of right living abroad.

How can we look up, to our teachers Unless they are higher than we? Come up, then, ex priests, & ye preachers Come up on Truth's hill top, & see How haggard the creeds, you are vaunting When viewed from the mountains above And how all that this sad earth, is wanting Is the sweet selfless lesson of Love.

Just for Today. "As thy day so shall thy strength be"

Just for today; tomorrow is not mine And may be spent where days unclouded shine This cross is heavy, for an upward way My weak hands tremble; give me strength today. Just for today; the poorist child am I. That heavenward looks, yet ravens when they cry.

Receive thy bounty, tho' despised are they, Remember, then, this lowly heart today.

Just for today; Thy manna food I ask, that I may go rejoicing to my task. And if, from cooling streams, my feet should stray, Let some rock prove a fountain for today. Just for today; it is much better so I might grow arrogant, did I not know My poverty, yet find it sweet to say It is thy gift, the blessings of today. Just for today; what more can heart demand From One, who will each longing understand? Thy love with holds no treasure, so I pray "Choose what may come But give me strength today".

Myra Goodwin Plantz.

Not Alone. Susan Coolidge.

The day is long and the day is hard We are tired of the march and keeping guard Tired of the sense of a fight to be won Of days to live thro, and work to be done. Tired of ourselves, and of being alone.

And all the while, did we only see We walk in the Lord's own company We fight, & tis He who moves our arm He turns the arrows which else might harm And out of the storm He brings a calm.

The work which we count so hard to do He makes it easy, for He works too The days that are long to live, are His. A bit of His bright Eternitys, And close to our need His helping is.

You'll Never Know the Difference.

We never can contented be. With our own lot in life We've always trouble on our mind Some new born care or strife. Why not travel through the world With sunshine on your brow For you'll never know the difference In a thousand years from now. T'wont do to be too proud these days Because you have your wealth. You may, sometime, the wrong man meet And there by, lose your health. Don't scorn to do a little work, The sweat adorns your brow For you'll never know the difference In a thousand years from now. Because your parents are well off Don't scorn to learn a trade, Remember, when the sun is warm You cant always find the shade Don't disdain to earn your living By the hoe, the spade, or plow. For you'll never know the difference In a thousand years from now.

The Station Despair.

We must trust the conductor, most surely Why! millions of millions before Have made this same journey securely And come to the ultimate shore. And we, we shall reach it in season, And ah, what a welcome is there. Reflect then, how out of all reason To stop at the Station Despair.

Ay, midnights and many a potion Of trouble [&] sorrow have we As we journey from ocean to ocean, From sea, unto ultimate sea. To that deep sea of seas, and all silence Of passion, concern, and of care That vast sea, of Eden set islands Don't stop at the Station Despair.

Go forward, whatever may follow Go forward friend, led or alone. [Home], to leap off in some hollow Or fen, in the night and unknown.

Leap off like a thief; try to hide you From angels all waiting you there! Go forward! whatever betide you Don't stop at the station Despair. [G. Union].

Sun Shadow's. Ella Wheeler.

There never was success so nobly gained Or victory so free from earthly dross, But, in the winning, come one, had been [painted] And some one, suffered loss.

There never was so wisely planned, a fate Or festal throng, with hearts on pleasure bent, But some neglected one, outside the gate. Wept tears of discontent.

There never was a bridal mourning fair With Hope's blue sky, [&] Love's unclouded sun. For two fond hearts, that did not bring despair To some sad one.

What Not to Lose. Woman's Journal.

Don't lose courage, spirit brave Carry with you, to the grave.

Don't lose time in vain distress Work, not worry, brings success.

Don't lose hope, who lets her stray Goes forlornly, all the way.

Don't lose patience, come what will Patience oft times, out runs skill.

Don't lose gladness, every hour Blooms for you, some lovely flower.

Foiled though be your dearest plans Don't loose faith, in God and man.

My Best. Julia K May.

I may perform no deed of great renown No glorious act, to millions manifest, Yet, in my little labors up and down I'll do my best.

I may not paint a perfect master piece. Nor carve a statue, by the world [confest] A miracle of art, yet will not cease To do my best.

My name is not upon the rolls of fame, Tis on the page of common life imprest But I'll keep marking, marking, just the same And do my best.

Sometimes, I sing a very simple song And send it outward, to the east or west Alltho in silentness, it rolls along I'll do my best.

Some times I write a very little hymn The joy within me cannot be repressed Tho no one reads, the letters are so dim I do my best.

And if I see some fellow traveler rise Far, far above me, still with quiet trust I keep on climbing, climbing toward the skies And do my best.

My very best, and if, at close of day, Worn out, I sit me down a while to rest I still will mend my garments, if I may, And do my best.

It may not be the beautiful and grand But I must try to be so very careful, lest I fail to do whats put into my hand My very best.

Better and better, every stitch must be The last, a little stronger than the rest. Good Master! help my eyes. That I may see, To do my best.

Secret Thoughts. Ella Wheeler.

I hold it true, that thots are things Endowed with bodies breath and wings. And that we send them forth to fill The world with good results _ or ill.

That which we call our secret thought Speeds to the earth's remotest spot. And leaves its blessings or its woes Like tracks behind it, as it goes.

It is God's law. Remember it In your still chamber, as you sit With thots you would not dare have known And yeat, make comrades when alone.

These thots have life; and they will fly And leave their impress bye and bye. Like some marsh breeze, whose poisoned breath Breathes into homes, its fevered breath.

And, after you have quite forgot Or all out grown some vanished thot.

Back to your mind to make its home A dove, or raven, it will come.

Then let your secret thots be fair They have a vital part and share In shaping worlds, and moulding fatesGod's system is so intricate.

Encouragement. Edith Willis.

What tho' we fail? through failure The spirit learns to rise; Upon the soul we bear the marks Of every sacrifice.

That which we dream of doing, That which we wish to be, That which our prayer is pleading With pure intensity: _

This is the truest nature, The God like and the strong Struggling, and yearning upward Thro' failure, and thro' wrong.

Listen. Ella Wheeler.

Whoever you are, as you read this Whatever your trouble or grief, I want you to know and to heed this The day draweth near with relief.

No sorrow, no woe is un-ending Though heaven seems voiceless & dumb; So sure as your voice is ascending So surely, an answer will come.

Whatever temptation is near you Whose eyes on this simple verse fall Remember, good angels will hear you And help you to stand, if you call. Tho' stunned with despair I beseech you Whatever your losses, your need, Believe, when these printed words reach you Believe you were born to succeed. You are stronger this minute, I tell you Than any unfortunate fate! And the coveted prise -- you can win it Whilte life lasts; 'tis never too late.

Over Work. Woman's Journal. 1 In my sleep a spirit touched me; On my ear his accents fell Soft as Summer's answering whisper When the daylight sighs farewell. And his strong gray pinions folded Looked like silent towers of might Which would spread far into ether As the clouds which hide the light.

2 ^"I have read your heart, he whispered It is strong to do and dare, Quick to feel for others troubles Glad to lighten others care. Then speed on, towards your purpose Never stop for sleep or rest For as gods, are the successful Give your brightest, and your best.

3. All the dewy flush of morning All the showers of freshening rain, All the glowing heat of noon tide All the sheaves of ripened grain,

Every power of nerve and muscle Strive with heart and purpose true Lo! The vineyards ripe to spoiling And the work there waits for you."

Ay, I hearkened, and I followed! For both heart and brain were young; And the burning words of counsel Leapt like fire to pen and tongue; I worked from dawn of daylight To the setting of the sun, -- Then I fainted by the wayside, And my dream of life was done.

................. Take the lesson home, my sisters Ye who are the salt of earth, If the salt but lose its savior Ay, but little then 'tis worth. Shun the nineteenth century vampire With his greed of health and strength, For the sword which cuts the scabbard, Wears its edge away, at length.

Send out the Sunlight

Ella Dare.

Send out the sunlight the sunlight of cheer Shine on earth's sadness, 'till ills disappear; Souls are in waiting this message to hear.

Send out the sunlight in letter and word Speak it and think it, till hearts are all stirred Hearts that are hungry for prayers, yet unheard.

Send out the sunlight on rich and on poor Silks sit in sorrow, and tatters endure All need the sunlight to strengthen and cure.

Send out the sunlight that speaks in a smile Often in stofens the long weary mile - Often the burdens seem light, for a while.

Send out the sunlight you have it, in you! Clouds may obscure it just now from your views. Pray for its presence; your prayer will come true.

Poem. by Alice Cary.

I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds Of love to men.

I hold all eslse named piety, A selfish scheme, a vain pretence; Where centre is not, can there be Circumference?

'Tis not the wide phylactery Nor stubborn fasts, nor stated prayers That make us saints; we judge the tree By what it bears.

And when a man can live apart From works, on theologic trust, I know the blood about his heart Is dry as dust.

Beyond. Mrs S. M. Walsh.

I do not know what sea shall bathe My tired and earth worn feet; When they lay life's soil-ed sandals off And enter rest complete. But I shall enter that still sea -- "Peace", And, in its limpid tide Leave all the dust of travel off And find me purified.

I do not know what sounds shall greet My soul's awakening sense, Nor what new sights await me when I take my journey hence. Tho' folded be my earthly tent, My soul hath where to stay. [My soul] shall not be shelterless, One moment of the way.

And I fear no bewilderment No shock of sudden change To journey to one's home and friends

Will surely not seem strange! And Peace, is on the waiting sea And rest, is on its shore; And farther on -- I dare not dream Of all that is in store.

Woman's Battle. The bravest battle that ever was fought Shall I tell you where and when? On the maps of the world you will find it not, 'Twas fought by the mothers of men.

Nay not with cannon or battle-shot With sword or nobler pen; Nay, not with eloquent word or thot From mouths of wonderful men.

But deep in a woman's welled up heart -- A woman that would not yield, But bravely, silently bore her part -- Lo! there is the battle field.

No marshalling troop, no bivoac song No banner to gleam and wave;

But Oh! those battles, they last so long From baby-hood, to the grave.

Yet faithful still, as a bridge of stars She fights in her walled up town; Fights on and on, in the endless wars Then silent, unseen, goes down.

Oh! ye with banners, & battle shot And soldiers to shout and praise I tell you, the kingliest victorys wrought Are fought in these silent ways.

Oh! spotless woman, in a world of shame With splendid and silent scorn; Go back to God, as white as you came The Kingliest warrier born. Joaquin Miller.

Woman Hood.

By this we hold -- no man is truly great Or wise, or just, or good, Who will not dare his all, to reinstate Earth's trampled womanhood. Each village hath its martyrs, every street Some house that is a hell; Some womans heart, celestial, pure and sweet, Breaks with each passing bell.

There are deep wrongs, too infinite for words, Men dare not have revealed, And, in our midst, insane barbaric hordes Who make the law their shield.

Rise, then, O woman! grasp the mighty pen By inspiration driven, Scatter the sophistries of blinded men With voices fresh from heaven.

Woman's Journal. 1892.

Common Place Lives. Susan Coolidge. "A common place life," we say & sigh. But why should we sigh, as we say? The common place sun, in the common place sky Makes up the common place day.

The moon & the stars, are common place things The flower that blooms, & the bird that sings. And dark were the worl,d & sad our lot If the flowers should fail, & the birds sing not.

And God who studies each separate soul Out of common place life, Makes His beautiful whole.

A Prayer for Faith. Annie Louise Osgood. Father, Thy children do not idly pray That Thou shouldst grant the wishes of each heart, We know, tho' skies be dark, or skies be bright Thou hast in all our grief, our joy, a part.

Father, we know no prayer, no plea of ours Hath power to change Thy great eternal plan, Angels of Life and Death, Thy 'hests fulfill, And cannot wait upon the will of man.

Thy pure farsighted love doth clearer see The far off interest, of pain and tears, It may be that the grief, which bows us now Shall peace and healing bring in after years.

For prayer unanswered, or for joy with held Father, Thy children would not give thee blame, We ask for faith to say, "Thou knowest best." If Thou deny us happiness, or peace or fame.

For faith our prayer, -- for deeper truer faith, To trust Thy goodness 'mid life's clouds and storms, To feel Thy presence with us in the strife And underneath, Thy Everlasting Arms.

The Heavenward Call. 1893. Lucy Larcom.

What shall I do, my Lord, my God, To make my life worth more to Thee? Within my heart, thro' earth abroad Deep voices stir and summon me.

Thro' strange confusions of the time I hear Thy beckoning all resound; There is a pathway more sublime Than yet my laggard feet have found.

My coward heart, my flagging feet They hold me in bewildering gloom, Come Thou, my stumbling steps to meet And lift me unto larger room.

The dearest voice may lead astray Speak Thou! Thy word my guide shall be, Oh! not from life and men away But thro' them, with them, up to Thee.

It is not much these hands can do; Keep thou my Spirit, close to thine. Till every thot, My love throbs through, And all my words breathe truth divine.

With souls that seek thy pure abode Let my unfaltering soul aspire Make me a radience on the road A bearer of Thy sacred fire.

Patience. Estelle Hollister Wilson.

Sometime, somewhere dearie All will be made plain, Why evil came of what seemed good Why our loss was gain. Why the prizes we faught to win Another won by play Why the grief we hoped to miss, met us in the way. All the things mysterious, The cross, the chastening rod We shall know the meaning, dear, Among the hills of God.

Leave it to God.

Is the way dark my child, leading to light Is your heart's music a song in the night? Grieve not, some weary one listens and smiles Some one who sorrows its sweet air beguiles; Why should we hope to walk hedged by a song? Jesus has trod the path, He found it long We can but follow where Jesus has trod Leave it to God, my child. Leave it to God.

Daily some hope is slain, daily some cross Lighter our wings shall grow after each loss, Less left to hold us, close to the earth Feel we the mighty throes of a new birth; Furl we our untried wings, upward we rise See, in the distance the soul's paradise, Lie we no longer so close to the sod Leave it to God, my child leave it to God.

All hearts have [I always], all lives a tomb All have their Easters, dispelling the gloom, After the long defeat, after the loss After the weariness, after the cross,

Loose we our sandals to rest lay us down After [Gethsemene] cometh the crown. Worthy to follow where Jesus has trod Leave it to God my child, leave it to God.

Tell Him the bitterness, tell Him the woe Tell Him temptations lie thick as you go; No one to help you child? Jesus has been Tempted as you are, I yet without sin Reaches His hand to you, give Him your own There is no sorrow that He hath not known We are but walking where Jesus has trod Leave it to God, my child, leave it to God. Nellie Heart Woodworth.

Push On! [Aleu Gary.]

Seek not to walk by borrowed light But keep unto thine own, Do what thou doest, with thy might And trust thyself alone. Strive not to banish pain and doubt In pleasure's noisy din

The place thou seekest for with out Is only found within.

What thy experiences teaches true Be vigilant to heed, The wisdom that we suffer to Is wiser than a creed. Disdain neglect, ignore despair O'er loves and friend-ships gone, Plant thou thy feet as on a stair And mount right up and on.

Today's defeat is Tomorrow's Failure.

If the days brief pain and passing care Have seemed too much [&] too hard to bear; If under its trivial press and smart Thou hast failed in temper, [&] lost in heart If the undiscouraged journeying sun As it sinks to its rest with its travail done Leaves thee all spent with trouble [&] sorrow - How shalt thou face the harder tomorrow?

If the things familiar, daunt thee so, How shall thou deal with an unknown woe? If conquered by every passing [dole] How build the sinews of thy soul? To stand and shiver on the brink Of each recurrent task, and shrink Will never harden thee, to abide The waves of the turbulent Jordan tide.

Never a river but brims and fills By the aid of numberless slender sills, Never a strength but has grown and fed With the force of a weakness conquered; Never a day but is ruled and shaped By the power of a yesterday escaped And never a human soul that grew By a single resolve, to its stature true.

Winter makes ready for the Spring By months of struggle and suffering; And the victory won, by the mortal strife Strengthens the fibre and pulse of life.

What if the earth in its chill despair Felt that the fight, were too hard to bear? Where were the bloom and the vintage then? Where were the harvest, for hungering men?

So, if the Now, seem cruel and hard, Endure it, with thots of the after-ward; And be sure that each task, that is clearly set Is to brace thee for other tasks, harder yet. Train the stout muscles of thy will In the daily grapple, with daily ill. Till, strong to wrestle, and firm to abide Thou shall smile at the turbulent Jordan tide. Susan Coolidge.

If a Dear Voice. Susan Coolidge

If a dear voice, which was to us most dear And failed and faltered, but the other day, From the far heavenly place, alert and clear could reach us when we sit and long to hear I think that this is what the voice would say;

"Why stand ye idly looking to the skies Or bending o'er the hiding earth in vain With voices mute, and wan and tearful eyes? Life stronger is than death. Beloved, rise, And share the hope which saints do not disdain!

"I, in full sunshine, you in darkest shade, May share the same great gladness, if we will, For joy [&] grief, and heaven and earth are made Equal and one, to those who, un-afraid Hold up their hearts, like cups, for God to fill.

"Into my cup he poured, like bright swift rain The draught which men call "death", and name with fear, And yours He filled with bitter loss and pain, What matter? God's gift never is vain. Let us then drink the draught, you there, I here.

"And smile, secure that each has what is best. Be glad for me, as I am glad for you. Work out your day like men, endure the test! The hours will not be long, till in the west The reddening sun shall sink, and work be through.

Optimism. Ella W. Wilcox.

The times are not degenerate; man's faith Mounts higher than of old. no crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul its need Of some thing greater than itself. The wraith Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth Fades, but to let us welcome new born truth.

Man may not worship at the ancient shrine [Prone] on his face, in self accusing storm, That night is passed; he hails a finer morn, And knows him self a some thing, half divine. No humble worm whose heritage, is sin But part of God, he feels the Christ with in.

No [fier?] Jehovah, with a frowning mien He worships. Nay, thro love, & not through fear He seeks the truth and finds its source is near. And fears, and owns the power of things [unseen] Where once he scoffed, Gods great primeval plan Is just unfolding - in the soul of man.

Light and Shade.

There comes a time to every life When, heart sick, weary of the strife And toil of living, We fain would lay us down to rest And feel that we indeed are blest Hands folded o'er the troubled breast And God forgiving Our sins and errors, of this life Which we are living.

But life is not all dull and gray For after midnight comes the ray Of early morning. The darkness makes the day more fair The fiercest lightning clears the air; And we, when thinking of this, dare Not doubt His loving. We know our Father sends the light And, too, He also sends the night His wisdom proving.

Christmas Thoughts. Ella Wheeler.

Whenever the christmas season, Lends lustre & peace to the year And the ling long ling of the bells that sing Tell only of joy and cheer; I hear in their sweet, wild music These words, and I hold them true. The Christ, who was born on Christmas morn Did only what you can do.

Each soul, that has breath and being Is touched with heavens own fire Each living man is a part of the plan To lift the world up higher. No matter how narrow your limits Go forth, and make them broad. You are, every one, the daughter or son - Crown Prince, or Princess of God.

Have you sinned? it is only an error Your spirit, is pure and white It is truths own say, & will find its way Back into the path of right.

Have you failed? it is only in seeming - The triumph will come at last; You are born to succeed, you will have what you need. If you will believe, in your strength.

No matter how poor your record Christ lives in the heart of you, And the shadows will roll up, and off from your soul If you will but own this true. For Christ means, the spirit of goodness And all men are good at the core, Look searchingly in, through the coating of sin And lo! there is truth to adore.

Believe in yourself, and your motives. Believe in your strength, and your worth Believe you were sent from Gods fair firmament To aid, and en-noble the earth. Believe in the Saviour within you - Know Christ, and your spirit, are one. Stand forth deified, by your own noble pride, And whatever you ask, shall be done.

{Memorial service.}

"Guarded". Nellie Woodworth

God watches every ship that ever sails, Heavens floor is studded thick with golden nails Nights, are star canopied. Then we must lift aloft our tearful eyes And fix them on the distant starry skies Nor be downcast instead.

He watches every ship that sails lifes sea. Then know dear heart, He cares for you and me. Tis He who giveth our beloved sleep; Close round about us, greenest pastures lie Where we shall walk with them, when, bye & bye Death's shadows round us creep.

How sweet the thought that Angels guard our way That those we love, watch o'er us, day by day. And though we may not hear, Their voices, yet the air is sometimes stirred As by the pinions of some unseen bird, We feel that they are near.

We reach our arms, and clasp but empty air, We may not find our angels, waiting there Yet they are there, even now; They touch the cheek with many a fond caress, A touch, replete with love's own tenderness Their kisses seal the brow.

Shadows may deepen, and be merged in night The rainbow arch, half way [break] off in light; The gardens of the air, are sownWith sweetest pansies, pleasant thoughts, And evening skies, drop down for get me nots Angels have planted there. Boston Journal.

The Coming Man. Ella Wheeler.

Oh! not for the great departed Who formed our country's laws, And not for the bravest hearted Who died in freedoms cause And not for the living hero To whom all bend the knee; My muse would raise her song of praise, But for the man, to be.

For out of the strife, which woman Is passing through today, A man that is more than human Shall yet be born. I say, A man in whose pure spirit No dross of self will lurk; A man who is strong, to cope with wrong A man who is proud to work.

A man with hope undaunted A man with God like power, Shall come, when he most is wanted Shall come, at the needed hour. He shall silence the din and clamor Of clan, disputing with clan And toils long fight with [?urse] proud might Shall triumph through this man.

I know he is coming, coming - To help - to guide - to save - Tho' I hear no martial drumming And see no flags that wave. But the great soul travel of woman And the bold free thought unfurled,

Are heralds that say, he is on the way The coming man of the world.

Mourn not, for the vanished ages With their great heroic men, Who dwell in historys pages And live, in the poets pen; For the grandest times are before us - And the world is yet to see, The noblest worth - of this old earth In the men, that are to be.

Wait. Lydia Avery.

All nature waits the appointed hour - The seed to start, the bud to flower; But man, impatient, hurries on. To lose the cause, that might be won. Calm wisdom ever cousels _ Wait! Time solves the problems of the state. When seed of righteous cause is sown. Trust time, to show its flower, full blown.

The Unfathomable. Laura Spencer Porter.

Contrite to God I come, in sore distress I know - I cried - it was but yester eve, This self same fault. I asked thee to forgive. And promised to renounce all sinfulness.

Yet I would even ask again Thy grace Save that I fear I've drained forgiveness dry, And reached Thy mercies utmost boundary! Then spake Gods mighty voice, & filled the place.

"With thy poor human [?] - child - dost thou think To measure my vast mercy's outer bound? With thy short plummet, at forgiveness' brink Dost think that thou canst test. The depth of ground? Drop in thy weightiest sin, and bid it sink, To strike the bottom - There comes forth no sound.

Waiting. Nellie H. Woodsworth.

Our God would have us walk by faith, not sight, And trusting Him, a stronger faith we gain He puts us where we cannot see the light Where faith alone can guide us and sustain.

He would not have us lose the thot, that we Are strangers here - the pilgrims of a day. And traveling toward a country, fair to see We must not falter, must not lose the way.

We are disposed, to rest so satisfied, To take our comfort, in our pleasant lot He takes our treasure, for a day denied And puts it where the robber cometh not.

Theres strongest tension, on the string that [makes] The [harps] best music, low - and sweet, and rare, These precious jewels of the heart He takes And lays them up in heaven. So wait us there.

If I should Sleep.

If I should sleep and wake not on the morrow.

To earth its cares and fears leave all behind its mingled joy and sorrow.

Its smiles and fertile tears - Where would my footsteps, ever prone to straying

Lead then me blindly on? Should I in darkness grope forever praying

To meet the promised dawn? Or would my eyes be dazzeled by its glory.

Surpassing thought or dream, And all of scriptured word and sacred story

But faint revealing seen? Perhaps, if darkest night surround with terror A firm but gentle hand

Shall lead me from my weary path of error to some far lighter land and there, perchance, my eyes are dim discerning

Shall meet the joyous sight Of loved ones angel faces yearing To welcome with the light. Then let me wait, with naught of fear or sadness.

The master's last command; And journey to that land of joy and gladness

Still guided by his hand Oh, blessed hope that makes of death the portal

To life and light above! Oh, blessed faith that claims the garb immortal

And knows that God is love!

Calcutta.

My Kingdom.

A little Kingdom I possess Where thots and feelings dwell And very hard, I find the task Of governing it well. For passion tempts & troubles me A wayward will misleads And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds.

How can I learn to rule myself To be the child I should. Honest and brave, & never tire Of trying to be good? How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along lifes way? How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?

Dear Father help me, with the love That casteth out all fear Teach me to lean on thee, & feel That thou art ever near.

That no temptation is unseen No childish grief too small, Since thou - with patience infinite Doth soothe and comfort all.

I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win Nor seek to conquer any world Except the one with-in Be thou my guide - until I find Led, by a tender hand Thy happy kingdom in my self And dare to take command.

Written by Louise Aleott. when [12] years of age.

Courage. By Celia Tharter

Because I hold it sinful to [despond] And will not let _ the bitterness of life Blind me with burning tears - but look beyond Its tumult, and its strife;

Because I lift my head above the mists, Where the sun shines, & the broad breezes blow, By every day, & every rain drop kissed That God's love doth bestow;

Think you, I find no bitterness, at all? No burden to be bourne, like Christians [pack]? Think you there are no ready tears to fall Because I keep them back?

Why should I hug lifes ills, with cold reserve To curse myself, and those who love me? Nay! A thousand times more good than I deserve God gives me, every day.

Dark skies must clear, & when the clouds are past One golden day, redeems a weary year; Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last Will sound His voice of cheer.

Then vex me not with chiding, let me be - I must be glad & grateful, to the end. I grudge you not your cold & darkness _ [me] The powers of light befriend.

When I have Time.

When I have time, so many things I'll do To make life happier, and more fair For those whose lives are crowded now, with care Ill help to lift them from their low despair When I have time.

When you have time, the friend you hold so dear May be beyond the reach of your intent; May never know, that you so kindly meant To fill her life with sweet content, When you had time

When I have time the friend I love so well Shall know no more these weary toiling days. I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always And cheer the heart with words of sweetest praise When I have time.

Now is the time _ Ah friends _ no longer wait To scatter loving smiles & words of cheer To those around, whose lives are now so dear Now is the time.

Speak it Now!

How much would I care for it - could I know That when I am under the grass, or the snow The raveled garments of lifes brief day. Folded and quietly laid away. The spirit let loose from mortal bars And somewhere, away among the stars; How do you think it would matter then What praise was lavished upon me - when Whatever might be its stint, or store It neither could help, or harm me more! If midst of the toil, they had but thought To stretch a finger, I would have caught Gladly such aid _ to bear me through Some bitter duty. I had to do; And when it was done - had I but heard One breath of applause - one cheering word One cry of "Courage" - amid the strife So weighted for me with death or life How it would have nerved my soul to strain Thro' the whirl of the coming surge again! What use for the rope, if it be not flung Till the swimmers grasp - to the rock has clung?

What help in a comrade bugle blast When the peril of Alpine heights, is passed? What need that the spurring [faean] roll - When the [?unner] is safe, beyond the goal? What worth is eulogy's blandest breath When whispered in ears - that are hushed in death?

No! no! if you have but a word of cheer - Speak it - while I am with you - here. Margaret Preston.

[Bottom Left Clipping] Not a Cheerful View of It.

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

Wealth and glory, peace and power, What are they worth to me or you? For the lease of life runs out in an hour, And death stands ready to claim his due. Sounding honors or heaps of gold, What are they all when all is told?

A pain or a pleasure, a smile or a tear, What does it matter what we claim? For we step from the cradle into the bier, And a careless world goes on the same. Hours of gladness or hours of sorrow, What does it matter to us to-morrow?

Truth of love or vow of friend, Tender caressses or cruel sneers, What do they matter to us in the end? For the brief day dies and the long night nears; Passionate kisses or tears of gall, The grave will open and cover them all.

Homeless vagrant, or honored guest, Poor and humble, or rich and great, All are racked with the world's unrest, All must meet with the common fate. Life from childhood till we are old, What is it all when all is told?

-New York Weekly.

[Bottom Right Clipping] LOVE MUCH.

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.

LOVE much. Earth has enough of bitter in it; Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can. No heart so hard but love at last may win it. Love is the grand primeval cause of man. All hate is foreign to the first great plan.

Love much. Your heart will be led out to slaughter On altars built of envy and deceit. Love on, love on! 'tis bread upon the water; It shall be cast in loaves yet at your feet, Unleavened manna, most divinely sweet.

Love much. Your faith will be dethroned and shaken, Your trust, betrayed by many a fair, false lure. Remount your faith, and let new trusts awaken. Though clouds obscure them, yet the stars are pure; Love is a vital force and must endure.

Love much. Men's souls contract with cold suspicion. Shine on them with warm love, and they expand. "Tis love, not creeds, that from a low condition Leads mankind up to heights supreme and grand. Oh, that the world could see and understand!

Love much. There is no waste in freely giving; More blessed is it even than to receive. He who loves much, alone finds life worth living. Love on, through doubt and darkness; and believe There is no thing which love may not achieve. -New York Press.

The Inevitable Sarah Bolton

I like the man who faces what he must With step triumphant and a heart of cheer: Who fights the daily battle without fear: Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God. That somehow true & just His plans works out for mortals. Not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear Falls from his graph: better with love a [crust?] Than living in dishonor. Envies not Nor loses faith in man; but does his best Nor ever murmurs, or his humble lot. But with a smile, and words of hope give [lest?] To every toiler. He alone is great Who by a life heroic, conquers fate.

God Shuts the Door God sometimes shuts the door And shuts us in. That He may speak perchance Thro' grief, or pain.

And softly, heart to heart, above the din. May tell some precisou that to us, again.

God sometimes shuts the door And keeps us still. That so our feverish haste, our deep unrest, Beneath his gentle touch may quiet, till The whispers what our wear hearts, love best,

God sometimes shuts the door, and Though shut in, If'tis His hand, shall we not wait and see, If worry lies without, and toil and sin Gods world may wait within, for you & me.

CHARACTER

He shapes the spheres to suit his ends Who hath a muse for every mood-- Who in himself hath many friends, And finds in crowds his solitude.

He asks no change of scene or [dime?] Nor heeds the lure of alien lands; His hours for him are all of Time -- His universe is where he stands.

His force doth like the forst grow His tenderness as sunshine thrills, His calm desires like rivers flow, His hopes are as the mighty hills.

Serene through tempest and through tide, His heart is as the ocean deeps; And where eternal laws abide His soul a starry vigil keeps.

I saw an Angel with majestic mein And radiant brow, and smile divinely sweet; Strong human passions writhed beneath his feet. There, too, expired those coward faults which screen Themselves behind Inheritance, and lean On dead men for their strength, and think it meet. All, all lay prostrate, owning their defeath. Then to the spirit with their eyes serene I cried aloud, in wonder and in awe: "O mighty One, who art thou, that thy glance Can circumvent heredity, cheat chance, And conquer nature? What thine occult law? Art though incarnate Force - the Over-Soul?" The Angel answered, "I am Self Control." -Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Be Master

Be master of the clouds Let them not master thee, Compel the sunshine to thy soul However rough the sea.

Be thou of good cheer yet - Tho' dark and drear the way The longest night wears on to dawn, And dawn to perfect day.

Possess thy soul in calm - Let patience rule thy heart. And in gray shades of clouded times Bear thou the hero's part.

Then shalt thou know the flush Of happy radiant days For he who trusts God, in the dark Is taught new songs of praise.

Marianne Farningham

Speak well of each other.

Things of greatest moment, often Start from trifles, light as air; And thus many guiltless beings Have been hunted to despair, By the venomed voice of gossip, which throws poison every where.

Some times, in our own home circle Words are spoken thoughtlessly. Pointing with a shade of reason Toward a friends integrity. Those few words may gather others till a scandal vast we see.

Sometimes too, vague hints may waken Doubts and fears within the soul; Hints concerning trivial actions Deep suspicions may unroll. Plunging some loved ones in trouble which no effort can control.

Yet she may be pure and guileless Free from every thought of ill; But that hint so idly spoken Grafts its deadly poison still. Such light words of gossip started Can with grief a young life fill.

Every one is prone to falter Clouds on every heart may fall; Some grope onward, led by folly Some respond to dutys call. Our friends case we cannot fathom So should never judge at all.

Speak not ill, of friend of brother They may prove true in the end Best be blind to little failings And stand ready to defend. Always striving to discover Some new virtue in our friend.

Burdened by some foul injustice Stung by slights that seldom fail

Innocence is often wounded, By suspicions flimsy vail. And that vail each day grows thicker thro' the scandal lovers tale.

Then beware of passing gossip, Light as in the snow flakes fall. It will gather in its passage Till the drift is huge and tall. So when speaking of a neighbor Say good things, or none at all. Mrs J W Schenck.

Dont Worry Dear. Dont worry dear, the bleakest years That clog the forward view Each thins to nothing, as it nears And we may saunter through. The darkest moment never comes It only looms before. The loss of hope is what benumbs Not trouble at the door.

Dont worry then, the clouds are black But with them comes the rain And stifled soul, that parch and crack May thrill with sap again. The burden bear as best we can And there'll be none to bear Hard work has never killed a man But worry did its share.

Dont worry then, dont faint, dont yield But dare the years to come, Nor give the enemy the field Because he beats his drum. These little woes that hover near Are nothing, tho they gall We know that life is love, my dear And life and love are all.

From Ladies Home Journal.

Talk happiness -- the world is sad enuf - Without your woes, no path is wholly rough. Look for the places that are smooth and clear And speak of those, to rest the weary ear, Of earth -- so hurt by one continuous strain Of human discontent, and grief, and pain.

Talk faith -- the world is better off without Your uttered ignorance, and morbid doubt. If you have faith In God - or man - or self - Say so -- if not - push back upon the shelf Of silence -- all your thots, til faith shall come No one will grieve, because your lips are dumb.

Talk health -- the dreary never changing tale Of fatal maladies, is worn and stale You cannot charm nor interest, nor please By harping on that minor chord - disease Say you are well or - all is well with you And god shall hear your words And make them true. Margarett Bottome.

Jan - 1899 - A Plea to Peace. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. When mighty issues loom before us, all - The petty great men of the day, seem small, Like pigmies, standing in a blase of light Before some grim - majestic mountain height.

War with its bloody and impartial hand Reveals the hidden weakness of a land-- Uncrowns the heroes, trusting peace has made Of men whose honor -- is a thing of trade, And turns the sear light full, on many a place Where proud conventions, long have masked disgrace.

O lovely Peace! as thou art fair, be wise; Demand great-men, and great men, shall arise To do thy bidding -- Even as warriors come Swift at the call of bugle, and of drum, So at the voice of peace - imperative As bugles call, shall heroes spring to live -- For country and for thee. In every land In every age, men are what times demand.

Demand the best, O Peace! and teach thy sons They need not rush in front, of death charged guns With murder in their hearts, to prove their worth The grandest heroes who have graced the earth Were love filled souls, who did not seek the fray But chose the safe, hard, high, and lonely way. Of self-less labor for a suffering world.

Beneath our glorious flag, again unfurled In victory - such heroes wait, to be Called into bloodless action _ Peace, by thee Be thou insistent, in thy stern demand And wise great men, shall rise up, in the land.

Unto The End.

I know not where tomorrows path may wind Nor what the future holds; but this I know Which-ever way my feet are forced to go I shall be given courage, to the end.

Tho God that awful gift of His, may send We call long life - where head stones in a row Hide all of happiness, yet, be it so; I shall be given courage to the end.

If dark the deepening shadows be, that blend With lifes pale sunlight, when the sun dips low. Tho joy speeds by, and sorrows steps are slow I shall be given courage to the end.

I do not question what the years portend - Or good, or ill, whatever wind may blow, It is enough - enough for me to know I shall be given courage to the end.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

The Prayer of Self.

One knelt within a world of care And sin - and lifted up his prayer; "I ask thee Lord, for health and power To meet the duties of each hour; For peace from care, and daily food For life prolonged, and filled with good; I praise thee, for Thy gifts received For sins forgiven, for pains relieved For near and dear ones, spared & blest For prospered toil, and promised rest; This prayer I make, in His great name Who for my souls salvation came."

But as he prayed, Lo! at his side Stood the thorn crowned Christ, and sighed; O blind diciple, - came I then To bless the selfishness of men? Thou askest health, amid the cry Of human strain, and agony, Thou askest peace, while all around Trouble bows thousands to the ground.

Thou askest life, for thine and thee While others die; thou thankest me For gifts, for pardon, for success, For thine own narrow happiness.

Nay; rather bow thy head and pray That while thy brother starves today Thou mayest not eat thy bread at ease; Pray that no health, or wealth, or peace May lull thy soul, while the world liesSuffering, and claims thy sacrifice. Praise not, while others weep, that thou Hast never groaned with anguished brow, Praise not, thy sins have pardon found While others sink, in darkness drowned; Canst thou give thanks, while others nigh Outcast and lost, curse God and die?

"Not in my name thy prayer was made Not for my sake thy praises paid; My gift is sacrifice _ My blood Was shed for human brother-hood.

And, till thy brothers woe, is thine Thy heart beat knows no throb of mine. Come, leave thy selfish hopes, and see Thy birth-right of humanity! Shun sorrow not; be brave to bear The worlds dark weight of sin and ease; Spend and be spent, yearn, suffer, give. And in thy brethren, learn to live."

By Priscilla Leonard

Your Cross. 1899

Seek not to drop the cross you wear Or lay it down - for if you do Another shall be built for you More difficult, and hard to bear.

The cross is always made to fit The back which wears it. Be content Accept the burden which was sent And strive to make the best of it.

Think not how heavy is your load; Think not how rough the road, & long Look up, and say, Lord I am strong, And love, makes beautiful the road.

Who toils in faith, and knows not fear Shall live to find his cross some day Supported all along the way By angels, who are walking near.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Wishing.. 1899.

Do you wish the world were better? Let me tell you what to do. Let a watch upon your actions Keep them always straight and true. Rid your mind of selfish motives Let your thought be clean & high You can make a little Eden -- Of the space you occupy.

Do you wish the world were wiser? Well _ suppose you make a start. By accumulating wisdom In the scrap-book of your heart. Do not waste one page on folly; Live to learn and learn to live. If you want to give men knowledge You must get it, ere you give.

Do you wish the world were happy? Then remember, day by day. Just to scatter seeds of kindness

As you pass along the way - For the pleasure of the many May be oft times, traced to one. As the hand that plants the acorn Shelters armies from the sun.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

A Morning Prayer. E.W. Wilcox

Let me today, do something, that shall take A little sadness, from the worlds vast store. And may I be so favored, as to make Of joys too scanty sum - a little more. Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend; Nor would I pass unseeing, worthy need, Or sin by silence, where I could defend. However meagre, be my worldly wealth Let me give something, that shall aid my kind A word of courage, or a thought of health Dropped as I pass, for troubled hearts to find. Let me tonight, look back, across the span "Twix dawn & dark, and to my conscience say "Because of some good act to man or beast The world is better, that I lived today."

A Happy Philosopher. Dec 8.-99.

I like the weather rainy, & I like the weather dry I like the world, & like the plan, the Ruler runs it by. Theres [mebbe] droughty seasons - in some fair, and [farmers] spot. While a streak of too wet weather, blights another, like as not. But I so love earth's roses, that the little thorns dont hurt. And life to me is something more - Than drudgery, and dirt; God turned my taste to sweetness So I shun the bitter lies. And I find so much of honey I'm a robbin' of the bees.

I've found that corn fields stunted Till they would'nt pay to shock, Will yield in huckin season - Lots of nubbins, for the stock. And the shrivelled wheat, that rusted (One of Nature's weather tricks)

Will do a sight toward feedin All the hungry hens & chicks. So whats the use o' whinin' If the sun o' things dont suit You get to smell the blossoms Tho' some insect, takes the fruit. I reckon lifes so happy - I can wander where I please - And find so much of honey I'm a "robbin of the bees."

A happy lifes, dependent - Not on gumption, or on grit But just the plain philosophy Of "make-the-best-of-it. Of course, I ain't denyin - Sorrow's stalking thro' the land. But, her Sister Joy, is with her - An - a holdin of her hand. So write me down as happy In the Summer, Spring, or fall - And even storms o winter doesn't ice the blossoms all So I jes keep on a huntin - in the fragrance, or the [freezes] An I find so much o' honey, I'm a "robbin o' the bees."

Confessional.

Boston Journal.

War Poem. 1900.

Lord God whom we besought so late Thou wouldst not suffer us forgetThy name, and our weak human state Have patience Lord. a little yet.

Today, no pomp of empire fills The wintry land -; amazed and awed We watch thy slowly grinding Mills Mete out to us, our just reward.

Today, by foemen sore beset Dismayed, we draw our destined lot We prayed to Thee "Lest we forget" And even as we prayed, forgot.

With foolish, rash, vain glorious words And sorry self-sufficiency We boasted, girding on our swords As those who laid their armor by.

Where-fore the curse upon us, lies Of warriors, all unready found - Of braggarts, blinded to despise Their foe, beyond the trumpets sound.

Humble we call upon "Thy Name" Ere sounds once more the grim assault We do confess O Lord, with shame Our fault, our very grievous fault.

Give back our fathers stern disdain Of idle brag, and empty boast So shall we stand erect again And face unmoved the hostile host.

H.H.Y

Time of Trouble

If shadows hide the sun away What use to sigh about it - Go on - about your work, and say If sun shine cant be ours today We'll get along without it. If things go wrong, let worrying go - What good can come of fretting It may be it is better so - God plans it all and He must know So spare your vain regretting There is a sunshine that makes good The lack of sun - above us And all might find it, if they would In cheerful word, and happy mood And smiles of those who love us.

Then let us smile, when skies are gray And laugh at stormy weather And sing lifes lonesome hours away So worry, and the dreariest day Will find an end together.

An Assurance.

A pardon is given to the soul who repents The return of His children. God never resents: But beckons to Him, to share in His love And dwell safe from harm in the mansions above.

He never will send from His care for a day His children, whose weakness has lef them astray; He will gather them home from the utter most parts Of the world, to bind up, their poor broken hearts.

He will show them new ways; to atone for the past That they may rejoice in His Kingdom at last - But thrice blessed are they who live for Rights sake So they shall have no atonement to maker.

Helen M. Swan.

Roseburg Mich.

My Request.

Among thy gifted workers Lord I ask no place. I only crave the blessing of Thy loving grace. Content am I that other hands More skilled than mine Should bind the sheaves in distant lands And tend they vine Let other lips than mine O Lord Proclaim Thy cause And give to greather minds The knowledge of Thy laws. But yet some little wayside path I'll gladly tread, And with Thy humble children break my daily bread. I have no skill to win the strife for rank or fame The busy thoroughfare of life calls not my name So while my place in the great world I cannot see I am content if needy hearts make room for me.

Esther Hooker Trowbridge

For Today.

Lord let me live today From start to close In just the kindly way Which friendship knows Let me be thoughtful too, And generous here, Keeping in all I do My record clear.

Lord let me live today Full to my best No hurtful thing I'd say, Even in jest Keep one from scorn & hate And petty spite, Lord let my soul be great From dawn to night.

Lord let me live today From malice free Let me in work or play Unselfish be.

Let no one find me proud Or harsh or cold Too silent, or too loud; Afraid or over bold.

Lord let me live today A friend to all Who chance along my way Tho' great or small And when at last the sun, Now rising high, shall set, Let there, in all I've done, Be no regret. Edgar A Guest

Kind Acts not Lost

The look of sympathy the gentle word Spoken so low that only Angels heard The secret act of pure self sacrifice Unseen by men, but marked with angels eyes These are not lost.

God in the Soul X

When all the joy of living has gone out Its failing flame by earth winds blown about Until it wanes and wavers and is gone The oil exhausted which it fed upon Seek not the consolations of Man Kind Nor trust to remedies the world may find.

Be like a little child let out to place Yield up your doubtful wisdom for a day And give the Hand Invisible your own Then let it lead you where it will alone So shall you find a joy such as endures Led thither by the strong hand holding yours.

When all the sweet enthusiams die Leaving the springs of feelings dead and dry Ask not the world a reason for their death Nor seek to waken them by your own breath Neither sit down in sorrow and despair To do a penance in the form of prayer.

Think not again the wells of life to fill By any conscious act of your own will Retire within the silence of your soul And let Gods spirit enter and control, The springs of feeling which you thot were stilled Shall be so deepened, sweetened and refilled.

Mourn not the lost ideals of your youth When sacrificed in honor of the truth; Surrender every idol which you find Wearing a [theory?] to cheat the blind. Take patiently results of broken love So learning your relation to the Cause.

Not with loud protest but with quiet mind Accept the discipline and task assigned Grow from within nor count that hour as waste Spent in the Presence, which admits no haste. So shall you come to feel God, in the soul And know of all the creeds, this in the whole.

Anna J. Grannis.

T'was Night when the Lord was Born. Rev. Alfred J. Hough.

It was not in the glow of noon tide high Or the tender grace of morn But shadows were over the earth and sky T'was night when the Lord was born.

This is ever the way God moulds His deeds In silence, and out of sight They hide in the dark, like the precious [?] Then suddenly rise in light.

So whenever a night with shadowy wing Folds darkly over our way We must listen to hear Gods angels sing And watch for the dawn of day.

let us say, when we sit in darkness long With an aching heart forlorn It was night, when the Angels sang their song T'was night, when the Lord was born.

For all the glad days that have rolled in light Since the first glad day had birth. Were not half so bright, as the one dark night When the Saviour came to earth.

And at last, we shall own, in the heavenly clime With a finished life in view That our darkest nights, in the path of Time Were the brightest days we knew.

To me, this song gives forth the supreme message of Christmas time. is is a note of joy and hope out of night comes the morning. God solves the problem of sin and sorrow in light and song. Just at the point where men despair and see only the end, God makes a new beginning and strikes the triumphant chord of hope.

As we look down to the dust thro' tears, the angels break thro the heavens above, white winged, an jubilant with song.

There is no end to any thing God begins except harvest for seed, fruit for blossom, morning for night, and life for death.

We mistake stages in progress, for abrupt endings, and shed tears, when we should be singing songs. There is always another chapter, in lifes book, brighter than the last, and time will cut the leaves.

Whenever there is anything worth saving in a nation or a world, God will see to it, that a Saviour is born, and wise men, Shepherds and angels, who keep spritual sight clear and clean, will get information, and tell it, in Speech and song, altho they may be compelled to wait centuries for a believing audience. The angels are singing now, and the world is rolling into the light, of a clearer morning. If we only half believed this, we would have the Merriest Christmas, and the Happiest New Year.

"Nothing can withstand the spirits force once we put it in action" E.W. Wilcox.

We build our futures, thought by thought Or good, or bad, and know it not. Yet so the Universe is wrought

Thought is another name for fate, Choose then thy destiny and wail - For love brings love, and hate, brings hate.

Mind is the Master of its sphere; Be calm, be steadfast and sincere Fear, is the only king to fear.

Let the God rise in thee and say To adverse circumstance, Obey! And thy dear wish shall have its way.

Burden Bearing.

There have come to me times When my feet would falter. In rough step pathways & dreary plain Beneath the burden that I must carry Thro' days of trial, and nights of pain. Not mine alone, but the woes of others Pressed heavy & sore on my aching heart And often the world went out in darkness. Of tears - that would all unbidden start.

Why must I suffer, for others sorrow Since my own life, had its share of pain? No need had I from my friend to borrow But ever my fight gainst fate was vain. The wearisome burden of life, and living Was mine to shrink from, & mine to bear So long as my heart could feel for others So long as the world had woes to bear.

Why must I bear what others bear not? I cried from the depths of my souls sore pain

Would another bear my burdens for me? Then a vision rose in the mist and rain. And I saw a hill that was steep & stony Under a sky that was sad with loss And. up. toward the summit wearily climbing One bowed to earth with a heavy cross.

Forgive! Oh forgive thou Man of Sorrows! I cried, and was silent for grief and shame What was my load, to the load he carried? A burden only, in thought and name.

What do I know of the woes that Christ knew Could I feel a tithe of them Lord and live? Thou who hast borne the sins of the whole world Thou who hast died for all men Forgives.

Elen Rexford.

Old Year Memories. 1902.

Let us forget the things that tried and vexed us The worrying things, that caused our souls to fret. The hopes that cherished long were still denied us. Let us forget.

Let us forget the little slights that pained us The greater wrongs that rankle some times, yet The pride, with which some lofty one, disdained us Let us forget.

Let us forget our brothers fault and failing. The yielding to temptation that beset That he perchance, though grief be unavailing - Cannot forget.

But blessings manifold past all deserving, kind words, and helpful deeds an endless throng. The fault o'er comes, the rectitude unfailing Let us remember long.

The sacrifice of love, the generous giving When friends were few, the handclasp. warm and strong The fragrance of each life, of holy living Let us remember long.

Whatever things were good & true, & righteous What ere of right, has triumphed over wrong - What love of God or man, has rendered precious Let us remember long.

So, pondering well, the lesson it has taught us We kindly may bid the Year "Good bye" Holding in memory the good it brot us Letting the evil die.

Susan E. Gammon.

Inheritance. Jan _ 1902.

Lo, what am I? a patch of things Mere odds & ends, of lives flung by. From age-long rag-bag gatherings. Pieced up by fate, full thriftily

Somebodys worn out will and wit " " habits, and his hair Discarded conscience, faith once fair Ere time, the moth, had eaten it.

My Great grandfathers chin and nose The eyes my great grandmother wore And hands from some remote - who knows? Perchance prehensile ancestor.

Some bodys style - some bodys gait Another bodies wrist and waist With this ones temper, that ones trait, Feelings, I never chose to feel.

A voice, in which I had no voice Revealing, where I would conceal, Rude impulses without a choice Faults which this fore father or that Unkindly fostered, to my ill With others, some one else begat And made the matter worser still.

They chose these matters of my fate To please themselves, bequeathing me Base pleasures in the things I hate. Liking, for what mis liketh me.

Out of the ashes of their fires Out of the fashion of their bone They fashion a me, my mighty sires And shall I call my soul, my own?

Ay, borrowed husk, head, heart, & hand Slave on - and serve me, till I die _ ! I am your Lord, and your Command! But only God knows, what am I.

Grace Ellery Channing.

People to Pity. Ell W Wilcox

There are people to pity, where ever we look The rich as well as the poor For sorrow stays not in the laborers cot She visits both laird and boor. But the people I pity the most in life Are the poor little nerveless souls - Half finished at birth - & sent unto earth Unfit to be fighting for goals.

They are third rate clerks, with no chance for a rise And they get all they earn - no doubt - They are lacking in will And tread the same mill Thro' the long years, in and out. They are wanting in character, force & brain Mere parts, in a great concern. But they ve hearts that can ache and silently break. While the wheels of the treadmill turn.

Or they stand on the corner With trifles to sell That nobody stops to buy And they gaze on the mass Of the people who pass With a weary and listless eye. They call out their wares in a hopeless tone Dusters, and brushes, and strings And their looks seem to say As you glance that way "I know you dont want these things"

And the women, with neither beauty or brain Or charm - but with hearts of gold. O - I pity them so As I see them go - Down pathways lonely and cold. And I cannot help thinking There must be a realm Where things will be evened, a bit And the play rehearsed here In new cast will appear And these poor souls, may yet, Make a hit.

How did you Die?

Did you take the trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven heart and fearful. O! a trouble's a ton or a trouble's an once Or a trouble is what you make it It isn't the fact, you're hurt - that counts But only- how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth, well- what of that? Come up, with a smiling face. Its nothing against you, to fall down flat But to lie there - thats discrace. The harder you're thrown, the higher you bound Be proud of your blackened eye- It isnt the fact you're beat, that counts It is- how did you fight, and why?

And tho you be done to the death, what then If you battled the best you could If you played your part, in the world of men

Why - the critics will call it good. Death comes with a crawl Or comes with a pounce. And whether he's slow or spry It isn't the fact you're dead, that counts But only - how did you die?

God Over ruling.

When adverse forces block my way And turn to night my every day How grand the thot, if I can say God rules the world.

When all the lights of earth are out And budding hope gives place to doubt Blest be the faith that bids me shout God rules the world

When sorrow fills my heart with woe And robs my heaven here below Dumb grief is mine, if I cannot know. God rules the world.

Love Deeper than All. Ella W. Wilcox.

There lies in the centre of each ones heart A longing and love, for the good :&amp pure. And if but an atom, or a larger part I tell you - this shall endure _ endure After the body has gone to decay Yea- after the world has passed away.

The longer I live, the more I see Of the struggle of souls toward heights above. The stronger this truth comes home to me That the Universe rests on the shoulders of love A love so limitless, deep and broad That men have renamed it, & called it God...

And nothing that ever was born or evolved Nothing created by light or force But deep in its system, there lies dissolved A shining drop, from the great Love Source. A shining drop, that shall live for aye Tho kingdome perish and stars may die

"I'll wait a while longer".

Ill wait a while longer Before I despair Before I sink under my burden of care Night cannot last away there must be a [morn] So Ill wait for the daylight & watch for the dawn.

Ill wait a while longer, tomorrow may be - The brightest & fairest of morrows to me. The birds may be singing the blossoms may start In bloom & in beauty, be patient, O heart.

Ill wait a while longer, before I give up Ill drink if it may be, the dregs from the cup. Still watching, still hoping, still longing for day Ill wait a while longer, and waiting Ill pray.

Magazine of Mysteries.

Forgiveness

"How oft shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him. Math 18-21-

Hath any wronged thee thoughtlesly Then grant to him forgiveness Lest - by thy lack of charity Thou cause him further to transgress.

Hath any wronged thee wistfully? Often - still greater is the need That thou to slight should agree And live according to thy creed.

For thought he glory in his sin And of his conquest marketh boast - Thou art unscathed, untouched within And he hath harned himself the most. Florence Solomon.

Tomorow.

Have faith, & thy faith shall sustain thee Permit not suspicion and care With invisible bonds to enchain thee But bear what God gives thee to bear. By His spirit supported and claddened But never by fore bodings deterred Think thou how oft hearts have been saddened By fear of what never occurred.

Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow Short and dark as our life may appear We may make it still darker by sorrow Still darker - by folly and fear. Half our troubles, are half our inventions And how often, from blessings confessed Have we shrunk, in the wild apprehension Of evils that never occurred. Boston Journal Sep 21 -1904.

Crossing the Bar.

Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.

But such a tide, as moving, seems asleep Too Full for sound and foam When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell And after that the dark And may there be nosadness of farewell When I embark. For tho' from out our bourne of time & place The flood may bear me farI hope to meet my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

Turn them Down.

O, the little woes of life that make you frown. Turn them down. How they agitate and trouble Making every sorrow double With your constant stew and fret Over trials, all un-met. How the burdens yet unborne Make you mourn! Rub away your peevish frown, turn them down.

When your atmosphere of life is looking brown. Turn it down. Brush the cob-webs from your eyes There are some where sunny skies. All the lions in the way Can be frightened from the fray You they cannot reach the while If you're armored with a smile Dont invite them, with a frown Turn them down.

When the angry waters sweep you like to drown - Turn them down. Hoist the sail of Hope, and fly - Flags of resolution high. Grasp the helm of dauntless Will. Let no gale, your ardor chill. Any soul can keep afloat When true courage mans the boat. Threatening ship wrecks, when they frown. Turn them down.

Take this truth - you'll never conquer with a frown. Turn it down. Laugh - tho laughter may seem vain And you ache, to cry with pain - Both are noises, at the best Hide your trouble with a jest. When you're mad enough to fight One good laugh, will set it right. Try the smile, and leave the frown Turn it down.

Beatrice St. George.

Day by Day. 1906.

Charge not thy self With the weight of a year. Child of the Master faithful and dear. Choose not the cross For the coming week. For that is more than He bids thee seek.

Bend not thy arms For tomorrow's load. Thou may'st leave that to a gracious God Daily only He saith to thee "Take up thy cross, and follow me."

The day is long, and the day is hard We are tired of the march, and of keeping guard Tired of the sense of a fight to be won Of days to live through and work to be done Tired of ourselves, and of being alone. And all the while did we only see We walk in the Lords own company We fight - but tis He who nerves our arm He turns the furrows which else, might harm And out of the storm, He bringeth calm.

Pains Birth night.

To the strength of the grand old mountain I took my sorrow with me I hid it there in the wood land fair And rejoiced! that I was free.

I said to my soul, henceforth my life From that sorrow shall be free But my pulses beat, for there at my feet The waves brot it back to me.

So I know that the place for sorrow Is here in my acheing heart Not buried, or drowned. but with patience crowned Of life to be made a part.

For the pain that drags at our heart strings If borne by the soul aright Will bring us peace, and a full release From our heritage of night.

Lillie Davis.

Gods Plans.

The world will never adjust itself To suit your whims, to the letter Some things must go wrong, your whole life long And the sooner you know it, the better.

It is folly to fight with the Infinite And go under at last, in the wrestle The wiser one, shapes, into Gods own plan As the water shapes, round the vessel.

Ella W. Wilcox.

My Duty.

He bade me find my loving Father first . . . make my baby brother smile . . . take the cup to Love as thirst. . . . go & come _ Ah! many a mile.

And I _ I went and came as I was sent And, when I wondered why such things should be And, wondering, doubted what was His intent, I heard Him say, "He did it unto Me.

Edward Everett Hale.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I think we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we No hope, beyond the zenith & the slope - Of yon great bank of sky, we might be faint To muse upon Eternities constraint - Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope must widen early Is it well to dropp for a few days Consumed in loss, and taint? O pusillanimous heart - be comforted - And like a cheerful traveler, take the rod. Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread be bitter In thine inn, & thou unshod - To meet the flints? At least, it may be said Because the way is short I thank thee _ God.

My Work.

Let me but do my work from day to day In field or forest, at the desk or loom In roaring marketplace, or tranquil room Let me but find it, in my heart to say When vagrant wishes beckon me astray This is my work, my blessing, not my doom.

Of all who live, I am the one, by whom This work can best be done. Not in my own way Then shall I see it, not too great nor small To suit my spirit, and to prove my powers.

Then shall I cheerfully greet the laboring hours. And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall At even tide - to pray, & love, and rest. Because I know for me, my work is best.

Henry Van Dyke.

Christ with Us. Edward Markham.

I cried aloud, "there is no Christ" In all this world, unparadised No Christ to go to, in my need .. .. .. comfort me, & feed - He passed in glory, out of sight The angels drew Him into light Now, in the lonesome earth & air I cannot find Him any where Would God that heaven were not so far And I, were where the White Ones are.

Then from the gray stones, of the street Where goes an ocean drift of feet. I heard a childs cry tremble up And turned, to share my scanty cup. When Lo! the Christ I thot was dead Was in the little one I fed, At this I drew my aching eyes From the far watching of the skies And now, which ever way I turn I see my Lords white halo burn.

Where ever now, a sorrow stands Tis mine to heal his nail torn hands. In every lonely lane and street Tis mine to wash his wounded feet. Tis mine to roll away the stone And warm his heart against my own. And here, on earth, I find it all - The young arch angels, white and tall. The Golden City, and the doors Swing open, and the prize is yours.

The World as it is.

Its a grand old world, if youre great And a mean old world, if youre small. Its a world full of hate For the foolish who prate. Of the uselessness; of it all. Its a beautiful world to see Or its dismal in every zone. The thing it will be, in its gloom or its glee Depends on yourself alone.

Contentment.

I would not chafe dear Lord, beneath Thy hand Nor murmur at the limits of my life I would not spend my time, for gold or land Nor waste my strength of mind in selfish strife.

I would not stupefy my soul with hate Nor mar my peace within, by envy rife I would not call Gods dealings, "bitter fate" Nor scold, because misfortune enter life.

I would not be one thing, that I am not Excepting that I crave to be, like Thee I would not seek an easier earthly lot The one I have, by God was given me.

I would not question, why, nor when, nor where .. .. .. yearn for aught that is not mine Before Thy perfect will _ my will would bow My life enrich its poverty, in Thine.

Never Give Up. July 1907.

Never give up the right way I will brighten bye and bye. In every time of trial The blessed Lord is right. Tho evil counsels darken And ere passions try Never give up the right way Twice brighten bye and bye. Never give up the right way Tho narrow, steep and straight For at the end is shining The golden city's gate. And so, if sorrows darken And selfish pleasures fly Nev give up the right way twice brighten by & by.

Never give up the right way Tho tempted oft and long. Remember who is near thee With hand, so kind and strong. What ever then may darken What ever fade and die Never give the right way twice brighten by & by.

Ella C. Kurd.

Heart to Heart 1907.

You may talk, till you're dumb. You may feel till you're numb - And give, till your dollars are few; You may weep till you're blind For the woes of mankind And thats all the good, it will do.

You may wrestle and pray To find out a way To pull an erring one through But the string that you use Will be hitched to your fuse And thats all the good it will do.

Each one his pasture must keep Each one his harvest must reap For God made him _ him _ and you _ you. But a hand clasp and smile Will even Satan beguile And here, is the good, you can do.

Eleanor Kirk.

Faith. EW Wilcox.

I will not doubt, tho all my ships at sea Come drifting home, with broken masts and sails I shall believe the Hand - which never fails - From seeming evil, worketh good for me. And tho' I weep, because those sails, are battered Still will I cry, while my best hopes be shattered I trust to Thee. I will not doubt, tho' all my prayers return Unanswered, from the still white realm above. I shall beliieve it is an all wise love. Which has refused those things for which I yearn, And tho' at times, I cannot keep from grieving Yet, the pure ardor of my fixed believing Undimmed shall burn. I will not doubt, tho sorrow fall like rain And troubles swarm, like bees, about a hive I shall believe the heights for which I strive Are only reached by anguish, & by pain and tho' I groan, and tremble with my losses I yet shall see thro' my severest crosses, The greater gain.

I will not doubt; well anchored in the faith Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale. So Strong its courage, that it will not fail, To breast the mighty unknown sea of Death O may I cry when body parts with a spirit I do not doubt, so listening workd my hear it . ..? With my last breath.

Keep Working.

Cast thy bread upon the waters Waft it on - with praying breath In some distant, doubtful moment It may save a soul from death. When you sleep in solemn silence Neath the morn and evening dew Stranger hands which you have strengthed May strew lilies over you.

Cast your bread upon the waters Far and wide your treasures store Scatter it with willing fingers Shout for joy to see it go.

You may think it last forever. But as sure as God is true In this life, or in the other, It will yet return to you. E. W. Wilcox.

Thoughts. Just what you think is just what your are The mold of a man, is his mind The thoughts that take place will reflect in the face The size of the soul hid behind. You never can buy an innocent eye The mask of the Saint, is not sold. You just have to be, and to think and to see To build up a conscience of gold. So make life a song, you are not living long But while you're alive, and can think - Put into that mind the best you can find And from all that is base proudly shrink. The heart that can tell to itself - "All is well" And beat with a rythm of love Is the heart that has caught the purest of that From the mind of the man, just above. Earl Johnson.

Prayer for Life.

Be with me Lord, the house is growing still As one by one, the guests go out the door. And some who helped me once, to do Thy will Behold, I bless Thee, on the other shore.

Uphold my strength: my task is not yet done Nor let me at the labor, cease to sing. But from the rising to the setting sun Each passing hour do service to my King.

Show me Thy light; let not my weary eyes Miss thy fresh gladness of lifes passing day. But keep the light of morn, the sweet surprise Of each new blessing, that attenx my way.

And for the crowning grace, O Lord renew - The best of gifts. Thy best of saints have had With the great joy of Christ, my heart endow To share the whole worlds tears And still be glad. (Poems of Belief) Theo C. Williams.

The Eternal Goodness.

O friends with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer Glad witness of your zeal for God And love of men I bear I trace your lines of argument Your logic linked & strong And weigh as one who dreads dissent And fears a doubt is wrong

But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds Against the words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. Who fathoms the Eternal thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God and needth not The poor device of man.

I walk with bare hushed feet the ground Ye tread with boldness shod, I dare not fix with mete & bound The love and power of God

Ye praise His justice - even such His pitying love I deem Ye seek a king; I fain would touch The robe that hath no seam.

Ye see the curse that overbroods A world of pain and loss: I hear our Lord's Beatitudes And prayer upon the cross. More than your schoolmen teach.- within Myself, alas! I Know Too dark ye cannot paint the sin Too small the merit show.

I bow my forehead to the dust I veil my eyes with shame And urge with trembling self-distrust A prayer without a claim I see the wrong that round me lies I feel the guilt within I hear with groans & travail cries The world confess its sin

Yet in the maddening maze of things And tossed by storm & flood To one fixed star my spirit clings I know that God is good. Not mine to look when cherubim And seraph may not see, But nothing can be good in Him That evil is in me.

The wrong that pains my soul below I dare not throne above; I know not of His hate. - I know His goodness and His love. I dimly guess from blessings known Of greater out of sight; And with the chastened Psalmist own His judgments too, are right.

I long for household voices gone For vanished smiles I long But God hath led my dear ones on And He can do no wrong. I know no what the future hath

Of marvel or surprise Assured alone that life & death His mercy underlies.

And if my heart & flesh are weak To bear an untried pain The bruised reed He will not break But strengthen and sustain No offering of my own I have Nor works my faith to prove I can but give the gifts He gave And plead His love for love.

And so beside the silent sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore. I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love & care

O Brothers! If my faith is vain

If hopes like these betray Pray for me that my feet may gain The sure and safer way. And Thou O Lord! by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be Forgive me if too hard I lean My human heart on Thee J.G. Whittier

Alone With my Conscience I sat alone with my conscience In a place where time had ceased, And we talked of my former living In the land where the years increased. And I felt I should have to answer The question it put to me, And to face the questions & answers, Thro all eternity.

The ghosts of forgotten actions Came floating before my sight, And things that I thought were dead things Were alive with terrible might. over

And the vision of all my past life Was an awful thing to face, Alone with my conscience sitting In that solemn, silent place.

And I tho't of a far away warning Of a sorrow that was to be mine In a land that was then the future But now, is the present time. And I tho't of my former thinking Of the judgment day to be; But sitting alone with my conscience Seemed judgment enough for me

And I wondered if there was a future To this land beyond the grave; But no one gave me answer And no one came to save. Then I felt the future was present, And the present would never go by, For it was but the tho't of my past life Growing into eternity

Then I woke from my timely dreaming And the vision passed away. I knew that the far off warning Was a warning of yesterday; And I pray that I may not forget it, In this land before the grave, That I may not cry in the future And no one come to save.

And so I have learned a lesson Which I ought to have known before, And which, tho I learned it dreaming I hope to forget no more. So I sit alone with my conscience In the place where the years increase And I try to remember the future In the land where time will cease.

And I know of future judgment How dreadful so e'er it be, That to sit alone with my conscience Will be judgment enough for me.

You and I

Just to be a friend of yours, And to know you're one of mine, With a friendship that endures And grows sweeter like old wine. Just to clasp you by the hand In a friendly sort of way, And to know you understand All the things I want to say.

Just to link your arm with mine And go singing to the task In a comradeship so fine-- This and only this I ask. If the day be gray and sad, Just to fight on & go through, Trusting, each in each, & glad You for Me, & I for You Sent to me by Sister Jessie Evans Jan 1921. R Cummings

The Older I Grow. The older I grow the more patient I am And fonder of people I seem to become, I find much that's real hidden deep in the sham I know that life's juices are under the skum, The cares that once fretted as trifles appear And the faults that loomed large in the friends {I know} that Seem to fade in a background of kindness + cheer The older I grow.

Time was that I questioned the purpose of life In the mad way of youth I was quick with any {hate} But I know not the. the depth nor the breadth of the {strife} And I know nothing then of the workings of fate. I judged from the surface + not from the deep. I was wasteful of pleasure + fearless of woe But I find that my joys I'm more eager to keep The older I grow.

I chose all my friends with particular care Heedlessly wounded, the truest + best. To many false Gods I sent up a prayer, Then real things of life seemed a subject for jest

And the bad seemed the good & the good seemed the bad I scorned in my haste what was splendid below But I find myself longing to have what I had The older I grow.

I have learned that men's follies are not printed deep That things that youth mocks at are splendid & fine And young people scatter the joys they should keep. In the very same way that I once wasted mine I'm more tolerant now, I'm slower to sneer, For I've suffered my griefs & I've winced at a blow; And money I find matters less & less here The older I grow.

It ain't no use to grumble & complain Its just as cheap and easy to rejoice. When God sorts out the weather & sends rain Why, rain's my choice.

J Whitcomb Riley

How e'er it be, it seems to me Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets And simple faith than Norman blood.

Tennyson

My Creed. I do not fear to tread the path That those I love have long since trod I do not fear to pass the gates And stand before the living God In this world's fight I've done my part, If God be God He knows it well. We will not turn His back on me And send me down to blackest hell Because I have not prayed aloud And shouted inn the market place, 'Tis what we do, not what we say, That makes us worthy of His grace. Jeanette S Gilder.

There are no friends like old friends And none so good and true; We greet them when we meet them, So roses greet the dew; No other friends are dearer, Tho born in kindred mold; And while we prize the new ones, We treasure more the old Sickles

If You Could. If you could cast away the pain, The sorrows and the tears, And let the joys alone remain From all departed years; If you could lay the burden down And recollect the song, What think you, would you be as wise As helpful, or as strong?

If you could lay the burden down That bows your head at whiles, Shun every thing that wears a frown, And live a life of smiles -- Be happy as a child again, As free from thoughts of care - Would you appear to others then More noble or more fair?

Ah no! we all must do our part And carry all our load, Rejoiced to share with every heart The roughness of the road.

Not given to thinking over much Of pain and grief behind; But glad to be in fullest touch With God and human kind.

The Prayer of Busy Hands. Dear God thou knowest how many tasks Await my hands today; If all are done at set of sun No time is left to pray. Thou knowest how many duties press, How urgent is each need; I may not dare a moment pare, To fashion me a creed.

Thou knowest the hungry must be fed The naked clothed must be; My scant store wanes no gift remains Of sacrifice for Thee So if, when life is done I come With no gift in my hand No prayer nor creed just this I'll plead Thou, God, dost understand.

The Living Edgar A Guest. You will praise him when he's gone When his earthly struggle closes. You may send him florist's roses His dark bier to lie upon; When he cannot hear or see, You will very friendly be, But 'twere better far, he'd vow, If he had your friendship now.

You will speak about his worth When he has no need of fame, You will glorify his name When at last he quits the earth; And if he should today, Many kindly things you'd say, But I wonder why do men Always seem to wait till then?

When the frost is on his cheek And his hands lie still & cold, All his good deeds will be told. Those who're silent now will speak;

When at last his journey ends He will pass thro lines of friends. But today he must not know, That his neighbors love him so.

Draw up friends on either side For the man who lives today! Smile at him and smooth his way, Let the line be long and wide, Let your praise of him be said As you would if he were dead, Make his living march as fine As shall be his funeral line

A Line of Cheer When I'm alone, I do not moan, And groan about my lonliness But turn to see, What memory Can do to ease away my stress. I live once more, the days of yore And soon the friends that used to be With laughter clear And wealth of cheer Come flocking back to comfort me. John Kendrick Bangs.

A Prayer. Edgar A. Guest.

Lord let me do my little task With courage and a willing heart, Open my eyes that I may see, However dark the day may be, However rough the road I fare, The purpose of the cross I bear.

Lord let me wake when morning breaks Undaunted by my old mistakes; Let me arise as comes the sun Glad for the task that must be done, Rejoicing I have strength to give Some beauty to the life I live.

Lord let me hear the kindlier things The morning song the robin sings, The laughter of the children near Their merry whisperings in my ear, My neighbor's greeting at the gate Let these shut out the speech of hate

Lord let me see the beauty here The sky above me bright & clear, The smile upon a friendly face, The charm of health & all its grace, The roses blooming every where, In spite of hurt and grief and care.

Lord strengthen me that I may keep My faith, though bitterly I weep. Grant me undaunted to remain Thro every storm of care and pain Lord let me do my little part With courage and a willing heart.

Easter Thought. I prayed that God would give to me Some new and holy power To send and Easter Greeting Which would cheer your every hour; And as I waited long in faith For message from above Into my soul the answer came, Remember, God is Love. Sent to us, by sister Ann Cummings

Prayer. I would not pray for gifts or common things For fortune's smile or even victory sweet; I would not ask that I be spared the stings And cares of life which every man must meet.

I would not pray to be relieved from wrong However keen its pain, but I would ask When comes the test, that god shall make me strong And grant me courage to complete my task.

Grant me the faith to trust & still keep on Despite the darkness and the fearful doubt; To bear life's bitterness, but when tis gone To keep no bitter memories about.

This I would ask: Not that I shall be spared Trials of disappointment, loss, or pain, But that my soul with courage be prepared, To meet the conflict, & to stand the strain. Edgar A. Guest.

This page is blank

[TOP LEFT CLIPPING] CULTIVATE A PLEASING VOICE

There is no power of love so hard to get and to keep as a kind voice. A kind hand is deaf and dumb. It may be rough in flesh and blood, yet do the work of a soft heart, and do it with a soft touch. But there is no one thing that love so much needs as a sweet voice to tell what it means and feels, and it is hard to get and keep it in the right tone.

One must start in youth and be on the watch night and day at work and at play, to get and keep a voice that shall speak at all times the thoughts of a kind heart. It is often in youth that one gets a voice or a tone that is sharp, and it sticks to him through life, and stirs up ill-will and grief, and falls like a drop of gall on the sweets of home.

Watch it day by day as a pearl of great price, for it will be worth more to you in days to come than the best pearl hid in the seas. A kind voice is to the heart what a light is to the eye. It is a light that sings as well as shines.

[TOP RIGHT CLIPPING] FAITH

I will not learn to doubt my kind. If bread is poison, what is food? If man is evil, what is good? I'll cultivate a friendly mind.

I see not far, but this I see - If man is false, then naught is true; If faith is not the golden clew, To life then all is mystery.

I know not much, but this I know - That not in hermit's calm retreat, But in the thronged and busy street, The angels most do come and go.

Who to the Infinite would rise Should Know this one thing ere he starts - That all its steps are human hearts; To love mankind is to be wise.

I will not learn to doubt my kind. If man is false then false am I; If on myself I can't rely, Then where shall faith a foothold find? -Christian Register.

[MIDDLE LEFT CLIPPING] I Bide My Time.

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

I bide my time. Whenever shadows darken Along my path I do but lift mine eyes, And faith reveals fair shores beyond the skies; And through earth's harsh, discordant sounds hearken And hear divinest music from afar. Sweet sounds from lands where half my loved one[s] are. I bide - I bide my time.

I bide my time. Whatever foes assail me, I know that strife is only for a day; A friend waits me farther on the way; A friend too faithful and too true to fail me, Who will bid all life's jarring turmoil cease, And lead me to realms of perfect peace, I bide - I bide my time.

I bide my time. This conflict of resistance, This drop of rapture in a cup of pain, This wear and tear of body and of brain, But fits my spirit for the new existence Which waits me in the happy by-and-by, So, come what may, I'll lift my eyes and cry: "I bide - I bide my time."

[BOTTOM RIGHT CLIPPING] TAKE LIFE AS IT COMES.

Worry Will Only Give You Wrinkles and Make You Old.

There is one sin which is everywhere, and by everybody is underestimated and quite too much overlooked in valuations of character. It is the sin of fretting. It is as common as air, as speech; so common that unless it arises above its usual monotone, we do not even observe it. Watch an ordinary coming together of people and we see how many minutes it will be before somebody frets - that is, makes more or less complaining statements of something or other, which most probably every one in the room or the car, or on the street corner, knew before, and which most probably nobody can help. Why say anything about it?

It is cold, it is hot; it is wet, it is dry; somebody has broken an appointment, illcooked a meal; stupidity or bad faith somewhere has resulted in discomfort. There are plenty of things to fret about. It is simply astonishing how much annoyance and discomfort may be found in the course of every day's living, even at the simplest, if only one keeps a sharp eye on that side of things. Even holy writ says we are so born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.

But even to the sparks flying upward in the blackest smoke, there is a blue sky above, and the less time they waste on the road the sooner they will reach it. Fretting is all time wasted on the road.

Not only does fretting worry us and those around us, but remember that nothing brings the wrinkles more quickly.

[BOTTOM LEFT CLIPPING] The Value of Laughter.

Laughter has an important place in hygiene Learn to laugh and smile. Have a cheery word for all comers and you will be liked by everybody. Laugh out loud, if you please. It may be artificial at first, but it gets to be natural after awhile. Hide your pains and aches under that laugh. The world has troubles of its own and can't stop to coddle yours. The good-humored man or woman is always welcome, but the dyspeptic or hypochondriac is not [wanted] anywhere, and is considered a public nuisance.

[top left clipping] MORTALITY. How many times have I lain down at night, And longed to fall into the gulf of sleep, Whose dreamless deep Is haunted by no memory of The weary world above; And thought myself most miserable that I Most impotently lie So long upon the brink Without the power to sink Into the nothingness, and neither feel nor think!

How many times when day brought back the light, After the merciful oblivion Of such unbroken slumber, And once again began to cumber My soul with her forgotten cares and sorrows, And show in long perspective the gray morrows, Stretching monotonously on, Forever narrowing, but never done, Have I not loathed to live again and said, It would have been far better to be dead. And yet somehow, I know not why, Remained afraid to die! -WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.

[top right clipping] ENDURE. (Written for the Boston Journal.) What may we do, our Father, small we are Nor know we even how our cross to bear? Show us the way thy heavenly work to share, Speak from Thy heaven and tell us what we may Do for Thy sake as day succeeds to day; Teach us to watch, Oh Lord, as well as pray!

Endure, He answered, they who wait serve best. Cross they hands meekly, fold them on thy breast; Take up thy cross, leave unto Him the rest, Guard well they thoughts, with them the soul is dyed; Let them not lead thee from the crucified Nor fear the breakers of the swelling tide!

NELLY H. WOODWORTH

[middle left clipping] TOLERATION What matters it what faith or creed My brother holds If it to him through thought and deed the truth unfolds? What matters it what name he bears If on his life's way of pain and cares He bears "the sign?" For his own soul must learn the right, And his own eyes must see the light, Not mine or thine.

The same sun shines on all men's ways And chooses none. How should I think he sheds his rays On mine alone? The life eternal dwells in all, THe germ of power. How shall I, then, pronounce his doom When in my brother's heart may bloom The "holy flower?" -Unknown.

[bottom right clipping] Worry.

Men and women five over to worry, will worry about the stragerst, the most out-of-the-way, the most unheard of, the most laughable things it is possible to conceive. It matters very little what are the outward circumstances- the will can find something in them to remind it of its own limitatiom of power, and to provoke its consequent resentment. It is curious to see how people of this habit will take anything that first comes to handgood, bad or indifferent- and instantly begin to find in it something to grow anxious and impatient over, and to pull about first on this side and then that, until an exciting consciousness of their own inability to do anything in the matter, and an irritated feeling in consequence of it, get the upperhand of their good sense.

What we have to say upon this subject by the way of practical suggestion is just what everybody says, and says to little or no purpose. Worry doesn't do you the least good. It relieves from nothing, it helps nothing, it qualifies for no work, it conduces to no desirable result. It very gratuitously puts an immense amount of wear and tear uponn the nervous system without in the slightest degree obtaining in return any compensatory satisfaction. It is neither a duty nor a pleasure; and yet men almost invite, certainly entertain it, as if it were both!

[bottom left clipping] all to Heaven. He can say with the poet:

"More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice Rise like a fountain both by night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats. That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friends."

This page is blank