Home Poems

The Master’s sympathy prevails
With him who tries altho’ he fails,
For He will help not chide;
When rest and honors have been won
He hears the Master say: “Well done,”
And he is satisfied.

THE GRACES

Faith, the angel of my prayer,
Hope, to lighten every care,
Love, to lift life’s heavy yoke,
These the graces I invoke;
But the greatest of the three
Is the last—sweet charity.

SUNSHINE

The sunshine makes the flowers grow,
They cannot thrive in shade;
If naught but darkness did they know
Their brightness soon would fade.

Our lives require the sunlight’s glow,
They cannot thrive in gloom;
If naught but darkness did thy know
Bright hopes would never bloom.

The sunny smiles that make life bright
And bless the passing hours,
Will do for souls that need the light
What sunshine does for flowers.

“WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?”

Will it matter, by and by,
When he calls us each by name,
Whether you, or whether I,
Win earth’s honor and earth’s fame?

Onward, in the rush of life,
For the prizes of the race,
Shall we mingle in the strife
Crowding others out of place?

Shall we seek Ambition’s goal,
Where the earthly treasures stay,
Passing by some helpless soul
Who has lost the Heavenly way?

If no kindness we have shown,
Seeking to be first of all,
Shall we gain a “welcome home”
When we hear the Master’s call?

When life’s busy day is past,
Will He question you and me
Who was first, and who was last,
In the worldly victory?

If earth’s laurels we have won,
And Heaven’s glories are denied,
Shall we hear the words: “Well done,”
And our souls be satisfied?

Ere the prize we seek is gone,
And the triumph comes too late,
Love of fame shall urge us on
But the angels whisper:—“Wait.”

WHAT HE SAID

“Come and play with me,” he said;
And I saw his curly head
Peeping thro’ the fence below.
He was four and I was three
And he beckoned unto me
So I could not say him no.

“Come and live with me,” he said;
And I saw his manly head
Where the threads of silver grow.
He was passing forty-three
And he pleaded long with me
So I could not say him no.

HOME LIGHTS

When the work of day is over,
And the weary hours are past,
Home lights, gleaming in the distance,
Fill the soul with joy at last.

Tho’ the trials have been many,
And the world has proved unkind,
Lights of home make burdens lighter
And refresh the wearied mind.

Some one where the lights are shining,
Knows that you are very near;