Let self be less and less.

In all things be sincere,
Afraid not of the light,
A prophet of the Golden Year
In simply doing right.

And be content to serve,
A little one of God,
In loyalty without reserve,
A hero armored, shod.

Or this dear life of thine,
Of every charm bereft,
Will crumble in the fire divine,
Naught, naught but ashes left.

* * * * *

Now and Here

O not to-morrow or afar,
Thy work is now and here;
Thy bosom holds the fairest star--
Dost see it shining clear?

The nearest things are great,
Remotest very small,
To him with eyes to penetrate
The silent coronal.

So deep the basis lies
Of life's great pyramid,
That out of reach of common eyes
Prophetic work is hid.

His reign for which we pray,
His kingdom undefiled,
Whose scepter shall not pass away,
Is in a little child.

* * * * *

A Little Child

Come hither, little child,
And bring thy heart to me;
Thou art the true and unbeguiled,
So full of melody.

The presence of a child
Has taught me more of heaven,
And more my heart has reconciled
Than Greece's immortal Seven.

For when I sometimes think
That life is void of song,
Before a little child I sink
And own that I am wrong.

And lo my heart grows bright
That was so dark and drear,
Till in the tender morning light
I find the Lord is near.

* * * * *

The Divine Presence

O, when the Lord is near,
The rainbow banners wave;
The star I follow shineth clear,
I am no more a slave.

As if to honor Him,
My work is true and free;
And flowing to the shining brim,
The cup of heaven I see.

I marvel not that song
Should be employment there
In which the innumerable throng
Their palms of triumph bear;

Or that the choral strife
And golden harps express
The stirring labors of the life
Of peace and righteousness.

* * * * *

Death in Life

The song of work, I know,
Has here its minor tone;
And in its ever-changing flow,
Death, death in life is known.

Discordan