And scatter far afield,

Till it, in turn, shall yield
Its hundred fold

Of grains of gold

To feed the waiting children of my God? Show me the desert, Father, or the sea. Is it Thine enterprise? Great God, send me. And though this body lie where ocean rolls, Count me among all Faithful Souls.

OBEDIENCE

GEORGE MACDONALD

I said: "Let me walk in the fields."
He said: "No, walk in the town."
I said: "There are no flowers there."
He said: "No flowers, but a crown."

I said: "But the skies are black;

There is nothing but noise and din." And He wept as He sent me back"There is more," He said; "there is sin."

I said: "But the air is thick,

And fogs are veiling the sun." He answered: "Yet souls are sick, And souls in the dark undone !"

I said: "I shall miss the light,

And friends will miss me, they say."

He answered: "Choose tonight
If I am to miss you or they."

I pleaded for time to be given.

He said: "Is it hard to decide?

It will not seem so hard in heaven

To have followed the steps of your Guide."

I cast one look at the fields,

Then set my face to the town;

He said, "My child, do you yield?

Will you leave the flowers for the crown?"

Then into His hand went mine;

And into my heart came He;
And I walk in a light divine,

The path I had feared to see.

THE REPLY OF SOCRATES

EDITH M. THOMAS

This from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death,

When Crito brought promise of freedom: "Vainly thou spendest thy breath!

Dost remember the wild Corybantes? feel they the knife or the rod?

Heed they the fierce summer sun, the frost, or winterly flaws?If any entreat them they answer, 'We hear but the flutes of the God!'

"So even am I, O my Crito! Thou pleadest a losing cause! Thy words are but sound without import-I hear but the voice of the Laws;

And, know thou, the voice of the Laws is to me as the flutes of the God."

Thus spake that soul incorrupt, and wherever, since hemlock was quaffed,

A man has stood forth without fear-has chosen the dark, deep draught!

Has taken the lone one way, nor the path of dishonour has trod

Behold! He, too, hears but the voice of the Laws, the flutes of the God!

ODE TO DUTY

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!

O Duty! if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe,

From vain temptations dost set free,

And calmst the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot,

Who do Thy work and know it not:

Oh! if through confidence misplaced

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I

may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance desires:

My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:

Flowers laugh before thee upon their beds
And fragrance in their footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most fragrant heavens, through thee, are fresh and

strong.

To humbler functions. Awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made wise, lowly
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;

And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

8. Creeds

CREEDS

KARLE WILSON BAKER

Friend, you are grieved that I should go
Unhoused, unsheltered, gaunt and free,
My cloak for armor-for my tent
The roadside tree;

And I-I know not how you bear
A roof betwixt you and the blue,
Brother, the creed would stifle me
That shelters you.

Yet, that same light that floods at dawn
Your cloistered room, your cryptic stair,
Wakes me too-sleeping by the hedge-
To morning prayer!

MY CREED

ALICE CARY

I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds Of love to men.

I hold all else, named piety,

A selfish scheme, a vain pretense; Where center is not-can there be Circumference?

This I moreover hold, and dare

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go,— Whatever things be sweet and fair, Love makes them so.

Whether it be the lullabies

That charm to rest the nursling bird, Or the sweet confidence of sighs

And blushes, made without a word.

Whether the dazzling and the flush
Of softly sumptuous garden bowers,
Or by some cabin door, a bush
Of ragged flowers.

'Tis not the wide phylactery,

Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, That make us saints: we judge the tree By what it bears.