There are hours upon whose decision
The fate of a soul may be;
Though clouds may obscure the vision
And we pray for a light to see
The way that shall lead to heaven,
And keep our pathway bright,
We can use but the knowledge given
And walk in our purest light.
Let us scan each hour's requisition
And answer every demand,
Knowing that want of decision
Is a foe we cannot withstand;
If we shrink from performing our duty,
Or tardily fashion our thought,
Life loses its charm and its beauty
And existence profits us naught.
We know that like all human
Our work is imperfect at best,
And will bristle with imperfections
Till our hands shall be at rest;
But to justify our blunders
Or pass them lightly o'er,
Is the fatal way of inviting
A thousand errors more.
WHO SHALL JUDGE?
We know not all that we have done,
Nor may we ever know;
No field was ever lost or won,
Until the final blow
Has registered itself in Heaven,
And every impulse known,
That tells a reason why 'twas given,
To Him upon the Throne.
Then let us boast not of our deeds,
Nor let our true hearts fail,
Because we think some plan succeeds
While others ne'er prevail;
For he who works as best he can
With lofty, pure intent,
Will not be judged by puny man,
But God Omnipotent.
This earth is a place of probation,
A school wherein man may secure
A knowledge of his true relation,
To the noble, the true, and the pure.