Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control, But in the quietness of thought. Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee; I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. --William Wordsworth. THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds That have their root in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will;-- All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern--unseen before-- A path to higher destinies, Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS The deeds which selfish hearts approve And fame's loud trumpet sings Secure no praise where truth and love Are counted noblest things; And work which godless folly deems Worthless, obscure, and lowly, To Heaven's ennobling vision seems Most godlike, grand, and holy.