Though Vice may don the judge’s gown
And play the censor’s part,
And Fact be cowed by Falsehood’s frown
And Nature ruled by art;
Though Labour toils through blinding tears
And idle Wealth is might,
I know the honest, earnest years
Will bring it all out right.
Though poor and loveless creeds may pass
For pure religion’s gold;
Though ignorance may rule the mass
While truth meets glances cold,
I know a law complete, sublime,
Controls us with its might,
And in God’s own appointed time
It all will come out right.
A WARNING
There was a flame, oh! such a tiny flame—
One fleeting hour had spanned its birth and death,
But for a silly child with playful breath
Who fanned it into fury. It became
A mighty conflagration. Ah, the cost!
House, home, and thoughtless child alike were lost.
Lady beware. Fan not the harmless glow
Of admiration into ardent love,
Lean not with red curled smiling lips above
The flickering spark of sinless flame, and blow,
Lest in the sudden waking of desire
Thou, like the child, shalt perish in the fire.
SHRINES
About a holy shrine or sacred place,
Where many hearts have bowed in earnest prayer,
The loveliest spirits congregate from space,
And bring their sweet, uplifting influence there.
If in your chamber you pray oft and well,
Soon will these angel-messengers arrive
And make their home with you, and where they dwell
All worthy toil and purposes shall thrive.
I know a humble, plainly furnished room,
So thronged with presences serene and bright,
The heaviest heart therein forgets its gloom
As in some gorgeous temple filled with light.
Those heavenly spirits, beauteous and divine,
Live only in an atmosphere of prayer;
Make for yourself a sacred, fervent shrine,
And you will find them swiftly flocking there.