Questions & Answers
Fly , envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Call on the long, leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's face; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain: For, when as each thing bad thou hast entombed. And last of all thy greedy self consumed, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And joy shall overtake us as a flood, When everything that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace and love, shall ever Shine About the supreme throne Of him to whose happy making, sight alone When once our heavenly guarded souls shall climb Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attired with stars we shall forever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time! John Milton.
In the hush of the valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim valley, Till each finds a word for a wing, That to hearts, like the dove of the Deluge, A message of peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech: And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to reach.
With one high hope which over shines Before you as a star, One prayer of faith, one fount of strength, A glorious few ye are! Ye dare not fear, ye cannot fail, Your destiny ye bind To that sublime, elemental law That rules the march of Mind. "Tis said, that Persia's baffled King, In mad tyrannic pride, Cast fetters on the Hellespont, To curb Its swelling tide.
True worth is in being, not seeming,— In doing each day that goes by Some little good—not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in their blindness, And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth.
When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath the noise of tempests dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
"Oh, where is the sea?" the fishes cried, As they swam the crystal clearness through; " We've heard from of old of the ocean's tide. And we long to look on the waters blue.
What is the Christ of God? It is his touch, his sign, his making known, His coming forth from out the all-alone: The stretching of a rod, Abloom with his intent, From the invisible. He made worlds so; And souls, whose endless life should be to know What the worlds meant.
As the "bread on the waters "cast— A word that the weary cheers, When the spring-time of life is past, Comes back on the tide of years. A kind word can never perish, Charity knows not decay; For some heart the word will cherish, Though we drop it by the way.
In Alpine valleys, they who watch for dawn Look never to the east, but fix their eyes On loftier mountain-peaks of snow, which rise To west or south. Before the happy morn Has sent one ray of kindling red, to warn The sleeping clouds along the eastern skies That it is near,—flushing, in glad surprise, These royal hills, for royal watchmen born, Discover that God's great new day begins; And, shedding from their sacred brows a light Prophetic, wake the valley from its night.
Whoe'er on the mountain In the Veiled Presence has reverently trod, He has drunk deep of the life-giving fountain, Filled with the grand inspiration of God. With awe he unravels the mystery of ages, And secrets divine are breathed into his ear; As in wonder he searches the God-written pages, Unseen, yet impressive, the Author draws near:— Draws near so tenderly, Broad'ning his vision, dispelling his fear.