You can never tell when you do an act Just what the result will be; But with every deed you are sowing a seed, Though its harvest you may not see. Each kindly act is an acorn dropped In God's productive soil; Though you may not know, yet the tree shall grow And shelter the brows that toil. YOUR MISSION If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet; You can stand among the sailors Anchored yet within the bay; You can lend a hand to help them As they launch their boat away. If you are too weak to journey Up the mountain steep and high, You can stand within the valley While the multitudes go by; You can chant in happy measure As they slowly pass along; Though they may forget the singer They will not forget the song. If you have not gold and silver Ever ready to command; If you cannot toward the needy, Reach an ever-open hand; You can visit the afflicted, O'er the erring you can weep; You can be a true disciple Sitting at the Saviour's feet. If you cannot in the harvest Garner up the richest sheaves, Many a grain both ripe and golden Will the careless reapers leave; Go and glean among the briers Growing rank against the wall, For it may be that their shadow Hides the heaviest wheat of all. If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true, If where fire and smoke are thickest There's no work for you to do; When the battle-field is silent You can go with careful tread: You can bear away the wounded, You can cover up the dead. If you cannot be the watchman, Standing high on Zion's wall, Pointing out the path to heaven, Offering life and peace to all; With your prayers and with your bounties You can do what Heaven demands, You can be like faithful Aaron, Holding up the prophet's hands. Do not, then, stand idly waiting For some greater work to do; Fortune is a lazy goddess-- She will never come to you. Go and toil in any vineyard, Do not fear to do or dare; If you want a field of labor You can find it anywhere. --G. M. Grannis. THE FAITHFUL MONK Golden gleams of noonday fell On the pavement of the cell, And the monk still lingered there In the ecstasy of prayer; Fuller floods of glory streamed Through the window, and it seemed Like an answering glow of love From the countenance above. On the silence of the cell Break the faint tones of a bell. 'Tis the hour when at the gate Crowds of poor and hungry wait, Wan and wistful, to be fed With the friar of mercy's bread.