The rarest of saints are afflicted By One who doth know what is right; And the stars shall ever shine brightest That contend with the darkest night.
MY CHOICE.
Not the bird that soars the highest, Nor whose plumage is the brightest, But the bird that sings the sweetest Is the bird I prize. Not the flower that blooms the tallest, Nor whose petals are the whitest, But whose fragrance is completest Satisfies my eyes.
Not the brook that laughs the loudest, Nor whose waters are the purest, But the brook that runs the fleetest To the mill and sea. Not the soul that soars the quickest, But whose faith in God is surest, And whose record is the neatest Is the soul for me.
ENDEAVOR.
Life’s morning hour is never quite complete If climbing upward at the break of day We fail to show to others, whom we meet, New glories found along the heavenly way.
If by endeavor, step by step we take, And for another breathe a loving prayer And lead him up to see the morning break, We find a blessing as we journey there.
The noon of life, when sunlight floods the skies, Is never quite so pleasing to our sight, As when we help a fallen brother rise And by his side direct his steps aright.