Gleams of Sunshine Part 11

Teaching us this lesson we are slow to learn; Man lives not for eating, nor for duties stern, But to serve G.o.d's pleasure, then to Him return.

Room for joy is given and for purest bliss, And we may all find them in a world like this, If our aims are sordid all this gold we miss;

But if we are faithful and to G.o.d inclined, Seeing Him in nature, and of heavenly mind, Aiming to be like Him, and by grace refined,

We shall live forever where there is no gloom; Though the path to glory leadeth through the tomb; But a moment's darkness--flowers that ever bloom.

THE MOSS ROSE

'Tis said, long since an angel came to earth, Sent by his Lord, to help with loving hand A suffering one, afflicted from his birth.

The limb was healed as by divine command, But He felt weak, for strength from Him had gone, A sacrifice which love could not withhold; So he sought shelter till the morning dawn, But none received--they prized not love, but gold.

Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie, And rested well until the break of day, When much refreshed he sought his home on high, But ere he started on his upward way, He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice, "What man refused thou hast afforded me.

What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice; The G.o.d of love and power will grant it thee!"

"I ask no brighter hue," the rose replied, "Both old and young smile on me as they pa.s.s, My buds adorn the bosom of the bride, And hide among the locks of lovely la.s.s; With fragrance, too, I own myself content, For naught on earth surpa.s.ses me in this; But if, indeed, my Maker thee has sent I ask but this, to consummate my bliss:

"I feel the cold, both in my bark and bud, When Autumn winds sweep o'er the western hill, And frozen dewdrops oft my branches stud, Which mar my beauty and my juices chill.

Give me an extra garb, 'tis all I lack."

"Thou hast thy wish, I shelter found in thee, I take delight in kind to pay thee back.

Let softest moss thy extra garment be."

Then touched the angel bark, and bud, and leaf, And soft green moss suffused it o'er and o'er.

He lingered near it for a moment brief, Plucked off a bud, which he to heaven bore; And now the rose smiles at the raging storm, Defies the wind and nipping frost as well; Its fragrance still retains, and lovely form, While nestling budlets this old story tell.

G.o.d'S CARE

I fear not, my Father, the tempest's loud roar, Nor dread the huge breakers on the rock-girded sh.o.r.e; Thy presence is with me, my refuge is near, With help all-sufficient; oh, why should I fear?

Tho' billows of sorrow should roll o'er my head, My sun sink in darkness, and joys be all dead, Thy presence will cheer me, and spectres will flee, For who can molest me while trusting in thee?

MY LOT

My lot on earth is not all mirth, Nor is it constant gloom; Some joys decay and fall away, But leave much lasting bloom.

My wishes are not always met, And cares press hard at times; Yet joyous strains ne'er sink to fret, Tho' dollars shrink to dimes.

My earthly lot boasts not a cot, No foot of land I own, No bank account nor phosphate mount, Nor credit for a loan; But I can read my t.i.tle clear To mansion, robe, and crown; I couple these with lot down here, And sing, tho' foes may frown.

G.o.d'S FOOT ON THE CRADLE

The air is chill with the frost of doubt, And men's hearts are sadly failing; They do not hear the great Victor's shout; But indulge in bitter wailing.

"The old gives place to the new," they say, "And fond hopes are daily buried; Our cherished views are oft borne away, As if by the tempest hurried.

"The world is stirred to its very heart, And the Church shares the commotion; With systems old, we are loathe to part, To sail on an unknown ocean.

The world now heaves like the great sea's breast, And rocks like an infant's cradle; And looking up, by sore grief oppressed, We find the sky draped in sable."

I will not fear, though the earth should rock, If G.o.d's foot be on the cradle; But rest in peace midst the tempest's shock, Rejoicing that G.o.d is able To still the world with His mighty hand, If His timid child should waken; Or, if it rock, He will by me stand; And my heart shall not be shaken.

G.o.d'S GIFTS TO BE ENJOYED

From G.o.d's all bounteous hand descend Rare gifts in rich effusion, And with those gifts no poisons blend, Nor is their end delusion; So do not spurn if He bestow Those forms arrayed in beauty; If thus His gifts with radiance glow, Enjoyment is a duty.

Come, deck your brows with leaves and flowers, Ye fair ones, nothing fearing; Adorn your homes and train your bowers Nor deem this sin's appearing; We do not fit ourselves for bliss By scorning all adorning; We may enjoy the good of this And share heaven's brighter morning.

A garment plain may have its stain, And saintly brows lack sweetness; But he who would heaven's glory gain Must here acquire a meetness; So eat and drink, rejoice and sing, But don't forget the ending; The bells of earth more sweetly ring If we are heavenward tending.

The world we use, but not abuse, If we enjoy its beauty; And they who all its joys refuse Miss privilege and duty.

Then prize earth's joys, but prize much more The bloom beyond the river; G.o.d's gifts enjoy, but e'er adore The ever blessed Giver.

THE HIGHEST GOAL

The highest goal is not success, If that be made the aim; But faithfulness, tho' counted less, Is what G.o.d promises to bless: These goals are not the same.

And if I am to do my best In every line of life, My effort will be surely blest, And I will find in toil sweet rest, Tho' in a world of strife.

And when before the throne I stand To answer for the use Of gifts received from G.o.d's own hand, He will not then, in wrath, demand From me some strong excuse,

To show why I had not attained The goal of grand success, Such as some noted men have gained, For if my work is not sin-stained G.o.d will my failures bless.

And I will hear Him say, "My son, A throne thou hast attained; Without applause thy race was run, 'Midst failures oft thy work was done, _Life's highest goal is gained_."

JOY IN THE MORNING