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      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 temptation dost set free;

      And calm'st 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 on their beds

      And fragrance in thy footing treads;

      Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

      And the most ancient 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 lowly wise,

      The spirit of self-sacrifice;

      The confidence of reason give;

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

      —William Wordsworth.

      ———

      THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE

      Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,

      That of our vices we can frame

      A ladder, if we will but tread

      Beneath our feet each deed of shame!

      All common things, each day's events,

      That with the hour begin and end,

      Our pleasures and our discontents,

      Are rounds by which we may ascend.

      The longing for ignoble things;

      The strife for triumph more than truth;

      The hardening of the heart, that brings

      Irreverence for the dreams of youth;

      All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds

      That have their root in thoughts of ill;

      Whatever hinders or impedes

      The action of the nobler will;—

      All these must first be trampled down

      Beneath our feet, if we would gain

      In the bright fields of fair renown

      The right of eminent domain.

      We have not wings, we cannot soar;

      But we have feet to scale and climb

      By slow degrees, by more and more,

      The cloudy summits of our time.

      The heights by great men reached and kept

      Were not attained by sudden flight,

      But they while their companions slept

      Were toiling upward in the night.

      Standing on what too long we bore

      With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,

      We may discern—unseen before—

      A path to higher destinies,

      Nor deem the irrevocable Past

      As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

      If, rising on its wrecks, at last

      To something nobler we attain.

      —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

      ———

      REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS

      The deeds which selfish hearts approve

      And fame's loud trumpet sings

      Secure no praise where truth and love

      Are counted noblest things;

      And work which godless folly deems

      Worthless, obscure, and lowly,

      To Heaven's ennobling vision seems

      Most godlike, grand, and holy.

      Then murmur not if toils obscure

      And thorny paths be thine;

      To God be true—they shall secure

      The joy of life divine

      Who in the darkest, sternest sphere

      For Him their powers employ;

      The toils contemned and slighted here

      Shall yield the purest joy.

      When endless day dispels the strife

      Which blinds and darkens now,

      Perchance the brightest crown of life

      Shall deck some lowly brow.

      Then

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