Poems and Prayers, Part 10
The Correct Order
'Tis first the true and then the beautiful,
Not first the beautiful and then the true;
First the wild wood, with rock and fen, and
Then the gay garden, rich in scent and
'Tis first the good and then the beautiful,
Not first the beautiful and then the good;
First the rough seed, sown in the rougher
Then the flower blossom or the branching
Not first the glad and then the sorrowful,
But first the sorrowful and then the glad;
Tears for a day, for earth of tears is full,
Then we forget that we were ever sad.
Not first the bright and after that the dark,
But first the dark and after that the
First the thick cloud and then the rainbow's
First the dark grave, then resurrection
The Breath of Breath
SERVANT, where dost thou seek Me ?
Lo ! I am beside thee.
1 am neither in temple nor in mosque :
I am neither in Kaaba nor in
Neither am I in rites and ceremonies,
nor in Yoga and renunciation.
If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at
once see Me : thou shalt meet Me
in a moment of time.
" O Sadhu ! God is the
breath of all breath."
I'd rather write one heavenly thought
To shed its sunlight on the years;
I'd rather know that I have wrought
Some kindness, wiped away some tears,
Or given a hope to banish care
And lift a fainting heart above,
Or helped my brother's grief to bear,
And gained that wondrous goal—his love,
Than sit on earthly throne with kings,
And sway the scepter of their fame—
Oh! wealth and fame are little things
Compared with goodness in a name.
I'd rather be a fragrant flower,
To bloom in purity—then die,
Fulfilling in a single hour
My mission 'neath the sunny sky,
Than gain the transient fading goal
For which so many hearts have striven;
I'd rather open all my soul
And drink the hallowed light of Heaven
And if His presence still may come,
And go with me and give me rest,
I'd rather cease to mourn and roam
And lean upon the Savior's breast.
I'd rather leave earth's weary pain
To those who will but plod and moil,
And ever with my heart remain
Far from the tumult and the toil.
I'd rather hear His voice of peace,
And blend my soul with Him, and be
Wttiere raging of the waves must cease,
And toiling on the weary sea.
Then, oh! from out that sheltered home
I'd reach, and heavenly love impart,
Until my spirit should become
A home for every weary heart.
-Mrs. Martha Wintermutb.
Purusha - The Cosmic Person
A thousand – headed is Puruṣa
With a thousand eyes, a thousand feet,
encompassing the earth all sides,
He exceeded it by ten fingers breadth.
Such is the measure of his might
And greatest still than this is man.
All beings are a fourth of him,
Three fourth are the immortal in heaven.
Three fourths of Puruṣa ascended high,
One fourth took birth again down here,
From this he spread into all directions
Into animate and inanimate things.
Just This Minute
If we're thoughtful just this minute
In whate'er we say or do,
If we put a purpose in it
That is honest through and through,
We shall gladden life and give it
Grace to make it all sublime;
For though life is long, we live it
Just a moment at a time.
Just this minute we are going
To the right or to the wrong;
Just this minute we are sowing
Seeds of sorrow or of song;
Just this minute we are thinking
On the ways that lead to God,
Or on idle dreams are sinking
To the level of the clod.
Yesterday is gone; tomorrow
Never comes within our grasp;
Just this minute's joy or sorrow,
That is all our hands may clasp.
Just this minute! Let us take it,
As a pearl of precious price,
And with high endeavor make it
Fit to shine in paradise.
In the Heart
If no kindly thought or word
We can give, some soul to bless;
If our hands, from hour to hour,
Do no deeds of gentleness;
If to lone and weary ones
We no comfort will impart,—
Though 'tis summer in the sky,
Yet 'tis winter in the heart!
If we strive to lift the gloom
From a dark and burdened life;
If we seek to lull the storm
Of our fallen brother's strife;
If we bid all hate and scorn
From the spirit to depart,—
Though 'tis winter in the sky,
Yet 'tis summer in the heart!
Words of Strength
There are three lessons I would write,
Three words as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,
Upon the hearts of men.
Have hope. Though clouds environ now,
And Gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put thou the shadow from thy brow;
No night but hath its morn.
Have faith. Where'er thy bark is driven—
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth
Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven,
The inhabitants of earth.
Have love—not love alone for one,
But man as man thy brother call,
And scatter like the circling sun
Thy charities on all.
Thus grave these lessons on thy soul—
Hope, Faith, and Love—and thou shalt
Strength when life's surges rudest roll,
Light when thou else wert blind.
- Friedbich Schiller.
Today is Yours
Today is yours, its richness and its chance.
And all it holds—its opportunities,
Its penalties, rewards, and its advance,
And its restrictions and immunities.
Today is yours; your yesterday is dead,
And unborn is the morrow; but today
Holds something that by night-time will
And left you staring backward in dismay.
Today is yours: how you may use today,
Tomorrow pays the toll; your minutes
Are melancholy markers by the way—
There is more strife than peace in retrospect.
Beautiful faces are those that wear —
It matters little if dark or fair —
Whole-souled honesty printed there.
Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where heart-fires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.
Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.
Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.
Beautiful feet are those that go
On kindly ministries to and fro —
Down lowliest way, if God wills it so.
Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care
With patient grace and daily prayer.
Beautiful lives are those that bless —
Silent rivers of happiness
Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.
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