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SORROW

Aubrey Thomas De Vere

OUNT

each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee; do thou

With courtesy receive him; rise and bow;

And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold,

crave

Permission first his heavenly feet to lave;
Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow,

Or mar thy hospitality; no wave

Of mortal tumult to obliterate

The soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be

Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate,

Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free;

Strong to consume small troubles; to commend

Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.

Psalm 23

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PSALM 23

HE Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

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SUNSET AND SEA

William Wordsworth

T is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun

Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with His eternal motion make

A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

Peace Is Best

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PEACE IS BEST

William Wordsworth

HE most alluring clouds that mount the sky
Owe to a troubled element their forms,
Their hues to sunset. If with raptured eye
We watch their splendor, shall we covet

storms,

And wish the Lord of day his slow decline

Would hasten, that such pomp may float on high? Behold, already they forget to shine,

Dissolve-and leave to him who gazed a sigh.
Not loth to thank each moment for its boon
Of pure delight, come whencesoe'er it may,
Peace let us seek,-to steadfast things attune
Calm expectations-leaving to the gay
And volatile their love of transient bowers.
The house that cannot pass away be ours.

SURSUM CORDA!

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William Wordsworth

HERE lies the truth? Has man, in wis

dom's creed,

A pitiable doom; for respite brief

A care more anxious, or a heavier grief?

Is he ungrateful, and doth little heed

God's bounty, soon forgotten? Or, indeed,

Must man, with labor born, awake to sorrow

When flowers rejoice and larks with rival speed Spring from their nests to bid the sun good morrow?

They mount for rapture as their songs proclaim,

Warbled in hearing both of earth and sky;

But o'er the contrast wherefore heave a sigh?

Like those aspirants let us soar—our aim,

Through life's worst trials, whether shocks or snares, A happier, brighter, purer heaven than theirs.