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A man whose soul is pure and strong, whose sword is bright and keen,

Who knows the splendour of the fight and what its issues mean ;

Who never takes one step aside, nor halts, though hope be dim,

But cleaves a pathway thro’ the strife, and bids men follow him.

No blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness in his arm ;

No sign of trembling in his face to break his valor’s charm : ,

One man like this could stay the flight and lead the wavering line ;

Ah, give me but a year of life—I ’ll make that glory mine !

Religion? Yes, I know it well; I ’ve heard its prayers and creeds,

And seen men put them all to shame with poor, half-hearted deeds.

They follow Christ, but far away ; they wander and they doubt.

I ’ll serve him in a better way, and live his precepts out.

You see, I ’ve waited just for this; I could not be content

To own a feeble, faltering faith with human weakness blent.

Too many runners in the race move slowly, stumble, fall;

But I will run so straight and swift I shall outstrip them all.

Oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their foolish strife,

To see the clear, unshadowed light of one true Christian life,

Without a touch of selfishness, without a taint of sin, —

With one short month of such a life a new world would begin !

And lovel—I often dream of that—the treasure of the earth;

How little they who use the coin have realized its worth !

’T will pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure.

But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure.

My heart is full of virgin gold. I ’ll pour it out and spend

My hidden wealth, with lavish hand, on all who call me friend.

Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief,

The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief.

I ’ll say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair,

I ’ll pay the gratitude I owe for human love and care.

Perhaps I ’ve been at fault sometimes—I ’ll ask to be forgiven,

And make this very room of mine seem like a little heaven.

For one by one I ’ll call my friends to stand beside my bed ;

I ’ll speak the true and tender words that I have left unsaid ;

And every heart shall throb and glow, all coldness melt away

Around my altar-fire of love— ah, give me but one day !

What’s that? I’ve had another day, and wasted it again?

A priceless day, in empty dreams,—another chance in vain?

Thou fool—this night—it’s very dark—the last —-this choking breath —

One prayer—have mercy on a dreamer’s soul -— God, this is death.

SEVEN SMALL SONGS IN DIFFERENT KEYS

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