The Ministry of Love.
And I would read the rules of sacred life,
Persuade the troubled soul to patience,
The husband care, and comfort to the wife,
To child and servant due obedience,
Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor peace,
That love might live, and quarrels all might
Pray for the health of all that are diseased,
Confession unto all that are convicted,
And patience unto all that are displeased,
And comfort unto all that are afflicted,
And mercy unto all that have offended,
And
grace to all, that all may be amended!
I SAY to thee, do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet,
In lane, highway, or open street,-
That he, and we, and all men, move
Under a canopy of Love,
As broad as the blue sky above :
That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,
And anguish, all are shadows vain;
That death itself shall not remain :
That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Through dark ways underground be led:
Yet, if we will our Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way,
Shall issue out in heavenly day.
The Kingdom of God.
And we, on divers shores now cast,
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
All in our Father's home at last.
And ere thou leave him, say thou this,
Yet one word more: They only miss
The winning of that final bliss,
Who will not count it true that love,—
Blessing, not cursing, - rules above,
And that in it we live and move.
And one thing further make him know, –
That to believe these things are so,
This firm faith never to forego,
Despite of all which seems at strife
With blessing, all with curses rife, –
That this is blessing, this is life.
I MOURN no more my vanished years:
Beneath a tender rain,
An April rain of smiles and tears,
My heart is young again.
The west winds blow, and, singing low,
I hear the glad streams run;
The windows of my soul I throw
Wide open to the sun.
No longer forward nor behind
I look in hope or fear;
But, grateful, take the good I find,
The best of now and here.
I plough no more a desert land,
To harvest weed and tare;
The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.
I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
Aside the toiling oar;
The angel sought so far away
I welcome at my door.
All as God wills, who wisely heeds
To give or to withhold,
And knoweth more of all
Than all my prayers have told !
Enough that blessings undeserved
Have marked my erring track;
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved,
His chastening turned me back;
That more and more a Providence
Of Love is understood,
Making the springs of time and sense
Sweet with eternal good;
That death seems but a covered way
Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray
Beyond the Father's sight;
That care and trial seem at last,
Through Memory's sunset air,
|