Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 18

He built a house, time laid it in the dust; He wrote a book, its t.i.tle now forgot; He ruled a city, but his name is not On any tablet graven, or where rust Can gather from disuse, or marble bust.

He took a child from out a wretched cot; Who on the State dishonor might have brought; And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust.

The boy, to manhood grown, became a light To many souls and preached to human need The wondrous love of the Omnipotent.

The work has multiplied like stars at night When darkness deepens; every n.o.ble deed Lasts longer than a granite monument.

--Sarah Knowles Bolton.

It is not the wall of stone without That makes a building small or great, But the soul's light s.h.i.+ning round about, And the faith that overcometh doubt, And the love that stronger is than hate.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE n.o.bLY BORN

Who counts himself as n.o.bly born Is n.o.ble in despite of place; And honors are but brands to one Who wears them not with nature's grace.

The prince may sit with clown or churl Nor feel himself disgraced thereby; But he who has but small esteem Husbands that little carefully.

Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer, Count it still more thou art thine own.

Stand on a larger heraldry Than that of nation or of zone.

Art thou not bid to knightly halls?

Those halls have missed a courtly guest: That mansion is not privileged Which is not open to the best.

Give honor due when custom asks, Nor wrangle for this lesser claim; It is not to be dest.i.tute To have the thing without the name.

Then, dost thou come of gentle blood, Disgrace not thy good company; If lowly born, so bear thyself That gentle blood may come of thee.

Strive not with pain to scale the height Of some fair garden's petty wall; But climb the open mountain side Whose summit rises over all.

And, for success, I ask no more than this: To bear unflinching witness to the truth.

All true whole men succeed; for what is worth Success's name unless it be the thought, The inward surety, to have carried out A n.o.ble purpose to a n.o.ble end, Although it be the gallows or the block?

'Tis only Falsehood that doth ever need These outward shows of gain to bolster her.

--James Russell Lowell.

Greatly begin! though thou have time But for a line, be that sublime-- Not failure, but low aim is crime.

--James Russell Lowell.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES

By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave.

But no man dug that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er; For the angels of G.o.d upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral That ever pa.s.sed on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth.

Noiselessly as the daylight Comes when the night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun--

Noiselessly as the springtime Her crest of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves-- So, without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain crown The great procession swept.

Perchance some bald old eagle On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight.

Perchance some lion, stalking, Still shuns the hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and m.u.f.fled drums Follow the funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his matchless steed While peals the minute gun.

Amid the n.o.blest of the land They lay the sage to rest; And give the bard an honored place, With costly marble drest, In the great minster's transept height, Where lights like glory fall, While the sweet choir sings and the organ rings Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honor?

The hillside for his pall; To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave; And G.o.d's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in his grave;

In that deep grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again--most wondrous thought!-- Before the judgment day, And stand, with glory wrapt around, On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life Through Christ, the incarnate G.o.d.

O lonely tomb in Moab's land, O dark Beth-peor's hill, Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still.

G.o.d hath his mysteries of grace-- Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well.

--Cecil Frances Alexander.

O, blessed is that man of whom some soul can say, "He was an inspiration along life's toilsome way, A well of sparkling water, a fountain flowing free, Forever like his Master, in tenderest sympathy."

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?

All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

Painful pre-eminence!--yourself to view Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

--Alexander Pope.

EMIR Ha.s.sAN

Emir Ha.s.san, of the prophet's race, Asked with folded hands the Almighty's grace, Then within the banquet-hall he sat, At his meal, upon the embroidered mat.

There a slave before him placed the food, Spilling from the charger, as he stood, Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast Drops that foully stained the silken vest.

To the floor, in great remorse and dread, Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said: "Master, they who hasten to restrain Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign."

Gentle was the answer Ha.s.san gave: "I am not angry." "Yet," pursued the slave, "Yet doth higher recompense belong To the injured who forgives a wrong."

"I forgive," said Ha.s.san. "Yet we read,"

So the prostrate slave went on to plead, "That a higher seat in glory still Waits the man who renders good for ill."

"Slave, receive thy freedom; and, behold, In thy hand I lay a purse of gold.

Let me never fail to heed, in aught, What the prophet of our G.o.d hath taught."