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Ah! how skillful grows the hand,
That obeyeth love's command;
It is the heart and not the brain,
That to the highest doth attain,

He that followeth love's behest,
Far exceedeth all the rest;
Ah! how skillful grows the hand,
That obeyeth love's command,



The future hides in it,
Gladness and sorrow;
We press still thorow,
Naught that abides in it,
Daunting us, onward!

And solemn before us,
Veiled the dark portal;
Goal of all mortal:
Stars silent o'er us,
Graves under us silent.

While earnest thou gazest,
Comes boding of terror,
Come phantasm and error;
Perplexing the bravest

With doubt and misgiving.

But heard are the voices,
Heard are the sages,
The worlds, and the ages:
"Choose well; your choice is
Brief, and yet endless."

"Here eyes do regard you,
In eternity's stillness;
Here in all fullness,
Ye brave, to reward you;
Work, and despair not!"



Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.

The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,
And lifts us unawares
Out of all deeper cares.

Honor to those whose words and deeds Thus help us in our daily needs,

And by their overflow

Raise us from what is low.



Honor to him who freely gives
Of his abundant store;

Who shares the gifts that he receives
With those who need them more;
Whose melting heart of pity moves

O'er sorrow and distress;
Of all his friends who mostly loves
The poor and fatherless.

Honor to him who shuns to do
An action mean or low;

Who will a nobler course pursue
To stranger, friend or foe;

Who seeks for justice more than gain,
Is merciful and kind;

Who will not cause a needless pain
In body or in mind.

Honor to him who scorns to be
To name or sect a slave;
Whose soul is like the sunshine, free,
Free as the ocean wave;

Who, when he sees oppression, wrong,
Speaks out in thunder-tones;

Who feels that he with truth is strong, To grapple e'en with thrones.



Speak gently! It is better far
To rule by love than fear;
Speak gently! Let no harsh word mar
The good we may do here.

Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear;
Pass through this life as best they may,
'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the care-worn heart; The sands of life are nearly run, Let them in peace depart.

Speak gently to the erring ones,

They must have toiled in vain; Perchance unkindness made them so; Oh! win them back again.

Speak gently! "Tis a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, that it may bring
Eternity shall tell.



Have you heard the golden city

Mentioned in the legends old? Everlasting light shines o'er it,

Wondrous tales of it are told; Only righteous men and women

Dwell within its gleaming wall, Wrong is banished from its borders, Justice reigns supreme o'er all. Wrong is banished from its borders, Justice reigns supreme o'er all.

We are builders of that city,
All our joys and all our groans
Help to rear its shining ramparts,

All our lives are building-stones:
But the work that we have builded,

Oft with bleeding hands and tears,
And in error and in anguish,

Will not perish with the years,
But the work that we have builded
Will not perish with the years.

It will be, at last made perfect,
In the universal plan,

It will help to crown the labors
Of the toiling hosts of man;
It will last and shine transfigured
In the final reign of right,
It will merge into the splendors
Of the City of the Light.
It will merge into the splendors
Of the City of the Light.


F. A.


Say not they die, those martyr souls
Whose life is wing'd with purpose fine;
Who leave us, pointing to the goals;
Who learn to conquer and resign.

Such cannot die; they anquish time,

And fill the world with growing light, Making the human life sublime

With memories of their sacred might.

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