Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, Shall pass on to ages--all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be, so be my dying; So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered; Yes, but remembered for what I have done. --Horatius Bonar. SELF O I could go through all life's troubles singing, Turning earth's night to day, If self were not so fast around me clinging, To all I do or say. O Lord! that I could waste my life for others, With no ends of my own, That I could pour myself into my brothers And live for them alone! Such was the life thou livedst; self-abjuring, Thine own pains never easing, Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring; A life without self-pleasing. --Frederick William Faber. BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US The time for toil is past, 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 hapless 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, "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. I pray not that Men tremble at My power of place, And lordly sway; I only pray for simple grace To look my neighbor in the face Full honestly from day to day. --James Whitcomb Riley. If thou art blest, Then let the sunshine of thy gladness rest On the dark edges of each cloud that lies Black in thy brother's skies. If thou art sad, Still be in thy brother's gladness glad. --Hamilton.