"Courage consists not in hazarding without fear, but being resolutely minded in a just cause. The brave man is not he who feels no fear, for that were stupid and irrational, but he whose noble soul subdues its fear, and bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from." Ferrold.
Tuesday, May 18, 2021
Friday, April 16, 2021
A Shelter In The Time of Storm
"I found this hymn in a small paper published in London, called "The Postman." It was said to be a favorite song of the fishermen on the north coast of England, and they were often heard singing it as they approached their harbors in the time of storm. As the hymn was set to a weird minor tune, I decided to compose one that would be more practical, one that could be more easily sung by the people." Sanky
Sunday, April 11, 2021
Waiting
Waiting
by John Burroughs
Serene, I fold my hand and wait,
Nor care for wind, or tide, nor sea;
I rave no more'gainst time or fate,
For lo! mine 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.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own, and draw
The brook that springs in yonder
heights;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delights.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave comes to the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Before Your Boat Sails...
Saturday, September 8, 2018
Reminiscences of the Past In Heaven
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
The Splendor Of Heaven
REV. F. W. FABER, P. P.
Ah, what is this splendor that beams on me now,
This beautiful sunrise that dawns on my soul,
And under my feet the huge golden clouds roll?
To what mighty king doth this city belong,
With its rich jeweled shrines, and its gardens of flowers,
With its breath of sweet incense, its measures of song.
And the light that is gilding its numberless towers?
See! forth from the gates, like a bridal array,
Come the princes of heaven, how bravely they shine!
'Tis to welcome the stranger, to show me the way,
And to tell me that all I see round me is mine.
There are millions of saints in their ranks and degree
And each with a beauty and crown of his own;
And there, far outnumbering the sands of the seas,
The nine rings of angels encircle the throne.
And oh, if the exiles of earth could but win
One sight of the beauty of Jesus above,
From that hour they -would cease to be able to sin,
And earth would be heaven; for heaven is love.
But words may not tell of the vision of peace,
With its worshipful seeming, its marvelous fires;
Where the soul is at large, where its sorrows all cease,
And the gift has outbidden its boldest desires.
No sickness is here, no bleak, bitter cold,
No hunger, debt, prison, or weariful toil;
No robbers to rifle our treasures of gold,
No rust to corrupt, and no canker to spoil.
My God! and it was but a short hour ago,
That I lay on a bed of unbearable pains;
All was cheerless around me, all weeping and woe;
Now the wailing is changed to angelical strains.
Because I served Thee, were life's pleasures all gone?
Was it gloom, pain, or blood, that won heaven for me?
Oh no! one enjoyment alone could life boast,
And that, dearest Lord ! was my service of Thee.
I had hardly to give; 'twas enough to receive,
Only not to impede the sweet grace from above;
And, this first hour in heaven, I can hardly believe
In so great a reward for so little a love.
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Missionary Accomplishments
The missionaries taught the whole nation to read and write, with facility, in the native tongue. I don't suppose there is to-day a single uneducated person above eight years of age in the Sandwich Islands! It is the best educated country in the world, I believe. That has been all done by the American missionaries. And in a large degree it was paid for by the American Sunday-school children with their pennies. I know that I contributed." -- Samuel L. Clemens.