Shaker Commonplace Book

Perhaps. Laura Brown.

It is not for me to sing the songs That rush with a thrill, to the heart It is not for me with pen or brush, To glorify nature and art. It is not for me to wield the sword Without reproach or fear, There are only left the quiet paths That no one, counteth dear. Just to sit and bear it, beside the way With no regret or pain, While others achieve the things I love And take what I would gain. T'is to give my soul by slow degrees To the healing of other's woes, And to kiss the cross, I bear my part From the morning of life to its close. But there stands the Christ, with wounded hands, The Christ with His tender heart Perhaps it is love that moves the world And I, may be bearing my part.

Soul Saving. Hattie Tyng Griswold.

It seems to me like a selfish cry This telling a man that the only thing Of any importance here below, Is saving himself from a future sting Far nobler, far better it seems to me To tell a man to save some other To send him up & down thro' the world Seeking & saving his fallen brother.

To put him off from the beaten path Out into the hedges of sin & shame To teach, & to tell to the captives there The bounty & glory of virtues name. To rescue the starving one from death To rescue the sinning one, from crime To preach the gospel of present help To the weary ones, on the shores of time.

To seek out those whom the world forgets And plant a flower, on a nameless grave,

To hide the erring one in the heart And strengthen it, with a purpose brave.

To do the little ones of God The things which the world does, to the great. To walk the world with a purpose grand And, with eye on the final good, to wait.

If a man does this, I dare affirm That he can afford to forego all care About going to heaven, and give his whole time To the work of getting his brother there.

The Disappointed.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There are songs enough for the hero Who dwells on the heights of fame I sing for the dis-appointed For those who have missed their aim. I sing with a tearful cadence For one who stands in the dark And knows that his last, best arow has bounded back, from the mask.

I sing for the breathless runner The cager, anxious soul Who falle, with his strength exhausted Almost in sight of the goal. For the hearte that nreak in silence With a sorrow all unknown, For those who mud companions Yet, walk they ways alone.

There are songs enough, for the lover Who share love's tender pain I sing for the one whose loving Is given, but in vain For those whose spirit comrades Have missed them, on the way. I sing with a heart over flowing, The minor strain today.

And I know the solar system, must somewhere keep in space A prize, for that spent runner, who barely lost the race. For the plan would be imperfect, unless it held some sphere That fraid for the toil I talent, and love that are wasted here.

Not as I Will

Helen Hunt Jackson

Blindfolded and alone I stand With unknown thresholds on each hand; The darkness deepens. As I grope Afraid to fear, afraid to hope. Yet, this one thing, I learn to know. Each day more surely as I go. That doors are opened, ways are made Burdens are lifted, or are laid By some great law unseen and strill, Unfathomed purpose to fulfill. "Not as I will" Blindfolded & alone I wait. Loss seems too bitter, pain too late Too heavy burdens in the load And joy is weak, and grief is strong And years & days, so lomg, so long. Yet this one thing I learn to know Each day more surely I go, That I am glad, the good and ill By changeless law, are ordered still. "Not as I will"