Part 18 (1/2)

There are times when the herdsman's calling May vibrate thro' alpine ranch Till the pendent drop, by its falling, Sweeps down in an avalanche, Till the mountain trembles and totters 'Neath the mighty force of snow, And the lives and homes of the cotters Are lost in the vale below.

There are times when the mind's inaction Has robbed the soul of power, When moments of deep reflection Arrive at so late an hour That they lose the force of their mission In the laggard way they come, And like withered buds of fruition, Are lifeless, powerless, dumb.

There are words that have been spoken That have echoed on thro' years; Though the vessel has been broken That voiced them to our ears, Yet they come with increased ardor As the years are pa.s.sing by, Since the soul stood on the border Of vast eternity.

There are scenes that ever mirror Their forms in thought divine, That with lapse of time grow dearer Till we hold them as some shrine, Wherein are kept the treasures Of Faith and Trust and Love-- A trio fraught with pleasures Drawn from the realms above.

There are hours upon whose decision The fate of a soul may be; Though clouds may obscure the vision And we pray for a light to see The way that shall lead to heaven, And keep our pathway bright, We can use but the knowledge given And walk in our purest light.

Let us scan each hour's requisition And answer every demand, Knowing that want of decision Is a foe we cannot withstand; If we shrink from performing our duty, Or tardily fas.h.i.+on our thought, Life loses its charm and its beauty And existence profits us naught.

We know that like all human Our work is imperfect at best, And will bristle with imperfections Till our hands shall be at rest; But to justify our blunders Or pa.s.s them lightly o'er, Is the fatal way of inviting A thousand errors more.

WHO SHALL JUDGE?

We know not all that we have done, Nor may we ever know; No field was ever lost or won, Until the final blow Has registered itself in Heaven, And every impulse known, That tells a reason why 'twas given, To Him upon the Throne.

Then let us boast not of our deeds, Nor let our true hearts fail, Because we think some plan succeeds While others ne'er prevail; For he who works as best he can With lofty, pure intent, Will not be judged by puny man, But G.o.d Omnipotent.

This earth is a place of probation, A school wherein man may secure A knowledge of his true relation, To the n.o.ble, the true, and the pure.

THE FUTURE.

I know not what the future May have in store for me, I only know that G.o.d is G.o.d And He may trusted be.

The past with all its pleasure And all its sorrow too, Has been but a probation To prove me false or true.

If in my earthly mission No progress has been made Toward a higher spirit-- No growth of soul displayed--

Then dark, sad, and foreboding The future must appear, The soul must shrink in terror When death's hour draweth near.

If in the past no brother Has felt my outstretched hand, To aid him on his pilgrimage Toward a better land,

No word of mine brought solace To a weary careworn soul; No hand of mine has pointed To the Christian's heavenly goal;

No thought, or word, or action To lead to better life; No balm to heal deep anguish; No anodyne for strife;

Then shall I hear the sentence, ”You did it not to me,”