BROTHERHOOD
CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE
THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran—
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by—
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears—
Both parts of an infinite plan—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
And the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by—
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish—so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
—Sam Walter Foss.
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IS YOUR LAMP BURNING?
Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?
I pray you look quickly and see;
For if it were burning, then surely
Some beams would fall brightly on me.
Straight, straight is the road, but I falter.
And oft I fall out by the way;
Then lift your lamp higher, my brother,
Lest I should make fatal delay.
There are many and many around you
Who follow wherever you go;
If you thought that they walked in the shadow
Your lamp would burn brighter, I know.
Upon the dark mountains they stumble,
They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie
With their white pleading faces turned upward
To the clouds and the pitiful sky.
There is many a lamp that is lighted,
We behold them anear and afar,
But not many among them, my brother,
Shine steadily on, like a star.
I think, were they trimmed night and morning,
They would never burn down or go out,
Though from the four quarters of heaven
The winds were all blowing about.
If once all the lamps that are lighted
Should steadily blaze in a line,
Wide over the land and the ocean,
What a girdle of glory would shine!
How all the dark places would brighten!
How the mists would roll up and away!
How the earth would laugh out in her gladness
To hail the millennial day!
Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?
I pray you look quickly and see;
For if it were burning, then surely
Some beams would fall brightly on me.
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IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT
If I should die to-night,
My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,
And deem that death had left it almost fair,
And laying snow-white flowers upon my hair,
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,
And fold my hands with lingering caress—
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
If I should die to-night,
My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought,
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said—
Errands on which the willing feet had sped;
The memory of my selfishness and pride,
My hasty words, would all be put aside,
And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.
If I should die to-night,
Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
Recalling other days remorsefully.
The eyes that chill me with averted glance
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,
And soften in the old familiar way;
For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay?
So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.
O friends, I pray to-night,
Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow.
The way is lonely; let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn,
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive! O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to-night.
—Belle Eugenia Smith.
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FRUITION
We scatter seeds with careless hand
And dream we ne'er shall see them more,
But for a thousand years
Their fruit appears
In weeds that mar the land
Or helpful store.
The deeds we do, the words we say—
Into still air they seem to fleet;
We count them ever past;
But they shall last—
In the dread judgment they
And we shall meet.
I charge thee by the years gone by,
For the love's sake of brethren dear,
Keep thou the one true way,
In work and play,
Lest in that world their cry
Of woe thou hear.
—John Keble.
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Still shines the light of holy lives
Like star beams over doubt;
Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives
Some dark possession out.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
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HAVE CHARITY
Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin' wrang
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it:
And just as lamely can ye mark
How far, perhaps, they rue it.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;
He knows each chord—its various tone,
Each spring—its various bias;
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
—Robert Burns.
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THE VOICE OF PITY
Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness,
O'er the sons of wrong and strife,
Were their strong temptations planted
In thy path of life?
He alone whose hand is bounding
Human power and human will,
Looking through each soul's surrounding,
Knows its good or ill.
Earnest words must needs be spoken
When the warm heart bleeds or burns
With its scorn of wrong, or pity
For the wronged, by turns.
But, by all thy nature's weakness,
Hidden faults and follies known,
Be thou, in rebuking evil,
Conscious of thine own.
Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty
To thy lips her trumpet set,
But with harsher blasts shall mingle
Wailings of regret.
So when thoughts of evil-doers
Waken scorn or hatred move,
Shall a mournful fellow-feeling
Temper all with love.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
'Tis the Almighty's gracious plan,
That man shall be the joy of man.
—From the Scandinavian, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.
———
JUDGE NOT
Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain
In God's pure light may only be
A scar—brought from some well-won field
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.
The look, the air, that frets thy sight
May be a token that, below,
The soul has closed in deadly fight
With some infernal fiery foe—
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace
And cast thee shuddering on thy face!
The fall thou darest to despise—
May be the angel's slackened hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.
And judge none lost; but wait and see
With hopeful pity, not disdain,
The depth of the abyss may be
The measure of the height of pain,
And love and glory that may raise
This soul to God in after days.
—Adelaide Anne Procter.
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THINK GENTLY OF THE ERRING
Think gently of the erring;
Ye know not of the power
With which the dark temptation came
In some unguarded hour;
Ye may not know how earnestly
They struggled, or how well,
Until the hour of weakness came
And sadly thus they fell.
Think gently of the erring;
Oh, do not thou forget,
However darkly stained by sin,
He is thy brother yet;
Heir of the self-same heritage,
Child of the self-same God,
He has but stumbled in the path
Thou hast in weakness trod.
Speak gently to the erring;
For is it not enough
That innocence and peace have gone,
It sure must be a weary lot,
That sin-stained heart to bear,
And those who share a happier fate
Their chidings well may spare.
Speak gently to the erring;
Thou yet mayst lead them back,
With holy words and tones of love,
From misery's thorny track;
Forget not thou hast often sinned,
And sinful yet must be;
Deal gently with the erring, then,
As God has dealt with thee.
—Julia A. Fletcher.
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HARSH JUDGMENTS
O God! whose thoughts are brightest light,
Whose love runs always clear,
To whose kind wisdom sinning souls
Amidst their sins are dear,
Sweeten my bitter-thoughted heart
With charity like thine,
Till self shall be the only spot
On earth which does not shine.
I often see in my own thoughts,
When they lie nearest Thee,
That the worst men I ever knew
Were better men than me.
He whom no praise can reach is aye
Men's least attempts approving;
Whom justice makes all-merciful
Omniscience makes all-loving.
How thou canst think so well of us
Yet be the God thou art,
Is darkness to my intellect,
But sunshine to my heart.
Yet habits linger in the soul;
More grace, O Lord! more grace!
More sweetness from thy loving heart!
More sunshine from thy face!
The discord is within, which jars
So sadly in life's song;
'Tis we, not they, who are in fault,
When others seem so wrong.
'Tis we who weigh upon ourselves;
Self is the irksome weight;
To those who can see straight themselves,
All things look always straight.
My God, with what surpassing love
Thou lovest all on earth;
How good the least good is to thee,
How much each soul is worth!
All bitterness is from ourselves;
All sweetness is from thee;
Sweet God! for evermore be thou
Fountain and fire in me!
—Frederick William Faber.
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HOW TO JUDGE
"Judge the people by their actions"—tis a rule you often get—
"Judge the actions by their people" is a wiser maxim yet.
Have I known you, brother, sister? Have I looked into your heart?
Mingled with your thoughts my feelings, taken of your life my part?
Through the warp of your convictions sent the shuttle of my thought
Till the web became the Credo, for us both, of Should and Ought?
Seen in thousand ways your nature, in all act and look and speech?
By that large induction only I your law of being reach.
Now I hear of this wrong action—what is that to you and me?
Sin within you may have done it—fruit not nature to the tree.
Foreign graft has come to bearing—mistletoe grown on your bough—
If I ever really knew you, then, my friend, I know you now.
So I say, "He never did it," or, "He did not so intend";
Or, "Some foreign power o'ercame him"—so I judge the action, friend.
Let the mere outside observer note appearance as he can;
We, more righteous judgment passing, test each action by its man.
—James Freeman Clarke.
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"TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE ALL"
If I knew you and you knew me,
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I'm sure that we would differ less,
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
If I knew you and you knew me.
—Nixon Waterman.
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KINDNESS
A little word in kindness spoken,
A motion, or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that's broken
And made a friend sincere.
A word, a look, has crushed to earth
Full many a budding flower,
Which, had a smile but owned its birth,
Would bless life's darkest hour.
Then deem it not an idle thing
A pleasant word to speak;
The face you wear, the thought you bring,
A heart may heal or break.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
IF WE KNEW
If we knew the cares and sorrows
Crowded round our neighbor's way,
If we knew the little losses,
Sorely grievous, day by day,
Would we then so often chide him
For the lack of thrift and gain,
Leaving on his heart a shadow
Leaving on our hearts a stain?
If we knew the clouds above us,
Held by gentle blessings there,
Would we turn away, all trembling,
In our blind and weak despair?
Would we shrink from little shadows
Lying on the dewy grass
While 'tis only birds of Eden
Just in mercy flying past?
Let us reach within our bosoms
For the key to other lives,
And with love to erring natures
Cherish good that still survives;
So that when our disrobed spirits
Soar to realms of light again,
We may say, "Dear Father, judge us
As we judged our fellow men."
———
Time to me this truth hath taught,
'Tis a truth that's worth revealing:
More offend from want of thought
Than from want of feeling.
If advice we would convey,
There's a time we should convey it;
If we've but a word to say,
There's a time in which to say it.
———
HONOR ALL MEN
Great Master! teach us how to hope in man:
We lift our eyes upon his works and ways,
And disappointment chills us as we gaze,
Our dream of him so far the truth outran,
So far his deeds are ever falling short.
And then we fold our graceful hands and say,
"The world is vulgar." Didst thou turn away,
O Sacred Spirit, delicately wrought,
Because the humble souls of Galilee
Were tuned not to the music of thine own
And chimed not to the pulsing undertone
Which swelled Thy loving bosom like the sea?
Shame thou our coldness, most benignant Friend,
When we so daintily do condescend.
—Martha Perry Howe.
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