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Lives of good men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us,
Footprints on the sands of time:
Footprints that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us then be up and doing,
Nor our onward course abate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

107

HATSOEVER be the seed,

WE

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!

108

G

O labour on; spend, and be spent,J Thy joy to do the Father's will; 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

Is near,

—a 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!

109

LORD, it belongs not to my care,

Whether I die or live;

To love and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.

If life be long, I will be glad
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad
To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than he went through before;

He that unto God's kingdom comes,

Must enter by his door.

Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if thy work on earth be sweet,
What will thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,
And weary sinful days,

And join with the triumphant saints,
Who sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,
The eye of faith is dim;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with him.

110

Woon will the fleeting hours be past;

WORK, work to-day! the night comes fast,

Work, work to-day! for never more
Will time its precious gifts restore.

Work, work! each moment as it flies
Holds out a glory for the skies;

Work, work! each moment slighted now
Plucks a rich jewel from thy brow.

111

HOUGH lowly here our lot may be,
High work have we to do,-

In faith and trust to follow Him
Whose lot was lowly too.

Our days of darkness we may bear,
Strong in a Father's love,
Leaning on his almighty arm,

And fix'd our hopes above.

Our lives, enrich'd with gentle thoughts
And loving deeds, may be
A stream that still the nobler grows
The nearer to the sea.

To Jesus true, to conscience true,
However tried and press'd,

In God's clear sight high work we do,
If we but do our best.

Thus may we make the lowliest lot
With rays of glory bright;

Thus may we turn a crown of thorns
Into a crown of light.

112

SCOR

CORN not the slightest word or deed,
Nor deem it void of power;

There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed,
That waits its natal hour.

A whisper'd word may touch the heart,
And call it back to life;

A look of love bid sin depart,
And still unholy strife.

No act falls fruitless; none can tell
How vast its power may be,
Nor what results unfolded dwell
Within it silently.

Work on, despair not; bring thy mite,
Nor care how small it be;

God is with all that serve the Right,
The Holy, True, and Free.

113

IT is hard to work for God,

To rise and take his part
Upon this battle-field of earth,
And not sometimes lose heart!

He hides himself so wondrously,
As though there were no God;
He is least seen when all the powers
Of ill are most abroad.

O blest is he to whom is given

The instinct that can tell

That God is on the field, when he

Is most invisible !

And blest is he who can divine

Where real right doth lie,

And dares to take the side that seems

Unsafe to human eye!

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