In seeing the good so good
That you feel poor, weak, and low;
And hungrily long for it as for food,
With an endless need to grow?
The man who was lord of fate,
Born in an ox's stall,
Was great because he was much too great
To care about greatness at all.
Ever and only he sought
The will of his Father good;
Never of what was high he thought,
But of what his Father would.
You long to be great; you try;
You feel yourself smaller still:
In the name of God let ambition die;
Let him make you what he will.
Who does the truth, is one
With the living Truth above:
Be God's obedient little son,
Let ambition die in love.
KING COLE.
King Cole he reigned in Aureoland,
But the sceptre was seldom in his hand
Far oftener was there his golden cup—
He ate too much, but he drank all up!
To be called a king and to be a king,
That is one thing and another thing!
So his majesty's head began to shake,
And his hands and his feet to swell and ache,