The look, the fashion, of God's ways Love's lifelong study are; She can be bold, and guess, and act When reason would not dare. She has a prudence of her own; Her step is firm and free. Yet there is cautious science, too In her simplicity. Workman of God! oh, lose not heart, But learn what God is like, And in the darkest battle-field, Thou shalt know where to strike. Thrice blest is he to whom is given The instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he Is most invisible. Blest, too, is he who can divine Where real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems Wrong to man's blindfold eye. Then learn to scorn the praise of men And learn to lose with God; For Jesus won the world through shame And beckons thee his road. God's glory is a wondrous thing, Most strange in all its ways, And, of all things on earth, least like What men agree to praise. God's justice is a bed where we Our anxious hearts may lay, And, weary with ourselves, may sleep Our discontent away. For right is right, since God is God, And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin. --Frederick William Faber. Let us believe That there is hope for all the hearts that grieve; That somewhere night Drifts to a morning beautiful with light, And that the wrong Though now it triumphs, wields no scepter long. But right will reign Throned where the waves of error beat in vain. --Frank L. Stanton. To change and change is life; to move and never rest; Not what we are, but what we hope, is best. --James Russell Lowell. HAVE HOPE Have Hope! it is the brightest star That lights life's pathway down: A richer, purer gem than decks An Eastern monarch's crown. The Midas that may turn to joy The grief-fount of the soul; That paints the prize and bids thee press With fervor to the goal. Have Hope! as the tossed mariner Upon the wild sea driven With rapture hails the polar star-- His guiding light to haven-- So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide Along life's stormy road, And as a sacred beacon stand To point thee to thy God. --B. A. G. Fuller. WAITING Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind or tide or sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For, lo! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny.