Whatever gifts and mercies to my lot may fall,
I would not measure
As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small;
But take and use them all with simple pleasure.
For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless
The Hand that feeds us;
And when we tread the road of Life in cheerfulness,
Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us.
PEACE
With eager heart and will on fire,
I strove to win my great desire.
“Peace shall be mine,” I said; but life
Grew bitter in the barren strife.
My soul was weary, and my pride
Was wounded deep; to Heaven I cried,
“God grant me peace or I must die;”
The dumb stars glittered no reply.
Broken at last, I bowed my head,
Forgetting all myself, and said,
“Whatever comes, His will be done;”
And in that moment peace was won.
SANTA CHRISTINA
Saints are God's flowers, fragrant souls
That His own hand hath planted,
Not in some far-off heavenly place,
Or solitude enchanted,
But here and there and everywhere,—
In lonely field, or crowded town,
God sees a flower when He looks down.
Some wear the lily's stainless white,
And some the rose of passion,
And some the violet's heavenly blue,
But each in its own fashion,
With silent bloom and soft perfume,
Is praising Him who from above
Beholds each lifted face of love.
One such I knew,—and had the grace
To thank my God for knowing:
The beauty of her quiet life
Was like a rose in blowing,
So fair and sweet, so all-complete
And all unconscious, as a flower,
That light and fragrance were her dower.