GIVING.
Give! As the
morning that flows out of heaven,
Give! As the waves when their channel is riven,
Give! As the free air and sunshine are given,
Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give:-
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing,
Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing,
Give, as He gave thee. Who gave thee to live.
Give! As the waves when their channel is riven,
Give! As the free air and sunshine are given,
Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give:-
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing,
Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing,
Give, as He gave thee. Who gave thee to live.
Pour out thy
love like the rush of a river.
Wasting its waters forever and ever
Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver,
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.
Scatter thy life as the summer showers pouring!
What if no bird through the pear-rain is soaring?
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?
Look to the Life that was lavished for thee!
Wasting its waters forever and ever
Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver,
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.
Scatter thy life as the summer showers pouring!
What if no bird through the pear-rain is soaring?
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?
Look to the Life that was lavished for thee!
So the wild wind
strews its perfumed caresses,
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses,
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses,
Never it ceases to whisper and sing.
What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?
Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes,
Fairest the vine that ruin will cling.
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses,
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses,
Never it ceases to whisper and sing.
What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?
Sweeter is music with minor-keyed closes,
Fairest the vine that ruin will cling.
Almost the day
of thy giver is over,
Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover,
What shall thy longing avail in the grave?
Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking,
Soon, Heaven’s river thy soul-fever slaking,
Thou shalt know God, and the gift that He gave.
Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover,
What shall thy longing avail in the grave?
Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking,
Soon, Heaven’s river thy soul-fever slaking,
Thou shalt know God, and the gift that He gave.
