To long with all our longing powers, And have the wish denied; To urge and strain our force in vain Against the unresting tide Of fate and circumstance, which still Baffles and beats and thwarts our will; To reach the goal toward which we strove All the long way and hard; To win the prize which, to our eyes, Seemed life's one best reward-- Love's rose, Fame's laurel, olived Peace, The gold-fruit of Hesperides-- And then to find the prize all vain, The joys all empty made-- To taste the sting in each sweet thing, To watch Love's roses fade, The fruit to ashes turn, the gold To worthless dross within our hold! Now which has most of grief and pain, Which is the worse to bear: The joy we crave and never have, Or the curse of the granted prayer? The baffled wish or the bitter rue-- Could our hearts choose between the two? O will of God, thou blessed will! Which, like a balmed air, The breath of souls about us rolls, Touching us everywhere, Imparting, like a soft caress, Healing, and help, and tenderness, O will of God, be thou our will! Then, come or joy or pain, Made one with thee it cannot be That we shall wish in vain, And, whether granted or denied, Our hearts shall be all satisfied. --Susan Coolidge. OUT OF TOUCH Only a smile, yes, only a smile That a woman o'erburdened with grief Expected from you; 'twould have given relief, For her heart ached sore the while; But weary and cheerless she went away, Because, as it happened, that very day You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a word, yes, only a word, That the Spirit's small voice whispered "Speak"; But the worker passed onward unblessed and weak Whom you were meant to have stirred To courage, devotion, and love anew, Because when the message came to you You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a note, yes, only a note To a friend in a distant land. The Spirit said "Write," but then you had planned Some different work, and you thought It mattered little. You did not know 'Twould have saved a soul from sin and woe; You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a song, yes, only a song That the Spirit said "Sing to-night; Thy voice is thy Master's by purchased right"; But you thought, "'Mid this motley throng I care not to sing of the city of gold"-- And the heart that your words might have reached grew cold; You were "out of touch" with your Lord. Only a day, yes, only a day! But oh, can you guess, my friend, Where the influence reaches, and where it will end Of the hours that you frittered away? The Master's command is "Abide in me" And fruitless and vain will your service be If "out of touch" with your Lord. --Jean H. Watson.