[XXIII. "MOTHER'S EYES ARE VERY TIRED"]
BE brave, my brother!
He whom thou servest slights
Not even His weakest one;
No deed, tho' poor, shall be forgot,
However feebly done.
The prayer, the wish, the thought,
The faintly-spoken word,
The plan that seemed to come to nought,
Each has its own reward.
Be brave, my brother!
Enlarge thy heart and soul,
Spread out thy free, glad love;
Encompass earth, embrace the sea,
As does that sky above.
Let no man see thee stand
In slothful idleness,
As if there were no work for thee
In such a wilderness.
Be brave, my brother!
Stint not the liberal hand,
Give in the joy of love;
So shall thy crown be bright, and great
Thy recompense above;
Reward, not like the deed—
That poor weak deed of thine;
But like the God Himself who gives,
Eternal and divine.
H. BONAR.