Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,—
Not light them for themselves.—Shakespeare.
The lamp within the sea-girt tower,
Unselfish shines afar,
To light the storm-tossed mariner
In safety o'er the bar.
The bell above the anchored float,
For self rings out no prayer;
For self sounds not its warning note:—
"Of hidden rocks beware."
For self no rose perfumes the vale;
For self no violet
Its modest sweetness doth exhale
By sun-kissed rivulet.
Love lights us as we torches light,
That we may show the way
From error's dark and starless night
To Truth's eternal day.
I Find the great thing in this world is, not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving. To reach the port of heaven we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it,—but we must sail and not drift or lie at anchor.—
