 | Songs of Religion and Life |  |
173
Sow not in Sorrow.
Sow not in sorrow,
Fling your seed abroad, and know
God sends to-morrow
The rain to make it grow!
A fool is he his woe who feeds,
And seeks the thorn by which he bleeds,
While harmless culled from bloomy meads
The rose comes to the wise!
Fling your seed abroad, and know
God sends to-morrow
The rain to make it grow!
A fool is he his woe who feeds,
And seeks the thorn by which he bleeds,
While harmless culled from bloomy meads
The rose comes to the wise!
The past no prayer can bring again,
The future cheats the scheming brain,
The present with its golden gain
Is garnered by the wise.
Let each to-morrow
Do to-morrow's work with power;
But he soweth sorrow
Who lives beyond the hour.
The future cheats the scheming brain,
The present with its golden gain
Is garnered by the wise.
174
Do to-morrow's work with power;
But he soweth sorrow
Who lives beyond the hour.
While mad Ambition stints his sleep,
To scale the skies and plumb the deep,
I trim my little plot, and reap
My roses with the wise.
Dreams you may borrow,
From the vasty space around;
My work is thorough,
In my narrow bound.
To scale the skies and plumb the deep,
I trim my little plot, and reap
My roses with the wise.
Dreams you may borrow,
From the vasty space around;
My work is thorough,
In my narrow bound.
The Phrygian Midas prayed of old,
That all he touched might turn to gold,
But thus his dinner, we are told,
Was lost to him unwise!
He found a sorrow
Where he hoped a golden joy;
From Midas borrow,
And be a wiser boy!
That all he touched might turn to gold,
But thus his dinner, we are told,
Was lost to him unwise!
175
Where he hoped a golden joy;
From Midas borrow,
And be a wiser boy!
When storms with wintry muster come,
And Jove beats loud his thunder drum,
I sit beside the fire and hum
The song that cheers the wise.
Fear bringeth sorrow;
'Mid the world's confounding din,
Peace you may borrow
From faith that's strong within!
And Jove beats loud his thunder drum,
I sit beside the fire and hum
The song that cheers the wise.
Fear bringeth sorrow;
'Mid the world's confounding din,
Peace you may borrow
From faith that's strong within!
When friends are false and patrons frown,
And railway shares go swiftly down,
Weep not! the cross becomes a crown,
By magic of the wise!
Nurse not your sorrow;
Though the cloud be dark to-day,
God sends to-morrow
The bright and cheering ray!
And railway shares go swiftly down,
Weep not! the cross becomes a crown,
By magic of the wise!
176
Though the cloud be dark to-day,
God sends to-morrow
The bright and cheering ray!
When hireling scribes retail their lies,
And keen the shaft of slander flies,
I see a cherub in the skies
That smiles upon the wise.
Spur not your sorrow;
Though the tempest rave to-day,
God sends to-morrow
The peaceful beaming May.
And keen the shaft of slander flies,
I see a cherub in the skies
That smiles upon the wise.
Spur not your sorrow;
Though the tempest rave to-day,
God sends to-morrow
The peaceful beaming May.
When juggling statesmen trim their sails
To catch a whiff from shifting gales,
I wait the hour when truth prevails,
And triumph with the wise.
Dream not to borrow
Peace from faction's battling waves;
He reapeth sorrow,
Who trusts in fools and knaves!
To catch a whiff from shifting gales,
I wait the hour when truth prevails,
And triumph with the wise.
177
Peace from faction's battling waves;
He reapeth sorrow,
Who trusts in fools and knaves!
When things once strong go to the wall,
And creeds decay, and churches fall,
What then? God reigns above them all,
The Saviour of the wise!
Why should we sorrow,
When a sphere reels into night?
God can to-morrow
Make new worlds more bright.
And creeds decay, and churches fall,
What then? God reigns above them all,
The Saviour of the wise!
Why should we sorrow,
When a sphere reels into night?
God can to-morrow
Make new worlds more bright.
Thus when the world a-warring goes,
No fretful thorn my finger shows,
While on my breast I wear the rose,
The star that decks the wise;
Sow not in sorrow;
Fling your seed abroad, and know
God sends to-morrow,
The rain to make it grow!
No fretful thorn my finger shows,
While on my breast I wear the rose,
The star that decks the wise;
178
Fling your seed abroad, and know
God sends to-morrow,
The rain to make it grow!
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