Speak but the little words of truth

And they shall live when thou hast ceased to be;

The lips by trial daily put to proof

Breathe nothing sweeter than sincerity,

Helping thy brother to be true like thee.

Speak but the little words of love

And they shall linger when the tongue is still;

For whether there be thrones they shall remove,

But love abideth all our thoughts to fill

And fashioneth remembrance as it will.

Speak but the little words of hope

And they shall cheer the way when cometh night

To thee or others who in dark would grope

But for the courage of thy humble light

Fed by the oil of promise—“All comes right.”

Speak but the little words of trust

And they shall rob the struggle of its cross,

The heart of sorrow’s bitterness, the dust

Of victory o’er our dead—for out of loss

Trust sees eternal gain transform the dross.

A little stream sprang from its distant source,

And through the peopled valley with a song

It held its smiling uneventful course,

Grateful with cooling draught the whole year long,

Till they who daily drank of it grew strong.

A little star shone softly in the night,

And in the many-gloried heavenly host

It shed a true and never-failing light;

So that for constancy ’twas loved the most

Because for lack of it no way was lost.

A little coin was passed from hand to hand,

And humbly served its mission day by day

In the life-needs its value could command;

Pure gold it was though small in currency,

And many a debt of want sufficed to pay.

A humble life was lived where others felt

Its truth and worth to hand and lip and eye;

And when ’twas spent its debtors mutely knelt

To thank the Giver for its ministry—

The stream, the star, the coin they travelled by,

The vanished life whose benison of grace

Was like the cup of water or the beam

Of friendly light or as the gold whose base

Of humanness, though it might dull the gleam,

Yet perisheth and leaves its worth supreme.

O tear of grief from stricken spirit wrung

By nature’s requisition of our shrined

And best-beloved!—if sympathizing tongue

Can speak one word of hope or comfort kind

By Heaven approved,—

Drop thou upon it like a jewelled sphere

Whose trembling iris makes it lovelier!

By such a Heaven-inspired word, O tear

Of human sorrow, thou art made to be

Divinely thrilled with comforting more dear

Than helpless love or hopeless sympathy!—

For thou art filled

With visions now of soul’s supremer sphere,

Like thine but infinite in love, O tear!

Thou art too blurred and blinding now to let

Thine eye behold the beauty of the light

That glimmers through thy grief,—but thou wilt yet,

If pleaseth God, with faith-anointed sight

And love anew

Dissolve in joy and for the sepulchre

Glad that which makes it victory, O tear!

O dead of earth, rejoice!

The flowers from the dust

By vernal dews arise

And smile reviving trust,

When from their Wintry tomb they wake

And into Summer beauty break.

And so shall sleeping be

Within our fleshly tomb;

The Eastertide shall free

The life that lieth numb,

And from the dust shall rise anew

The deathless bloom of Spring and dew.

Say not to ashes turns

Our being with its shell,

For a divineness burns

By death unquenchable

To warm the poor chill mould we’re of

And our undying nature prove.

If not another grace

Shall clothe our soul’s desire,

Let not the grave efface

What in us doth aspire!

So shall we nobler be than clay

And give a truth to “life for aye.”

As from the window-pane a light doth gleam

To cheer the traveller at eventide,

So was her smile the ever-friendly beam

That lit the way or bade the guest abide.

She knew no cross or care but what was eased

By smiling trust that everything was best;

When all around were happy she was pleased,

When she could make them happy she was blest.

We knew who loved her best, the sweetness of

Her always gentle look and Christian grace;

She filled the home with precious motherlove,

And no one else can fill her sacred place.

Hers was the smile that shone in sun and storm,

In ministry to others or when they

Looked to her out of trouble, and the charm

Of such serenity drove doubt away.

She smiled in life and then the miracle

Of soul untroubled triumphed to the end;

She smiles in death to comfort us—“’Tis well!”

To let us know that she hath found a Friend.