O MASTER, LET ME WALK WITH THEE.

O MASTER, let me walk with thee
In lowly paths of service free;
Tell me thy secret; help me bear
The strain of toil, the fret of care;
Help me the slow of heart to move
By some clear winning word of love;
Teach me the wayward feet to stay,
And guide them in the homeward way.

O Master, let me walk with thee
Before the taunting Pharisee;
Help me to bear the sting of spite,
The hate of men who hide thy light,
The sore distrust of souls sincere
Who cannot read thy judgments clear,
The dulness of the multitude

Who dimly guess that thou art good.

Teach me thy patience; still with thee
In closer, dearer company,

In work that keeps faith sweet and strong,
In trust that triumphs over wrong,

In hope that sends a shining ray

Far down the future's broadening way,

In peace that only thou canst give,

With thee, O Master, let me live!

WASHINGTON GLADDEN.

III.

FAITH: HOPE: LOVE: SERVICE.

FAITH.

O WORLD, thou choosest not the better part!
It is not wisdom to be only wise,

And on the inward vision close the eyes,
But it is wisdom to believe the heart.
Columbus found a world, and had no chart,
Save one that faith deciphered in the skies;
To trust the soul's invincible surmise
Was all his science and his only art.
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine.

GEORGE SANTAYANA.

THE FIGHT OF FAITH.

[The author of this poem, one of the victims of the persecuting Henry VIII., was burnt to death at Smithfield in 1546. It was made and sung by her while a prisoner in Newgate.]

LIKE as the armèd Knighte,

Appointed to the fielde,
With this world wil I fight,
And faith shal be my shilde.

Faith is that weapon stronge,
Which wil not faile at nede;
My foes therefore amonge,
Therewith wil I procede.

As it is had in strengthe,
And forces of Christes waye,
It wil prevaile at lengthe,
Though all the devils saye naye.

Faithe of the fathers olde
Obtained right witness,
Which makes me verye bolde
To fear no worldes distress.

I now rejoice in harte,
And hope bides me do so;

For Christ wil take my part,

And ease me of my wo.

Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke,

To them wilt thou attende;

Undo, therefore, the locke,
And thy stronge power sende.

More enemies now I have
Than heeres upon my head;
Let them not me deprave,
But fight thou in my steade.

On thee my care I cast,
For all their cruell spight;
I set not by their hast,
For thou art my delight.

I am not she that list
My anker to let fall
For every drislinge mist;
My shippe's substancial.

Not oft I use to wright
In prose, nor yet in ryme;
Yet wil I shewe one sight,
That I sawe in my time:

I sawe a royall throne,

Where Justice shulde have sitte;

But in her steade was One

Of moody cruell witte.

Absorpt was rightwisness,
As by the raginge floude;
Sathan, in his excess,

Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude.

Then thought I,-Jesus, Lorde,
When thou shalt judge us all,
Harde is it to recorde

On these men what will fall.

Yet, Lorde, I thee desire,

For that they doe to me,
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquitie.

ANNE ASKEWE

DOUBT AND FAITH.

FROM IN MEMORIAM," XCV.

You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,

You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.

I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touched a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.

There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.

He fought his doubts and gathered strength, He would not make his judgment blind, He faced the spectres of the mind

And laid them: thus he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own;

And Power was with him in the night, Which makes the darkness and the light,

And dwells not in the light alone,

But in the darkness and the cloud,

As over Sinai's peaks of old,

While Israel made their gods of gold, Although the trumpet blew so loud.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON,