« ÎnapoiContinuați »
Banish, then, mourner, the tears that are trickling Over the cheeks that should rosily bloom; Why should a man, like a girl or a sickling,
Suffer his lamp to be quench'd in the tomb? Still may we battle for goodness and beauty; Still hath philanthropy much to essay : Glory rewards the fulfilment of duty;
Rest will pavilion the end of our way.
What though corroding and multiplied sorrows,
Over the stars thy desire shall have scope.
Look round about on the face of creation!
Still is God's earth undistorted and bright; Comfort the captives to long tribulation,
Thus shalt thou reap the more perfect delight. Love!--but if love be a hallow'd emotion,
Purity only its rapture should share ; Love, then, with willing and deathless emotion, All that is just, and exalted, and fair.
Act!-for in action are wisdom and glory,
Fame, immortality-these are its crown: Wouldst thou illumine the tablets of story,
Build on achievements thy dome of renown.
Honour and feeling were given thee to cherish;
Courage-disaster and peril once over,
Freshen the spirit, as showers the grove: O'er the dim graves that the cypresses cover, Soon the "forget-me-not" rises in love.
Courage, then, friends! though the universe crumble, Innocence, dreadless of danger beneath, Patient and trustful, and joyous and humble, Smiles through the ruin on darkness and death. -German of Seewis.
LABOUR is rest-from the sorrows that greet us;
Labour is health! Lo the husbandman reaping,
Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee; Look on yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;
Rest not content in thy darkness—a clod! Work for some good-be it ever so slowly; Cherish some flower-be it ever so lowly; Labour !—all labour is noble and holy :
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.
Pause not to dream of the future before us;
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven!
"Labour is worship!"-the robin is singing;
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; From the rough sod comes the soft-breathing flower; From the small insect the rich coral bower;
Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.
Labour is life! 'Tis the still water faileth;
Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth;
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.
LIKE as the damask rose you see,