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Varnered Treasures.

FROM

WHITTIER'S “QUESTIONS OF LIFE.”

Why idly seek from outward things
The answer inward silence brings;
Why stretch beyond our proper sphere
And
age,

for that which lies so near?
Why climb the far-off hills with pain,
A nearer view of heaven to gain?
In lowliest depths of bosky dells
The hermit Contemplation dwells.
A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat,
And lotus twined his silent feet,
Whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight,
He sees at noon the stars, whose light
Shall glorify the coming night.

Here let me pause, my quest forego;
Enough for me to feel and know

5

6

QUESTIONS OF LIFE.

That He, in whom the cause and end
The
past

and future meet and blend,-
Who, girt with His immensities,
One vast and star-hung system sees,
Small as the clustered Pleiades,
Moves not alone the heavenly quires,
But waves the spring-time's grassy spires,
Guards not archangels' feet alone,
But deigns to guide and keep my own;
Speaks not alone the words of fate
Which worlds destroy and worlds create,
But whispers in my spirit's ear,
In tones of love, or warning fear,
A language none beside may hear.
To Him, from wanderings long and wild,
I come, an over-wearied child,
In cool and shade His peace to find,
Like dew-fall settling on my mind.
Assured that all I know is best,
And humbly trusting for the rest,
I turn from fancy's cloud-built scheme,
Dark creed and mournful eastern dream
Of power, impersonal and cold,
Controlling all, itself controlled,
Maker and slave of iron laws,
Alike the subject and the cause;

WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE?

7

From vain philosophies that try
The sevenfold gates of mystery,
And baffled ever, babble still,
Word-prodigal, of fate and will;
From Nature, and her mockery, Art,
And book and speech of men apart,
To the still Witness in my heart;
With reverence waiting to behold
His Avatár of love untold,
The Eternal Beauty new and old.

WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE?

“And they said among themselves, “Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre ? And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away.”—MARK xvi. 3, 4

WHAT poor weeping ones were saying

Eighteen hundred years ago,
We, the same weak faith betraying,

Say in our sad hours of woe;
Looking at some trouble lying

In the dark and dread unknown,
We, too, often ask with sighing,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

8 WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE?

Thus with care our spirits crushing,

When they might from care be free,
And in joyous song outgushing,

Rise, with rapture, Lord, to Thee-
For before the way was ended,

Oft we've had with joy to own,
Angels have from Heaven descended,

And have rolled away the stone.

Many a storm-cloud sweeping o'er us,

Never pours on us its rain;
Many a grief we see before us,

Never comes to cause us pain;
Ofttimes in the feared to-morrow

Sunshine comes—the cloud has flown-
Ask not then in foolish sorrow,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

Burden not thy soul with sadness,

Make a wiser, better choice;
Drink the wine of life with gladness-

God doth bid thee, man, rejoice.
In to-day's bright sunshine basking,

Leave to-morrow's fears alone;
Spoil not present joys by asking,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

LITTLE BY LITTLE.

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LITTLE BY LITTLE.

When the new years come and the old years go,
How, little by little, all things grow!
All things grow—and all decay-
Little by little passing away.
Little by little, on fertile plain,
Ripen the harvests of golden grain,
Waving and Aashing in the sun,
When the summer at last is done.
Little by little they ripen so,
As the new years come and the old years go.

Low on the ground an acorn lies,
Little by little it mounts to the skies,
Shadow and shelter for wandering herds,
Home for a hundred singing birds.
Little by little the great rocks grew,
Long, long ago, when the world was new;
Slowly and silently, stately and free,
Cities of coral under the sea
Little by little are builded—while so
The new years come and the old years go.

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