We ought to raise our notes of praise
While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise
Of worry or of trouble;

Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,

Who knows the mask is double. But he who has the faith and strength To thank his God for sorrow Has found a joy without alloy To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes
Of happy, glad Thanksgiving,
The hours and days a silent phrase
Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow
As weeks and months pass o'er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

I

CONTRASTS.

SEE the tall church steeples,

They reach so far, so far;

But the eyes of my heart see the world's

great mart

Where the starving people are.

I hear the church bells ringing

Their chimes on the morning air;
But my soul's sad ear is hurt to hear
The poor man's cry of despair

Thicker and thicker the churches,
Nearer and nearer the sky-

But alack for their creeds while the poor man's needs

Grow deeper as years roll by.

HA

THY SHIP.

ADST thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay
stored

The priceless riches of all climes and lands,
Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas
Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport,

And of wild waves and hidden rocks the prey?

Thine is that ship; and in its depths concealed
Lies all the wealth of this vast universe-
Yea, lies some part of God's omnipotence,
The legacy divine of every soul.

Thy will, O man, thy will is that great ship,
And yet behold it drifting here and there-
One moment lying motionless in port,
Then on high seas by sudden impulse flung,

Then drying on the sands, and yet again
Sent forth on idle quests to no-man's land
To carry nothing and to nothing bring;
Till worn and fretted by the aimless strife
And buffeted by vacillating winds
It founders on a rock, or springs a leak
With all its unused treasures in the hold.

Go save thy ship, thou sluggard; take the wheel And steer to knowledge, glory and success.

Great mariners have made the pathway plain
For thee to follow; hold thou to the course
Of Concentration Channel, and all things
Shall come in answer to thy swerveless wish
As comes the needle to the magnet's call,
Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of grass
That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring.

A

LIFE.

LL in the dark we grope along,

And if we go amiss

We learn at least which path is wrong,
And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race.
By only running right,

We have to tread the mountain's base
Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made;

So often had they trod

The paths that lead through light and shade, They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,

They passed along the way,

And left those mighty truths which men
But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last
And knows the use of pain,

Though strewn with errors all his past,
He surely shall attain.