The place was dark, unfurnitured, and mean; Help came but slowly surely no man yet Put lever to the heavy world with less. What need of help? He knew how types were set; He had a dauntless spirit and a press. Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, The compact nucleus round which systems grow: O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born We stride the river daily at its spring, Nor in our childish thoughtlessness foresee O small beginnings! ye are great and strong, LARVÆ. My little maiden of four years old (No myth, but a genuine child is she, With her bronze-brown eyes, and her curls of gold) Came, quite in disgust, one day to me. Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her, She cried, "O mother! I found on my arm A horrible, crawling caterpillar!" And with mischievous smile she scarce could smother, They were words to the thought of the soul that turns Ah! look thou largely with lenient eyes On whatso beside thee may creep and cling For the possible beauty that underlies The passing phase of the meanest thing. What if God's angels, whose waiting love Beholdeth our pitiful life below From the holy hight of their heaven above, Couldn't bear with the worm till the wings should grow! Atlantic Monthly GOOD DEEDS CAN NEVER DIE. God is building here a temple; Patient servant of the Saviour, Hast thou raised a prostrate brother? Time hath now no power to mar it; 'Tis immortal as thy soul; It shall be a thing of beauty While eternal ages roll. When the mighty walls are finished, And the temple is complete, It shall be for thee a trophy, Making all thy joy more sweet. Selected. |