"O dearest Lord," I cried, "I will obey, Say what thou wilt! only lead thou the way; For, following thee, my footsteps shall not stray."
He took me at my word. He went before; He led me to the dwellings of the poor, Where wolf-eyed Want keeps watch beside the door.
He beckoned me, and I essayed to go Where Sin and Crime, more sad than Want and Woe, Hold carnival, and Vice walks to and fro.
And when I faltered at the sight, He said, "Behold, I died for such! These hands have bled, This side for such has pierced been," he said.
"Is the disciple greater than his Lord? The servant than his Master?" Oh, that word! It smote me like a sharp, two-edged sword!
And since that hour, if any work of mine Has been accepted by my Lord as sign That I was following in his steps divine;
If, serving others (though imperfectly), My own poor life has worthier come to be, And I have grown in faith and charity,
Dear Lord, be thine the glory! Thou hast wrought, All unaware, the blessing that I sought. O that these lips might praise thee as they ought!
The sun gives ever; so the earth-- What it can give so much 'tis worth; The ocean gives in many ways-- Gives baths, gives fishes, rivers, bays; So, too, the air, it gives us breath. When it stops giving, comes in death. Give, give, be always giving; Who gives not is not living; The more you give The more you live.
God's love hath in us wealth unheaped Only by giving it is reaped; The body withers, and the mind Is pent up by a selfish rind. Give strength, give thought, give deeds, give pelf, Give love, give tears, and give thyself. Give, give, be always giving, Who gives not is not living; The more we give The more we live.
Slightest actions often meet the sorest needs, For the world wants daily little kindly deeds; O, what care and sorrow you may help remove With your song and courage, sympathy and love.
The look of sympathy; the gentle word Spoken so low that only angels heard; The secret act of pure self-sacrifice, Unseen by men, but marked by angels' eyes; These are not lost.
The silent tears that fall at dead of night Over soiled robes that once were pure and white; The prayers that rise like incense from the soul, Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole; These are not lost.
