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PRAYER

Pray not for self if thou wouldst be most blest,—
The prayers for others are for self the best.
Christ is not first if self be first in prayer;
He blesses most when we for others care.
Forget thyself if thou wouldst Christlike be,
Praying for others, some will pray for thee.
While self’s own burdens are of prayer a part
“Thy kingdom come” is prayed not from the heart.
Pray not for light to solve thy problems right,
But be thyself to other souls a light.
God gave thee mighty strength to help the weak,
And yet thy prayers of thine own weakness speak;
God gave thee power to comfort and to teach,
And lift souls up to heights they strive to reach,
And yet thy prayers ascend to His white throne,
Pleading for comfort for thyself alone;
Thou prayest too for wisdom and release,
And hands to draw thee upward into peace,
Forgetting that which Christ would have thee know,—
Peace comes to those who make peace here below;
Forgetting that His arms shall draw thee near
Only as thine are held to others here;
That wisdom comes to thee each passing hour
By teaching others what is in thy power;
That comfort comes by thy own word and deed,
Which comforts others in the hour of need.
If thou wouldst pray for self, ask God to give
More power in prayer that other souls may live.
To live right is to pray and to believe
That Christ will hear, and that “thou shalt receive.”
Two gifts are thine, if thou wouldst pray aright,—
Peace here below, and Heaven’s eternal light.

OUR BABY

When baby’s soul is claimed beyond the skies,
And little eyes are closed in final sleep;
When angels hush our darling’s cooing cries,
What words are there to comfort those who weep?

When broken playthings, lying on the floor,
And treasured toys have all been put aside,
When baby wakes to play with them no more,
And fondest hopes that brightened life have died;

When dimpled hands no longer seek the face,
And baby lips no more shall feel the kiss;
When tiny feet have found their resting-place,
What shall be said in such an hour as this?

When baby’s crib is idly standing near,
And cherished form is laid from human sight,
When loved ones think they even now can hear
The little cry that woke them in the night;

When mother puts the baby gowns away,
And ’round her neck can almost seem to feel
Those clinging arms, whose touch will with her stay,
What helpful thoughts can Sympathy reveal?

A HALO

No mortal can unhappy be
Who lives for other’s good,
And takes an interest in the lives
Of happy brother-hood.

Depression that destroys the mind
Will thereby disappear,
And gloom will all be swept away
In radiant atmosphere.

THE DESERTED FARM

An unkept field, whose grasses greet the sun,
And pure, white daisies spread like fallen snow;
The shady nooks, where trout brooks gaily run,
And, ’mong the trees, the farm-house quaint and low.

Like some worn soldier on the battle fields
It stands upon the old familiar ground,
And to the past it’s former strength it yields,
While naught but desolation broods around.

’Neath shutters closed the phœbe builds her nest,
While near the eaves the little sparrows fly;
All undisturbed they sing their young to rest,
As did a mother in the years gone by.

The wicker gate is falling to decay,
The narrow paths with growing weeds abound;
The long, low shed thro’ which the sunbeams stray,
Is leaning eastward to the grassy ground.

The barn door creaks upon it’s hinges old;
The prop that stayed it from the winds that blow
No more stands guard against the heat and cold—
The summer’s rain and winter’s drifts of snow.