DUTY
LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL
ODE TO DUTY
Stern daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptation dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth;
Glad hearts, without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast.
Serene will be our days, and bright
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security;
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried,
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust;
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control,
But in the quietness of thought.
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee; I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live.
—William Wordsworth.
———
THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
All common things, each day's events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The longing for ignoble things;
The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;—
All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they while their companions slept
Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern—unseen before—
A path to higher destinies,
Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS
The deeds which selfish hearts approve
And fame's loud trumpet sings
Secure no praise where truth and love
Are counted noblest things;
And work which godless folly deems
Worthless, obscure, and lowly,
To Heaven's ennobling vision seems
Most godlike, grand, and holy.
Then murmur not if toils obscure
And thorny paths be thine;
To God be true—they shall secure
The joy of life divine
Who in the darkest, sternest sphere
For Him their powers employ;
The toils contemned and slighted here
Shall yield the purest joy.
When endless day dispels the strife
Which blinds and darkens now,
Perchance the brightest crown of life
Shall deck some lowly brow.
Then learn, despite thy boding fears,
From seed with sorrow sown,
In love, obscurity and tears
The richest sheaves are grown.
—Edward Hartley Dewart.
———
"DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE"
From an old English parsonage
Down by the sea,
There came in the twilight
A message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend
Deeply engraven,
Hath as it seems to me
Teaching for heaven;
And on through the hours
The quiet words ring,
Like a low inspiration,
"Doe the nexte thynge."
Many a questioning,
Many a fear,
Many a doubt,
Hath guiding here.
Moment by moment
Let down from heaven,
Time, opportunity,
Guidance are given.
Fear not to-morrow,
Child of the King;
Trust it with Jesus,
"Doe the nexte thynge."
O He would have thee
Daily more free,
Knowing the might
Of thy royal degree;
Ever in waiting,
Glad for his call,
Tranquil in chastening,
Trusting through all.
Comings and goings
No turmoil need bring:
His all thy future—
"Doe the nexte thynge."
Do it immediately,
Do it with prayer,
Do it reliantly,
Casting all care:
Do it with reverence,
Tracing His hand
Who hath placed it before thee
With earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence,
Safe, 'neath his wing,
Leave all resultings,
"Doe the nexte thynge."
Looking to Jesus,
Ever serener,
Working or suffering,
Be thy demeanor!
In the shade of his presence,
The light of his countenance,
Live out thy psalm:
Strong in his faithfulness.
Praise him and sing,
Then as he beckons thee,
"Doe the nexte thynge."
———
ZEAL IN LABOR
Go, labor on; spend and be spent,
Thy joy to do the Father's will;
It is the way the Master went;
Should not the servant tread it still?
Go, labor on; 'tis not for naught;
Thine earthly loss is heavenly gain;
Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;
The Master praises—what are men?
Go, labor on; your hands are weak;
Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;
Yet falter not; the prize you seek
Is near—a kingdom and a crown!
Toil on, faint not; keep watch, and pray!
Be wise the erring soul to win;
Go forth into the world's highway;
Compel the wanderer to come in.
Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice:
For toil comes rest, for exile home;
Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,
The midnight peal, "Behold, I come!"
—Horatius Bonar.
———
THE EVANGELIST
Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set
On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret,
At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour.
When they beheld at a mean cabin's door,
A fisher's widow in her mourning clad,
Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad,
The tear that wet them kept her lids within,
Her child to cradle and her flax to spin;
Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen,
The Master and His friend could see, unseen.
An old man ready for his earthly bed,
A beggar with a jar upon his head,
Came by, and to the mourning spinner there
Said, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bear
Unto a dweller in the hamlet near;
But I am weak and bent with many a year;
More than a thousand paces yet to go
Remain, and, without help, I surely know
I cannot end my task and earn its fee."
The woman rose, and not a word said she,
Without a pause her distaff laid aside,
And left the cradle where the orphan cried,
Took up the jar, and with the beggar went.
"Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,"
Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed,
In leaving thus her child and her abode
For the chance-comer that first sought her out;
The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,
To ease him of his load upon the way."
The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay,
Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,
Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.
She went at once, and wisely did in that."
And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat
Down on a bench was in the humble place,
And with His blest hands for a moment's space,
He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.
Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.
When she to whom the Lord had given this proof
Of good-will came back to her humble roof,
She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,
The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!
—Francois Coppee.
———
THE BEST THAT I CAN
"I cannot do much," said a little star,
"To make the dark world bright;
My silver beams cannot struggle far
Through the folding gloom of night:
But I am a part of God's great plan,
And I'll cheerfully do the best that I can."
"What is the use," said a fleecy cloud,
"Of these dew-drops that I hold?
They will hardly bend the lily proud,
Though caught in her cup of gold;
Yet I am a part of God's great plan,
My treasures I'll give as well as I can."
A child went merrily forth to play,
But a thought, like a silver thread,
Kept winding in and out all day
Through the happy, busy head,
"Mother said, 'Darling, do all you can,
For you are a part of God's great plan.'"
So she helped a younger child along,
When the road was rough to the feet;
And she sang from her heart a little song,
A song that was passing sweet;
And her father, a weary, toil-worn man,
Said, "I too will do the best that I can."
———
WORK LOYALLY
Just where you stand in the conflict,
There is your place!
Just where you think you are useless
Hide not your face!
God placed you there for a purpose,
Whate'er it be;
Think He has chosen you for it—
Work loyally.
Gird on your armor! Be faithful
At toil or rest,
Whiche'er it be, never doubting
God's way is best.
Out in the fight, or on picket,
Stand firm and true;
This is the work which your Master
Gives you to do.
———
Who does the best his circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
—Edward Young.
———
LOYALTY
When courage fails and faith burns low,
And men are timid grown,
Hold fast thy loyalty and know
That Truth still moveth on.
For unseen messengers she hath,
To work her will and ways,
And even human scorn and wrath
God turneth to her praise.
She can both meek and lordly be,
In heavenly might secure;
With her is pledge of victory,
And patience to endure.
The race is not unto the swift,
The battle to the strong,
When dawn her judgment-days that sift
The claims of right and wrong.
And more than thou canst do for Truth
Can she on thee confer,
If thou, O heart, but give thy youth
And manhood unto her.
For she can make thee inly bright,
Thy self-love purge away,
And lead thee in the path whose light
Shines to the perfect day.
Who follow her, though men deride,
In her strength shall be strong;
Shall see their shame become their pride,
And share her triumph song!
—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
———
LIBERTY
I am Liberty—God's daughter!
My symbols—a law and a torch;
Not a sword to threaten slaughter,
Nor a flame to dazzle or scorch;
But a light that the world may see,
And a truth that shall make men free.
I am the sister of Duty,
And I am the sister of Faith;
To-day adored for my beauty,
To-morrow led forth for death.
I am she whom ages prayed for;
Heroes suffered undismayed for;
Whom the martyrs were betrayed for.
—John Boyle O'Reilly.
———
THE NEAREST DUTY
My soul was stirred; I prayed, "Let me
Do some great work, so purely,
To right life's wrongs, that I shall know
That I have loved Thee surely."
My lips sent forth their eager cry,
The while my heart beat faster,
"For some great deed to prove my love
Send me; send me, my Master!"
From out the silence came a voice,
Saying: "If God thou fearest,
Rise up and do, thy whole life through,
The duty that lies nearest.
The friendly word, the kindly deed,
Though small the act in seeming,
Shall in the end unto thy soul
Prove mightier than thy dreaming.
The cup of water to the faint,
Or rest unto the weary,
The light thou giv'st another's life,
Shall make thine own less dreary.
And boundless realms of faith and love
Will wait for thy possessing;
Not creeds, but deeds, if thou wouldst win
Unto thy soul a blessing."
And so I wait with peaceful heart,
Content to do His pleasure;
Not caring if the world shall mock
At smallness of the measure
Of thoughts or deeds or daily life.
He knows the true endeavor—
To do His will, to seek His face—
And He will fail me never.
—Sarah A. Gibbs.
———
THE ONE TALENT
Hide not thy talent in the earth;
However small it be,
Its faithful use, its utmost worth,
God will require of thee.
The humblest service rendered here
He will as truly own
As Paul's in his exalted sphere,
Or Gabriel's near the throne.
The cup of water kindly given,
The widow's cheerful mites,
Are worthier in the eye of heaven
Than pride's most costly rites.
His own, which He hath lent on trust,
He asks of thee again;
Little or much, the claim is just,
And thine excuses vain.
Go, then, and strive to do thy part—
Though humble it may be;
The ready hand, the willing heart,
Are all heaven asks of thee.
—William Cutler.
———
ONE TALENT
(Matt. xxv. 18)
In a napkin smooth and white,
Hidden from all mortal sight,
My one talent lies to-night.
Mine to hoard, or mine to use;
Mine to keep, or mine to lose;
May I not do what I choose?
Ah! the gift was only lent
With the Giver's known intent
That it should be wisely spent.
And I know he will demand
Every farthing at my hand,
When I in his presence stand.
What will be my grief and shame
When I hear my humble name
And cannot repay his claim!
One poor talent—nothing more!
All the years that have gone o'er
Have not added to the store.
Some will double what they hold,
Others add to it tenfold
And pay back the shining gold.
Would that I had toiled like them!
All my sloth I now condemn;
Guilty fears my soul o'erwhelm.
Lord, oh teach me what to do.
Make me faithful, make me true,
And the sacred trust renew.
Help me, ere too late it be,
Something yet to do for Thee,
Thou who hast done all for me.
———
Art thou little? Do thy little well;
And for thy comfort know
Great men can do their greatest work
No better than just so.
—Johann W. von Goethe.
———
RESPONSIBILITY FOR TALENTS
Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou knowest not how—
By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.
From the palace to the city on the business of thy King
Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.
Dreamer, waken; loiterer, hasten; what thy task is understand:
Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thine hand.
Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?
Do its glittering wares entice thee, or its shouts and cries confound?
Oh, beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze
Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.
Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities;
Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.
And know this—at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King
With an open book before Him, waiting to make reckoning.
Thus large honors will the faithful, earnest service of one day
Reap of Him; but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.
———
Not once or twice in our fair island-story
The path of duty was the way to glory.
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won
His path upward, and prevailed,
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled
Are close upon the shining table-lands
To which our God himself is moon and sun.
—Alfred Tennyson.
———
GO RIGHT ON WORKING
Ah, yes! the task is hard, 'tis true,
But what's the use of sighing?
They're soonest with their duties through
Who bravely keep on trying.
There's no advantage to be found
In sorrowing or shirking;
They with success are soonest crowned
Who just go right on working.
Strive patiently and with a will
That shall not be defeated;
Keep singing at your task until
You see it stand completed.
Nor let the clouds of doubt draw near,
Your sky's glad sunshine murking;
Be brave, and fill your heart with cheer,
And just go right on working.
—Nixon Waterman.
———
JUSTICE ONLY
Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!
When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!
Even if he wrongeth thee in aught,
Respect thy Guru. Give alms duly.
But let none wist! Live, day by day,
With little and with little swelling
Thy tale of duty done—the way
The wise ant-people build their dwelling;
Not harming any living thing;
That thou may'st have—at time of dying—
A Hand to hold thee, and to bring
Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,
Pass to the farther world. For none
Save Justice leads there! Father, mother,
Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,
Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other
Save only Justice! All alone
Each entereth here, and each one leaveth
This life alone; and every one
The fruit of all his deeds receiveth
Alone—alone; bad deeds and good!
That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,
Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,
A thing committed to the burning.
But Justice shall not quit thee then,
If thou hast served her, therefore never
Cease serving; that shall hold thee when
The darkness falls which falls forever,
Which hath no star, nor way and guide.
But Justice knows the road; and midnight
Is noon to her. Man at her side
Goes, through the gloom, safe to the hid light.
And he who loved her more than all,
Who purged by sorrow his offenses,
Shall shine, in realms celestial,
With glory, quit of sins and senses.
—Edwin Arnold, from the Sanskrit.
———
GOD'S VENGEANCE
Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine;"
"I will repay," saith the Lord;
Ours be the anger divine,
Lit by the flash of his word.
How shall his vengeance be done?
How, when his purpose is clear?
Must he come down from the throne?
Hath he no instruments here?
Sleep not in imbecile trust,
Waiting for God to begin;
While, growing strong in the dust,
Rests the bruised serpent of sin.
Right and Wrong—both cannot live
Death-grappled. Which shall we see?
Strike! Only Justice can give
Safety to all that shall be.
Shame! to stand faltering thus,
Tricked by the balancing odds;
Strike! God is waiting for us!
Strike! for the vengeance is God's!
—John Hay.
———
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
———
A SINGLE STITCH
One stitch dropped as the weaver drove
His nimble shuttle to and fro,
In and out, beneath, above,
Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow
As if the fairies had helping been;
One small stitch which could scarce be seen,
But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,
And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;
And the perfect pattern was marred for aye
By the one small stitch that was dropped that day.
One small life in God's great plan,
How futile it seems as the ages roll,
Do what it may or strive how it can
To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!
A single stitch in an endless web,
A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!
But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,
Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;
And each life that fails of its true intent
Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.
—Susan Coolidge.
———
THE BLESSINGS
An angel came from the courts of gold,
With gifts and tidings manifold;
With blessings many to crown the one
Whose work of life was the noblest done.
He came to a rich man's gilded door;
Where a beautiful lady stood before
His vision, fair as the saints are fair,
With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.
He needed not to be told her life—
The pure young mother, the tender wife;
He needed not to be told that she,
In home of sorrow and poverty,
Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;
He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.
"No! no!" a voice to the angel heart
Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."
He found a door that was worn and old;
The night was damp and the wind was cold.
A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;
The midnight lamp to her features lent
A paler look as she toiled the while,
But yet the mouth had a restful smile.
Doing her duty with honest pride;
Breasting temptation on every side.
"For her the blessings," the angel said,
And touched with pity the girlish head.
"No time nor money for alms has she,
But duty is higher than charity."
—Sarah Knowles Bolton.
———
DUTIES
I reach a duty, yet I do it not,
And therefore see no higher; but, if done,
My view is brightened and another spot
Seen on my moral sun.
For, be the duty high as angels' flight,
Fulfill it, and a higher will arise
E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite—
Receding as the skies.
And thus it is the purest most deplore
Their want of purity. As fold by fold,
In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more
Of duty they behold.
Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes
On duties crowding only to appal?
No; duty is our ladder to the skies,
And, climbing not, we fall.
—Robert Leighton (1611-1684).
———
WHAT SHE COULD
"And do the hours step fast or slow?
And are ye sad or gay?
And is your heart with your liege lord, lady,
Or is it far away?"
The lady raised her calm, proud head,
Though her tears fell, one by one:
"Life counts not hours by joy or pangs,
But just by duties done.
"And when I lie in the green kirkyard,
With the mould upon my breast,
Say not that 'She did well—or ill,'
Only, 'She did her best.'"
—Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.
———
UNWASTED DAYS
The longer on this earth we live
And weigh the various qualities of men,
Seeing how most are fugitive
Or fitful gifts at best, of now and then—
Wind-favored corpse-lights, daughters of the fen—
The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty
Of plain devotedness to duty,
Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise,
But finding amplest recompense
For life's ungarlanded expense
In work done squarely and unwasted days.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
TRIFLES THAT MAKE SAINTS
A tone of pride or petulance repressed
A selfish inclination firmly fought,
A shadow of annoyance set at naught,
A measure of disquietude suppressed;
A peace in importunity possessed,
A reconcilement generously sought,
A purpose put aside, a banished thought,
A word of self-explaining unexpressed:
Trifles they seem, these petty soul-restraints,
Yet he who proves them so must needs possess
A constancy and courage grand and bold;
They are the trifles that have made the saints.
Give me to practice them in humbleness
And nobler power than mine doth no man hold.
———
The world is full of beauty,
As other worlds above;
And if we did our duty
It might be full of love.
—Gerald Massey.
———
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
—William Shakespeare.
———
I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then, a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find that dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.
—Ellen Sturgis Hooper.
———
Do thy duty; that is best;
Leave unto thy Lord the rest.
—James Russell Lowell.
———
While I sought Happiness she fled
Before me constantly.
Weary, I turned to Duty's path,
And Happiness sought me,
Saying, "I walk this road to-day,
I'll bear thee company."
———
So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, "Thou must,"
The youth replies, "I can."
—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
———
Faithfully faithful to every trust,
Honestly honest in every deed,
Righteously righteous and justly just;
This is the whole of the good man's creed.
———
Find out what God would have you do,
And do that little well;
For what is great and what is small
'Tis only he can tell.