Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, "They only the victory win, Who have fought the good fight, and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within; Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high; Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight,-—if need be, to die." Speak, History! Who are Life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say, Are they those whom the world called the victors, who won the success of a day? The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans, who fell at Thermopylæ's tryst, Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges or Socrates? Pilate or Christ? | FAILURES ARTHUR W. UPSON They bear no laurels on their sunless brows, These of the dark processionals of woe, Unpraised, unblamed, but whom sad Acheron's flow These are the Failures. Clutched by Circumstance, Made them as stone for aught of great essay;— Give to the winds thy fears; Hope and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, Through waves and clouds and storms Wait thou His time; so shall this night Leave to His sovereign sway To choose and to command; So shalt thou wondering own, His way Far, far above thy thought His counsel shall appear, When fully He the work hath wrought Let us in life, in death, Thy steadfast truth declare, And publish with our latest breath, The love and guardian care. THE CHRISTIAN LIFE SAMUEL LONGFELLOW I look to Thee in ev'ry need, I feel Thy strong and tender love, The thought of Thee is mightier far Discouraged in the work of life, But let me only think of Thee, And then new heart springs up in me. Thy calmness bends serene above, My restlessness to still, Around me flows Thy quickening life Embosomed deep in Thy great love, IN DARK HOUR SEUMAS MACMANUS I turn my steps where the Lonely Road I have said farewell to the sun-kissed plains, To joy I gave good-bye; Now the bleak wide wastes of the world are mine, And the winds that wail in the sky. No bright flower blooms, no sweet bird calls, Nor hermit ever abode, Not a green thing lifts one lonely leaf, O God, on the Lonely Road! The thick dank mists come stealing down, With never a voice to cheer me on I shall cry in my need for a Voice and a Hand, And an icy clutch will close on my heart, I know my good soul will fail me not, When forms from the dark round me creep, And whisper 'twere sweet to journey no more, But lay down the burden and sleep. (Look onward and up, O Heart of my Heart, Where the road strikes the skies afar! To cheer you and guide, thro' your darkest hour, Behold yon beckoning star!) I set my face to the gray wild wastes, I bend my back to the load Dear God, be kind with the heart-sick child Who steps on the Lonely Road. COME, YE DISCONSOLATE THOMAS MOORE Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,— Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, Hope when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the comforter, in God's name saying, "Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure." Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us, What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that heavenly promise hope sings us,— "Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." SORROW GEORGE SANTAYANA Have patience; it is fit that in this wise. For by excess of evil, evil dies. Soon shall the faint world melt before thine eyes, And, all life's losses cancelled by life's loss, And be that day with God in Paradise. Have patience; for a long eternity. No summons woke thee from thy happy sleep; |