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What profits it that Christ is born,
And bringeth childhood back to men,
And win through penitence again,
If dead in sins thou yet dost lie ?
What profit that he dwells on high?
As Christ thy pattern here hath done,
That he may count thee of his own. Who loveth Christ must live at war With all that breaks his holy law. 104
by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Do not strive to grasp them all.
Let thy whole strength go to each ;
Learn thou first what these can teach.
Joys are sent thee here below;
Ready, too, to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band ;
Shadows passing through the land. Do not look at life's long sorrow;
See how small each moment's pain; God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again. Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown, and holy,
If thou set each gem with care.
TOW in the morn thy seed,
Broad-cast it o'er the land.
The highway furrows stock;
Scatter it on the rock.
Expect not everywhere;
Go forth then everywhere.
The late or early sown;
When and wherever strown;
And duly shall appear,
In verdure, beauty, strength,
And the full corn at length.
Cold, heat, and moist and dry Shall foster mature the grain,
For garners in the sky.
The day of God is come,
JELL me not in mournful numbers,
“Life is but an empty dream,” For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
And the grave is not its goal;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Is our destined end or way;
Find us farther than to-day.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Funeral marches to the grave.
Lives of good men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time:
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Nor our onward course abate;
Learn to labour and to wait.
CHATSOEVER be the seed,
Thought or feeling, word or deed, Buried howsoever deep, What we sow that shall we reap. Every day and every hour, 'Mid the sunshine, 'mid the shower, We are planting what must grow, Yield it joy, or yield it woe. In the past full many a root Have we laid for bitter fruit, Sad regrets, and thoughts of gloom, Ripening for the day of doom. In the future may we sow Only what to joy will grow, Seeds of truth and holiness, Evermore our souls to bless!
10 labour on; spend, and be spent,
It is the way the Master went,
Should not the servant tread it still ? Go labour on; 'tis not for nought;
Thy earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;
The Master praises,—what are men ? Go labour on; enough, while here,
If he shall praise thee, if he deign Thy willing heart to mark and cheer;
No toil for him shall be in vain. Go labour on; your hands are weak,
Your knees are faint, your soul cast down; Yet falter not; the prize you seek
kingdom and a crown! Go labour on, while it is day,
The world's dark night is hastening on; Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away:
It is not thus that souls are won. Men die in darkness at your side,
Without a hope to cheer the tomb; Take up the torch and wave it wide,
The torch that lights time's thickest gloom. Toil on, faint not, keep watch and pray;
Be wise the erring soul to win ; Go forth into the world's highway,
Compel the wanderer to come in. Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice;
For toil comes rest, for exile home; Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice, The midnight peal, Behold I come!