Haste Not! Rest Not.

W

WITHOUT haste! without rest! Bind the motto to thy breast; Bear it with thee as a spell;

Storm or sunshine, guard it well!

Heed not flowers that round thee bloom,
Bear it onward to the tomb!

Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed
Mar for ate the spirit's speed!
Ponder well, and know the right,
Onward then, with all thy might!
Haste not! years can ne'er atone
For one reckless action done.

Rest not! Life is sweeping by,
Go and dare, before you die;
Something mighty and sublime
Leave behind to conquer time!
Glorious 'tis to live for aye,
When these forms have passed away.

—

Haste not! rest not! calmly wait;
Meekly bear the storms of fate!
Duty be thy polar guide ;-
Do the right, whate'er betide!
Haste not! rest not! conflicts past,
God shall crown thy work at last.
JOHANN W. Von Goethe.

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US. 373

Bringing our Sheaves with us.

TH

HE time for toil has passed, and night has come,→→
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.

Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,

Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves That I am burdened, not so much with grain, As with a heaviness of heart and brain;— Master, behold my sheaves !

Few, light, and worthless,-yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves ;
For long I struggled with my hopeless fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late-
Yet these are all my sheaves.

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,

Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;

Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,

66

Master, behold my sheaves !"

I know these blossoms, clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value or utility,-
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.

So do I gather strength and hope anew;

For well I know thy patient love perceives Not what I did, but what I strove to do,And though the full ripe ears be sadly few, Thou wilt accept my sheaves.

ELIZABETH AKERS.

"It is more Blessed."

G

IVE! as the morning that flows out of heaven; Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give! as the free air and sunshine are given; Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give :— Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing, Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing, Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing;

Give, as He gave thee, who gave thee to live.

Pour out thy love, like the rush of a river,
Wasting its waters, forever and ever,

Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver;
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.
Scatter thy life, as the summer showers pouring!
What if no bird through the pearl-rain is soaring?
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?

Look to the life that was lavished for thee!

So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses,
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses,
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses,
Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.
What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?
Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes,

Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.

Almost the day of thy giving is over;
Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover;
What shall thy longing avail in the grave?
Give, as the heart gives, whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking,
Soon heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking,

Thou shalt know God, and the gift that he gave.
ANONYMOUS.

THE TWINS.

The Twins.

Date and Dabitur (Give, and it shall be given).

RAND rough old Martin Luther Bloomed fables-flowers in furze, The better the uncouther;

G

Do roses stick like burrs?

"A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,"
Said Luther-"but, seized with qualms
The Abbot replied, ‘We are poor!'

666 Poor who had plenty once,
When gifts fell thick as rain :
But they give us naught for the nonce,
And how should we give again?'

"Then the beggar, 'See your sins!
Of old, unless I err,

Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
Date and Dabitur,

"While Date was in good case
Dabitur flourished too;
For Dabitur's lenten face
Ne wonder if Date rue.

666 'Would ye retrieve the one?
Try and make plump the other!
When Date's penance is done,
Dabitur helps his brother.

"Only beware relapse!'

The Abbot hung his head; The beggar might be, perhaps, An angel," Luther said.

ROBERT BROWNING

375

Weariness.

O

LITTLE feet! that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath your load;
I, nearer to the wayside Inn,
Where toil shall cease and rest begin,
Am weary, thinking of your road!

O little hands! that weak or strong
Have still to serve or rule so long,

Have still so long to give or ask ; I, who so much with book and pen Have toiled among my fellow-men,

Am weary thinking of your task.

O little hearts! that throb and beat
With such impatient feverish heat,

Such limitless and strong desires;
Mine that so long has glowed and burned,
With passions into ashes turned,

Now covers and conceals its fires.

O little souls! as pure and white
And crystalline as rays of light

Direct from heaven, their source divine;
Refracted through the mist of years,
How red my setting sun appears,

How lurid looks this soul of mine!

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.