LITMIR.BIZ

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home of sorrow and poverty,

      Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;

      He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.

      "No! no!" a voice to the angel heart

      Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."

      He found a door that was worn and old;

      The night was damp and the wind was cold.

      A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;

      The midnight lamp to her features lent

      A paler look as she toiled the while,

      But yet the mouth had a restful smile.

      Doing her duty with honest pride;

      Breasting temptation on every side.

      "For her the blessings," the angel said,

      And touched with pity the girlish head.

      "No time nor money for alms has she,

      But duty is higher than charity."

      —Sarah Knowles Bolton.

      ———

      DUTIES

      I reach a duty, yet I do it not,

      And therefore see no higher; but, if done,

      My view is brightened and another spot

      Seen on my moral sun.

      For, be the duty high as angels' flight,

      Fulfill it, and a higher will arise

      E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite—

      Receding as the skies.

      And thus it is the purest most deplore

      Their want of purity. As fold by fold,

      In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more

      Of duty they behold.

      Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes

      On duties crowding only to appal?

      No; duty is our ladder to the skies,

      And, climbing not, we fall.

      —Robert Leighton (1611–1684).

      ———

      WHAT SHE COULD

      "And do the hours step fast or slow?

      And are ye sad or gay?

      And is your heart with your liege lord, lady,

      Or is it far away?"

      The lady raised her calm, proud head,

      Though her tears fell, one by one:

      "Life counts not hours by joy or pangs,

      But just by duties done.

      "And when I lie in the green kirkyard,

      With the mould upon my breast,

      Say not that 'She did well—or ill,'

      Only, 'She did her best.'"

      —Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

      ———

      UNWASTED DAYS

      The longer on this earth we live

      And weigh the various qualities of men,

      Seeing how most are fugitive

      Or fitful gifts at best, of now and then—

      Wind-favored corpse-lights, daughters of the fen—

      The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty

      Of plain devotedness to duty,

      Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise,

      But finding amplest recompense

      For life's ungarlanded expense

      In work done squarely and unwasted days.

      —James Russell Lowell.

      ———

      TRIFLES THAT MAKE SAINTS

      A tone of pride or petulance repressed

      A selfish inclination firmly fought,

      A shadow of annoyance set at naught,

      A measure of disquietude suppressed;

      A peace in importunity possessed,

      A reconcilement generously sought,

      A purpose put aside, a banished thought,

      A word of self-explaining unexpressed:

      Trifles they seem, these petty soul-restraints,

      Yet he who proves them so must needs possess

      A constancy and courage grand and bold;

      They are the trifles that have made the saints.

      Give me to practice them in humbleness

      And nobler power than mine doth no man hold.

      ———

      The world is full of beauty,

      As other worlds above;

      And if we did our duty

      It might be full of love.

      —Gerald Massey.

      

      ———

      What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?

      Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just;

      And he but naked, though locked up in steel,

      Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

      —William Shakespeare.

      ———

      I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;

      I woke, and found that life was Duty.

      Was thy dream then, a shadowy lie?

      Toil on, sad heart, courageously,

      And thou shalt find that dream to be

      A noonday light and truth to thee.

      —Ellen Sturgis Hooper.

      ———

      Do thy duty; that is best;

      Leave unto thy Lord the rest.

      —James Russell Lowell.

      ———

      While I sought Happiness she fled

      Before me constantly.

      Weary, I turned to Duty's path,

      And Happiness sought me,

      Saying, "I walk this road to-day,

      I'll bear thee company."

      ———

      So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

      So near is God to man,

      When Duty whispers low, "Thou must,"

      The youth replies, "I can."

      —Ralph Waldo Emerson.

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