And as he journeyed on, intent
To serve the sorrowing in the land
On deeds of love and mercy bent,
The herb bloomed in his hand,

And through his pulses shot a fire
Of strength and hope and happiness;
His heart leaped with a glad desire
To live and serve and bless.

Lord of all earthly woe and need,
Be this, life's flower, mine!
To love, to comfort, and to heal--
Therein is life divine!

--Josephine Troup.

FOR STRENGTH WE ASK

For strength we ask
For the ten thousand times repeated task,
The endless smallnesses of every day.

No, not to lay
My life down in the cause I cherish most,
That were too easy. But, whate'er it cost,

To fail no more
In gentleness toward the ungentle, nor
In love toward the unlovely, and to give,

Each day I live,
To every hour with outstretched hand, its meed
Of not-to-be-regretted thought and deed.

--Agnes Ethelwyn Wetherald.

MARTHA OR MARY?

I cannot choose; I should have liked so much
To sit at Jesus' feet--to feel the touch
Of his kind gentle hand upon my head
While drinking in the gracious words he said.

And yet to serve Him!--Oh, divine employ--
To minister and give the Master joy;
To bathe in coolest springs his weary feet,
And wait upon Him while He sat at meat!

Worship or service--which? Ah, that is best
To which he calls us, be it toil or rest;
To labor for Him in life's busy stir,
Or seek His feet, a silent worshiper.

--Caroline Atherton Mason.

This is the gospel of labor--ring it, ye bells of the kirk--
The Lord of Love came down from above to live with the men who work.
This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil;
Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil.

--Henry van Dyke.

MARTHA

Yes, Lord, Yet some must serve!
Not all with tranquil heart,
Even at Thy dear feet,
Wrapped in devotion sweet,
May sit apart!

Yes, Lord! Yet some must bear
The burden of the day,
Its labor and its heat,
While others at Thy feet
May muse and pray.

Yes, Lord! Yet some must do
Life's daily task-work; some
Who fain would sing must toil
Amid earth's dust and moil,
While lips are dumb!

Yes, Lord! Yet man must earn
And woma