Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
  All thy restless yearnings it would still;
  Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching
    Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.

  Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee
    Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw,—­
  If no silken cord of love hath bound thee
    To some little world through weal and woe;

  If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,—­
   No fond voices answer to thine own;
  If no brother’s sorrow thou canst lighten
    By daily sympathy and gentle tone.

  Not by deeds that win the crowd’s applauses,
    Not by works that gain thee world-renown,
  Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses,
    Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown.

  Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
    Every day a rich reward will give;
  Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only,
    And truly loving, thou canst truly live.

  Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
    When all nature hails the Lord of light,
  And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
    Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright?

  Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
    Proud proprietors in pomp may shine;
  But with fervent love if thou adorest,
    Thou art wealthier,—­all the world is thine.

  Yet if through earth’s wide domains thou rovest,
    Sighing that they are not thine alone. 
  Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest,
    And their beauty and thy wealth are gone.

  Nature wears the color of the spirit;
    Sweetly to her worshipper she sings;
  All the glow, the grace she doth inherit,
    Round her trusting child she fondly flings.

HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL.

* * * * *

PRAYER AND ANSWER.

  O God, I cannot walk the Way,—­
  The thorns, the thirst, the darkness,
  And bleeding feet and aching heart! 
  I hear the songs and revels of the throng,—­
  They sneer upon my downcast face with scorn,—­
  Yet, O my God, I must and shall walk with Thee!

  O God, I cannot take the Truth! 
  Far easier honeyed hopes and falsehoods fair,
  But Truth,—­the Truth is stern and strong and awful. 
  It ploughs my soul with ploughshares flaming hot—­
  Yet give me Truth.  I must have Truth, O God!

  O God, I cannot live the Life,—­
  The flinging all to death that life may come;
  The surging of Thy Spirit in my heart
  In fire and flame will all consume me,—­
  Yet, O my God, I cannot live without Thee!

  And as I agonized in dust and shame
  With tears and sighs in all the bitter prayer,
  I felt, as ’t were, an arm that stole around me,
  And raised me to my feet. 
  And at the touch, hope blossomed in my heart,
  And new-found strength in flood-tides thrilled and throbbed