Part 7 (2/2)
SILVER TONES
A stately church by pious hands erected long ago, Was found to lack a vesper bell, by which the poor might know The hour of prayer, the hour of ma.s.s, and who had lately died, The hour when gent and bonny la.s.s, so timid at his side, Would stand before the surpliced priest, and twain would pledge their troth, The hour in which the priest would vent on heretic his wrath.
The faithful then were called upon to bring from home and mine The metal for the holy bell, which must be strong and fine.
In smelting pot of ma.s.sive size they placed the needed ore; A molten ma.s.s it soon became, but ere in mould they pour, And thus provide a bell for G.o.d to grace His temple fair, In crowds the people came, to see the metal glowing there.
Then as they pa.s.sed, with hearts devout, each took a silver coin And dropped it in the glowing ma.s.s--no priest did this enjoin.
They wished to show their grateful love to Him who bore their sin; A simple form which love took on, not done G.o.d's grace to win.
Nor did they hope to win applause from priest and saintly friar; If G.o.d were pleased they asked no more, nor more did they desire; Nor did they deem their silver lost, though little dreamed they then The grand result of their small gifts, which now is known to men.
Their coins were for a moment seen, like flakes of snow on sward, And then they melted out of sight, yet, seen by their blest Lord, They mingled with the glowing ma.s.s, and when in high church tower The bell was hung and daily rung, all people felt its power.
Its booming tones were soft and sweet, and echoed o'er their hills In a grand symphony of praise, subduing all their wills, And calling forth from old and young a burst of rapturous praise.
Their gifts, though small, were not despised; G.o.d turned them into lays.
This world is one great smelting pot in which life's ore is cast, And from it G.o.d will some day bring a bell, destined to last And ring aloud in thunder tones wherever man is found.
Oh, may we, by kind words and deeds, give it a silver sound!
Each word though short, each deed though small, if for the Master's sake Are said and done, like silver coin, our blessed Lord will take, And skillfully will blend them with the coa.r.s.er ore of earth, And grander music none have heard e'er since time had its birth.
Then from this bell of silver tone will sound o'er hill and vale: ”The work men do in Jesus' name is never known to fail.”
G.o.d'S ORDER
Every flower that decks the way, Whether it be dun or gay, Fills a place in G.o.d's great plan, Serving Him, while pleasing man.
Every star that gilds the night With its beams of silver light Has its mission to fulfil, As a.s.signed it by G.o.d's will.
Feathered songsters all declare As they cleave the ambient air, ”He who made us made our lays, Giving each a note of praise; Each one's note, unique and sweet, Helps to make the song complete; Various tones, yet all agree, Forming one grand symphony.”
So, also, does G.o.d's own hand Fix in place each grain of sand, Tiny though that grain may be Hangs on it the destiny Of a world, yea, systems whole, As they in their orbits roll; Should it from its globe remove, Worlds would clash and chaos prove.
When we reach the world of mind Law and order still we find; In G.o.d's purpose is a plan For the life of every man.
Free, he may his own course choose, Help divine through pride refuse, But disorder will ensue-- Life a wreck! Yet G.o.d is true.
INFLUENCE
In gentle showers the rain descends, And softly falls the dew.
The dewdrop with the raindrop blends; The tiny stream they form then wends Its way the gra.s.ses through.
And kindred streams with it combine And form a rivulet; Then on it runs like trailing vine, Lays bare the roots of oak and pine, And other brooks are met.
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