Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 31

From his knees the monk arose; With full heart and hand he goes, At his gate the poor relieves, Gains a blessing and receives; To his cell returned, and there Found the angel of his prayer, Who with radiant features said, "Hadst thou stayed I must have fled."

--Charles Timothy Brooks.

THE HEAVENLY PRESENCE

Somewhere I have read of an aged monk Who, kneeling one day in his cell, Beheld in a glorious vision the form Of the dear Lord Christ; and there fell

Upon him a rapture, wondrously sweet, And his lips could frame no word, As he gazed on the form and noted the love That beamed from the face of his Lord.

There came to his ears the sound of a bell Which called him early and late To carry loaves to the wretched poor Who lingered about the gate.

Could he leave his cell now glorified By the presence of the Christ, The Blessed Son, the Holy One, His Saviour, the Sacrificed?

He went to his act of mercy, and when He returned to his cell, the dim Gay light was dispelled as the loving Christ Re-entered to welcome him.

And the Blessed One remained, more fair, More glorious than before, And the heart of the aged monk was glad, And his cell was dim no more.

"Draw nigh and abide with me, O Christ, All through this day," is the prayer Which sounds from my heart, and my lips repeat Each morning, and Christ, the Fair,

Seems very near as his words I hear, Though his form I do not see; "When you care for the least of these, dear child, You have done it unto me.

"With loving service fill all this day, Do good in the name of your Lord, And I will be near, your heart to cheer, According to my word."

--William Norris Burr.

ONLY

It was _only_ a blossom, Just the merest bit of bloom, But it brought a glimpse of summer To the little darkened room.

It was _only_ a glad "good morning,"

As she pa.s.sed along the way; But it spread the morning's glory Over the livelong day.

_Only_ a song; but the music, Though simply pure and sweet, Brought back to better pathways The reckless roving feet.

"_Only_," in our blind wisdom, How dare we say at all?

Since the ages alone can tell us Which is the great or small.

SOMETHING YOU CAN DO

Hark! the voice of Jesus calling, "Who will go and work to-day?

Fields are white and harvests waiting, Who will bear the sheaves away?"

Loud and long the Master calleth, Rich reward he offers free; Who will answer, gladly saying, "Here am I, send me, send me."

If you cannot cross the ocean And the heathen lands explore, You can find the heathen nearer, You can help them at your door; If you cannot give your thousands You can give the widow's mite; And the least you give for Jesus Will be precious in his sight.

If you cannot speak like angels, If you cannot preach like Paul, You can tell the love of Jesus, You can say he died for all.

If you cannot rouse the wicked With the Judgment's dread alarms, You can lead the little children To the Saviour's waiting arms.

Let none hear you idly saying "There is nothing I can do,"

While the sons of men are dying, And the Master calls for you.

Take the task he gives you gladly, Let his work your pleasure be; Answer quickly, when he calleth, "Here am I, send me, send me."

--Daniel March.

SEEDTIME

Sow thou thy seed!

Glad is the light of Spring--the sun is glowing.

Do thou thy deed: Who knows when flower or deed shall cease its growing?

Thy seed may be Bearer of thousands scattered far and near; Eternity May feel the impress of the deed done here.

--Arthur L. Salmon.

TOIL A BLESSING

The toil of brain, or heart, or hand, Is man's appointed lot; He who G.o.d's call can understand Will work and murmur not.

Toil is no th.o.r.n.y crown of pain, Bound round man's brow for sin; True souls, from it, all strength may gain, High manliness may win.

O G.o.d! who workest hitherto, Working in all we see, Fain would we be, and bear, and do, As best it pleaseth thee.

Where'er thou sendest we will go, Nor any questions ask, And that thou biddest we will do, Whatever be the task.

Our skill of hand, and strength of limb, Are not our own, but thine; We link them to the work of Him Who made all life divine.

Our brother-friend, thy holy Son, Shared all our lot and strife; And n.o.bly will our work be done If molded by his life.

--Thomas W. Freckelton.

No service in itself is small; None great, though earth it fill; But that is small that seeks its own, And great that seeks G.o.d's will.

Then hold my hand, most gracious G.o.d, Guide all my goings still; And let it be my life's one aim, To know and do thy will.

EASILY GIVEN

It was only a sunny smile, And little it cost in the giving; But it scattered the night Like morning light, And made the day worth living.

Through life's dull warp a woof it wove, In s.h.i.+ning colors of light and love, And the angels smiled as they watched above, Yet little it cost in giving.

It was only a kindly word, And a word that was lightly spoken; Yet not in vain, For it stilled the pain Of a heart that was nearly broken.

It strengthened a fate beset by fears And groping blindly through mists of tears For light to brighten the coming years, Although it was lightly spoken.

It was only a helping hand, And it seemed of little availing; But its clasps were warm, And it saved from harm A brother whose strength was failing.

Its touch was tender as angels' wings, But it rolled the stone from the hidden springs, And pointed the way to higher things, Though it seemed of little availing.