  There are times when the fate of nations May hang on a moment's call; When spheres in their mute rotations May swing on a hinge so small, That the breath of a spirit's pinion Might unpoise a balanced world, And lost to law's dominion Through endless space be hurled. There are times when the herdsman's calling May vibrate thro' alpine ranch Till the pendent drop, by its falling, Sweeps down in an avalanche, Till the mountain trembles and totters 'Neath the mighty force of snow, And the lives and homes of the cotters Are lost in the vale below. There are times when the mind's inaction Has robbed the soul of power, When moments of deep reflection Arrive at so late an hour In the laggard way they come, And like withered buds of fruition, Are lifeless, powerless, dumb. There are words that have been spoken That have echoed on thro' years; Though the vessel has been broken That voiced them to our ears, Yet they come with increased ardor As the years are passing by, Since the soul stood on the border Of vast eternity. There are scenes that ever mirror Their forms in thought divine, That with lapse of time grow dearer Till we hold them as some shrine, Wherein are kept the treasures Of Faith and Trust and Love— A trio fraught with pleasures Drawn from the realms above. There are hours upon whose decision The fate of a soul may be; Though clouds may obscure the vision And we pray for a light to see The way that shall lead to heaven, And keep our pathway bright, We can use but the knowledge given And walk in our purest light. Let us scan each hour's requisition And answer every demand, Knowing that want of decision Is a foe we cannot withstand; If we shrink from performing our duty, Or tardily fashion our thought, Life loses its charm and its beauty And existence profits us naught. We know that like all human Our work is imperfect at best, And will bristle with imperfections Till our hands shall be at rest; But to justify our blunders Or pass them lightly o'er, Is the fatal way of inviting A thousand errors more. |
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