LET US BUILD ABOVE THE STARS.
Let us build above the stars,
We are able to thus build,
There is nothing that debars
Us from ever doing so.
Though foundation be the earth;
Have the corner-stone well laid;
If it grounded was at birth,
We can rest our pillars there.
Have our plans all drawn with skill,
And have God as architect.
We must ever do His will,
And must trust Him ever, aye.
Even though we fall to earth
With the plans that God has made.
What we’ve gained, to us is worth
All the efforts we have made.
GHOSTS OF THE ATTIC.
Memory takes me back to childhood
To my home upon a hill;
I am sitting in the attic,
Memories cause my heart to thrill.
Now the rain is dropping, dropping,
Softly dripping from the eaves,
And the wind is sighing, moaning
A sad dirge for dying leaves.
In the attic there are hanging
Herbs of catnip, sage, and mint;
Filling all the air with fragrance,
While the sunbeams throw a glint
Through the tiny attic windows,
Then they rest upon a chest;
And this chest seems almost sacred,
For beneath its lid doth rest
A small package of old letters
Tied with ribbon once so blue;
And the love that is within them
Oft though told, is ever new.
Faded now the ink, and ribbon,
And the letters yellow are;
But the words which there are written
Father Time can never mar.
They were written by my father,
Every word was tender, true,
They were love notes to my mother,
Even now when brought to view
(Though the ink is faded, yellow,)
To my eyes they bring hot tears,
To my breast a pang of anguish.
They are ghosts of other years.
Ghosts of love, and truth, and virtue,
But these ghosts I would not lay;
They are memories of my childhood,
And through life shall with me stay.
O the subtle, subtle fragrance
Of the herbs upon the wall;
They now fill my heart with sadness,
And to memory they recall
My dear mother, my dear father,
And my childhood’s happy years;
And forgotten they are never—
Ghosts they are which bring no fears.
Now the home of my dear parents
Is the grave-yard by the sea.
But their love has new awakening
In the bright eternity.
NOT YET.
What doth the future hold for us?
Shall we the past forget?
The answer came in plaintive tones:
“Sometime you may. Not yet.”
When will the future be made plain?
The past hold no regret?
In present be not one mistake—
The answer, is “Not yet.”
When will the path of life be smooth?
No pitfalls by the way,
No stone to bruise our weary feet,
And never shadows gray.
O shall we ever understand
Why trials should beset
Us in our every walk of life?
We ask in vain: “Not yet.”
DUTY.
When Duty doth call us,
Unless we obey,
No rest doth she give us
By night, nor by day.
We cannot escape her,
She gives us no peace.
Till duty is done
We have no release.
We try to avoid her,
Pretend not to see
The road she hath taken
O’er mountain or lea.
We cannot evade her,
For by us she stands,
And fetters the strongest
She binds on our hands.
Though we may not listen
To Duty’s loud voice,
Obeying her mandates
May not be our choice;
We ever are happy
When duty is done;
When self is once conquered,
A victory is won.
She smiles now upon us,
The demon is laid.
We’re glad that she conquered,
That we have obeyed.
We will no more stumble,
Nor push her aside,
Triumphant is Duty,
With us will aye bide.
We now have acknowledged
Her right to control
Each thought, and each action;
Yea—even our soul.
We give up the battle,
Proclaim our defeat,
Now Duty triumphant
Doth sweetly us greet.
We haul down our banner,
Put Duty on throne,
Though we were once traitors,
We now will atone
For all our past errors,
And sit at her feet,
With joy do her bidding,
Each duty will meet.
The battle is ended,
And now we are free
From selfish indulgence,
And happy are we.
LIFE’S PLAN.
The plan of my life is marked out,
Is traced with most infinite skill.
Through ignorance the plan may be changed,
And of good, I may often make ill.
Not arbiter, I, of my life,
Yet I must forever beware—
For every mistake that I make
Will add to my trouble and care.
I builded the best that I knew,
And no one I’m sure could do more.
The Architect God drew the plans,
I knew not the tracings they bore.
So, blindly, I work from the plans;
In future, they all will unfold,
God means that sometime I shall know;
And will not the plans e’er withhold.