HUMILITY
MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS
A LAST PRAYER
Father, I scarcely dare to pray,
So clear I see, now it is done,
That I have wasted half my day
And left my work but just begun.
So clear I see that things I thought
Were right, or harmless, were a sin;
So clear I see that I have sought
Unconscious, selfish aims to win;
So clear I see that I have hurt
The souls I might have helped to save;
That I have slothful been, inert,
Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave.
In outskirts of thy kingdom vast,
Father, the humblest spot give me;
Set me the lowliest task thou hast;
Let me, repentant, work for thee.
—Helen Hunt Jackson.
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A LOWLY HEART
Thy home is with the humble, Lord!
The simplest are the best,
Thy lodging is in childlike hearts:
Thou makest there thy rest.
Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!
If thou wilt stay with me,
Of lowly thoughts and simple ways
I'll build a house for thee.
Who made this beating heart of mine
But Thou, my heavenly guest?
Let no one have it, then, but thee,
And let it be thy rest.
—Lyra Catholica.
———
Before the eyes of men let duly shine thy light,
But ever let thy life's best part be out of sight.
—Richard Chenevix Trench.
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KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM
I.
The Man who Loved the Names of Things
Went forth beneath the skies
And named all things that he beheld,
And people called him wise.
An unseen presence walked with him
Forever by his side,
The wedded mistress of his soul—
For Knowledge was his bride;
She named the flowers, the weeds, the trees,
And all the growths of all the seas.
She told him all the rocks by name,
The winds and whence they blew;
She told him how the seas were formed,
And how the mountains grew.
She numbered all the stars for him;
And all the rounded skies
Were mapped and charted for the gaze
Of his devouring eyes.
Thus, taught by her, he taught the crowd;
They praised—and he was very proud.
II.
The Man who Loved the Soul of Things
Went forth serene and glad,
And mused upon the mighty world,
And people called him mad.
An unseen presence walked with him
Forever by his side,
The wedded mistress of his soul—
For Wisdom was his bride.
She showed him all this mighty frame,
And bade him feel—but named no name.
She stood with him upon the hills
Ringed by the azure sky,
And shamed his lowly thought with stars
And bade it climb as high.
And all the birds he could not name,
The nameless stars that roll,
The unnamed blossoms at his feet
Talked with him soul to soul;
He heard the Nameless Glory speak
In silence—and was very meek.
—Sam Walter Foss.
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THE INQUIRY
I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang sweeter!
I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the meter!
I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought!
Or if ever the painter with light and shade the dream of his inmost heart portrayed!
I wonder if ever a rose was found and there might not be a fairer!
Or if ever a glittering gem was ground and we dreamed not of a rarer!
Ah! never on earth do we find the best; but it waits for us in the land of rest,
And a perfect thing we shall never behold till we pass the portals of shining gold.
———
A SONG OF LOW DEGREE
He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide.
I am content with what I have,
Little be it, or much;
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because thou savest such.
Fullness to such a burden is
That go on pilgrimage;
Here little, and hereafter bliss,
Is best from age to age.
—John Bunyan.
———
NOT YET PREPARED
O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver?
O thou blunt axe, what forests canst thou hew?
Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed deliver?
Go back to thine own maker's forge anew.
Submit thyself to God for preparation,
Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord;
Call it not zeal; it is a base temptation.
Satan is pleased when man dictates to God.
Down with thy pride! with holy vengeance trample
On each self-flattering fancy that appears;
Did not the Lord himself, for our example,
Lie hid in Nazareth for thirty years?
———
RECESSIONAL
God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle-line—
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget.
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget.
Far-called our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget.
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe—
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget.
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord.
—Rudyard Kipling.
———
In humbleness, O Lord, I ask
That thou bestow on me
The will and strength to do some task
For growth of love for thee;
Some task, not of my chosen will—
For wisdom is not mine—
But let my frailsome life fulfill
Some perfect thought of thine.
———
I WILL NOT SEEK
I cannot think but God must know
About the thing I long for so;
I know he is so good, so kind,
I cannot think but he will find
Some way to help, some way to show
Me to the thing I long for so.
I stretch my hand; it lies so near,
It looks so sweet, it looks so dear,
"Dear Lord," I pray, "O let me know
If it is wrong to want it so!"
He only smiles, he does not speak;
My heart grows weaker and more weak
With looking at the thing so dear,
Which lies so far, and yet so near.
Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet
This thing which looks so near, so sweet;
I will not seek, I will not long;
I almost fear I have been wrong;
I'll go, and work the harder, Lord,
And wait, till by some loud, clear word
Thou callest me to thy loved feet
To take this thing so dear, so sweet.
—Saxe Holm.
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TRIUMPHING IN OTHERS
Others shall sing the song,
Others shall right the wrong,
Finish what I begin,
And all I fail of win.
What matter, I or they,
Mine or another's day,
So the right word be said,
And life the sweeter made?
Ring, bells in unreared steeples,
The joy of unborn peoples!
Sound, trumpets far-off blown,
Your triumph is my own.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
———
Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high;
So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be;
Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky
Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.
A grain of glory mixed with humbleness
Cures both a fever and lethargickness.
—George Herbert.
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FOR DIVINE STRENGTH
Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,
Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love;
For we are weak and need some deep revealing
Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.
Lord, we have wandered far through doubt and sorrow,
And thou hast made each step an onward one;
And we will ever trust each unknown morrow—
Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.
In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy
Abides; and when pain seems to have its will,
Or we despair, O may that peace rise slowly
Stronger than agony, and we be still!
Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,
Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love;
Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing,
Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above.
—Samuel Johnson.
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WHEN I AM WEAK THEN AM I STRONG
Half feeling our own weakness,
We place our hands in Thine—
Knowing but half our darkness
We ask for light divine.
Then, when Thy strong arm holds us,
Our weakness most we feel,
And thy love and light around us
Our darkness must reveal.
Too oft, when faithless doubtings
Around our spirits press,
We cry, "Can hands so feeble
Grasp such almightiness?"
While thus we doubt and tremble
Our hold still looser grows;
While on our darkness gazing
Oh, cheer us with Thy brightness,
And guide us by thy hand,
In thy light teach us light to see,
In thy strength strong to stand.
Then though our hands be feeble,
If they but touch thine arm,
Thy light and power shall lead us,
And keep us strong and calm.
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A HUMBLE HEART
I would not ask Thee that my days
Should flow quite smoothly on and on,
Lest I should learn to love the world
Too well, ere all my time was done.
I would not ask Thee that my work
Should never bring me pain nor fear;
Lest I should learn to work alone,
And never wish thy presence near.
I would not ask Thee that my friends
Should always kind and constant be;
Lest I should learn to lay my faith
In them alone, and not in thee.
But I would ask a humble heart,
A changeless will to work and wake,
A firm faith in Thy providence,
The rest—'tis thine to give or take.
—Alfred Norris.
———
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,
The mere material with which Wisdom builds,
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
—William Cowper.
———
Humble we must be if to heaven we go;
High is the roof there; but the gate is low.
—Robert Herrick.
———
NOT MINE
It is not mine to run, with eager feet,
Along life's crowded ways, my Lord to meet.
It is not mine to pour the oil and wine
Or bring the purple robe and linen fine.
It is not mine to break at his dear feet
The alabaster box of ointment sweet.
It is not mine to bear his heavy cross,
Or suffer, for his sake, all pain and loss.
It is not mine to walk through valleys dim,
Or climb far mountain heights alone with him.
He hath no need of me in grand affairs,
Where fields are lost or crowns won unawares.
Yet, Master, if I may make one pale flower
Bloom brighter, for thy sake, though one short hour;
If I in harvest fields where strong ones reap,
May bind one golden sheaf for love to keep;
May speak one quiet word when all is still,
Helping some fainting heart to bear thy will;
Or sing some high, clear song on which may soar
Some glad soul heavenward, I ask no more.
—Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr.
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Christ wants the best. He in the far-off ages
Once claimed the firstling of the flock, the finest of the wheat;
And still he asks his own with gentlest pleading
To lay their highest hopes and brightest talents at his feet.
He'll not forget the feeblest service, humblest love;
He only asks that of our stores we give to him the best we have.
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PRAISE DEPRECATED
My sins and follies, Lord, by thee
From others hidden are,
That such good words are spoke of me
As now and then I hear;
For sure if others know me such,
Such as myself I know,
I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praisèd now.
The praise, therefore, which I have heard,
Delights not so my mind,
As those things make my heart afeard
Which in myself I find;
And I had rather to be blamed,
So I were blameless made,
Than for much virtue to be famed
When I no virtues had.
Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.
And when a virtuous man hath erred
If praised himself he hear,
It makes him grieve and more afeard
Than if he slandered were.
Lord, therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appears to be
In any act of mine,
Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.
—George Wither (1588-1667).
———
One part, one little part, we dimly scan,
Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,
If but that little part incongruous seem.
Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem,
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.
O then renounce that impious self-esteem
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies;
For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise.
—James Beattie.
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