The Things That Are More Excellent
As we wax older on this earth,
Till many a toy that charmed us seems
Emptied of beauty, stripped of worth,
And mean as dust and dead as dreams,—
For gauds that perished, shows that passed,
Some recompense the Fates have sent:
Thrice lovelier shine the things that last,
The things that are more excellent.
Shall we perturb and vex our soul
For “wrongs” which no true freedom mar,
Which no man’s upright walk control?
And from no guiltless deed debar?
What odds though tonguesters heal, or leave
Unhealed, the grievance they invent?
To things, not phantoms, let us cleave—
The things that are more excellent.
In faultless rhythm the ocean rolls,
A rapturous silence thrills the skies;
And on this earth are lovely souls,
That softly look with aidful eyes.
Though dark, O God, Thy course and trade,
I think Thou must at least have meant
That nought which lives should wholly lack
The things that are more excellent.
—William Watson.
Never Grow Old
Never grow old. Time’s furrowed lines
Of pain, of sorrow, and of tears
Must leave their impress, wide and deep,
On the face of declining years.
But the gentle spirit, fraught with love-
Bright deeds of happiness unfold;
Grows brighter, lovelier with age—
More winsome still—grows never old.
—F. M. Vancil.
Alternate Reading: Acts 9: 32-43.