LITMIR.BIZ

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humble the home may be,

      Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree,

      The blessings that never were bought or sold

      And center there, are better than gold.

      —Abram J. Ryan.

      ———

      When success exalts thy lot

      God for thy virtue lays a plot.

      —Ralph Waldo Emerson.

      ———

      MAXIMUS

      I hold him great who, for Love's sake,

      Can give with generous, earnest will;

      Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake

      I think I hold more generous still.

      I bow before the noble mind

      That freely some great wrong forgives;

      Yet nobler is the one forgiven,

      Who bears that burden well and lives.

      It may be hard to gain, and still

      To keep a lowly, steadfast heart;

      Yet he who loses has to fill

      A harder and a truer part.

      Glorious it is to wear the crown

      Of a deserved and pure success;

      He who knows how to fail has won

      A crown whose luster is not less.

      Great may he be who can command

      And rule with just and tender sway;

      Yet is Diviner wisdom taught

      Better by him who can obey.

      Blessed are those who die for God,

      And earn the martyr's crown of light;

      Yet he who lives for God may be

      A greater conqueror in his sight.

      —Adelaide Anne Procter.

      ———

      'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great:

      Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,

      Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.

      Who noble ends by noble means obtains,

      Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains;

      Like good Aurelius, let him reign, or bleed

      Like Socrates—that man is great indeed.

      One self-approving hour whole years outweighs

      Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;

      And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels,

      Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.

      —Alexander Pope.

      ———

      Though world on world in myriad myriads roll

      Round us, each with different powers,

      And other forms of life than ours,

      What know we greater than the soul?

      On God and Godlike men we build our trust.

      —Alfred Tennyson.

      

      ———

      THE GOOD, GREAT MAN

      How seldom, friend, a good, great man inherits

      Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains!

      It seems a story from the world of spirits

      When any man obtains that which he merits,

      Or any merits that which he obtains.

      For shame, my friend; renounce this idle strain!

      What would'st thou have a good, great man obtain?

      Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,

      Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain?

      Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.

      Hath he not always treasurer, always friends,

      The great, good man? Three treasures—love, and light,

      And calm thoughts, equable as infants' breath;

      And three fast friends, more sure than day or night—

      Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

      —Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

      ———

      THE POEM OF THE UNIVERSE

      The poem of the universe

      Nor rhythm has nor rhyme;

      For God recites the wondrous song

      A stanza at a time.

      Great deeds is he foredoomed to do—

      With Freedom's flag unfurled—

      Who hears the echo of that song

      As it goes down the world.

      Great words he is compelled to speak

      Who understands the song;

      He rises up like fifty men,

      Fifty good men and strong.

      A stanza for each century:

      Now heed it all who can!

      Who hears it, he, and only he,

      Is the elected man.

      —Charles Weldon.

      ———

      When faith is lost, when honor dies,

      The man is dead!

      —John Greenleaf Whittier.

      ———

      FAILURE AND SUCCESS

      He fails who climbs to power and place

      Up the pathway of disgrace.

      He fails not who makes truth his cause,

      Nor bends to win the crowd's applause.

      He fails not, he who stakes his all

      Upon the right, and dares to fall;

      What though the living bless or blame,

      For him the long success of fame.

      —Richard Watson Gilder.

      ———

      WHAT DOES IT MATTER?

      It matters little where I was born,

      Or if my parents were rich or poor;

      Whether they shrunk at the cold world's scorn,

      Or walked in the pride of wealth secure.

      But whether I live an honest man

      And hold my integrity firm in my clutch

      I tell you, brother, as plain as I can,

      It

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