The Home Council

Father’s Merciful Love

(Can any parent read this poem and ever again strike his child in anger, or question the loving mercy of our Father God?)

My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes
And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,
Having my law the seventh time disobeyed,
I struck him, and dismissed
With hard words and unkissed,—
His mother, who was patient, being dead.
Then fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,
I visited his bed,
But found him slumbering deep,
With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet
From his late sobbing wet.
And I, with moan,
Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;
For on a table drawn beside his head,
He had put, within his reach,
A box of counters, and a red-veined stone,
A piece of glass abraded by the beach,
And six or seven shells,
A bottle with bluebells,
And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,
To comfort his sad heart.
So when that night I prayed
To God, I wept, and said:—
Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,
Not vexing Thee in death,
And Thou rememberest of what toys
We made our joys,
How weakly understood
Thy great commanded good,
Then, fatherly not less
Than I whom Thou hast molded from the clay,
Thou’lt leave Thy wrath, and say,
“will be sorry for their childishness.”

—Coventry Patmore.

Alternate Reading: Psalms 103: 1-13.

The True Test Of Character

“When the Son of Man has come in his glory and all the angels with him, then he ‘will take his seat on his throne of glory’; and all the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people—just as a shepherd separates sheep from goats—placing the sheep on his right hand, and the goats on his left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, enter upon possession of the Kingdom prepared for you ever since the beginning of the world. For, when I was hungry, you gave me food; when I was thirsty, you gave me drink; when I was a stranger, you took me to your homes; when I was naked, you clothed me; when I fell ill, you visited me; and when I was in prison, you came to me.’

“Then the righteous will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry, and feed you? or thirsty, and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger, and take you to our homes? or naked, and clothe you? When did we see you ill, or in prison, and come to you?’

“And the King will reply, ‘I tell you, as often as you did it to one of these my Brothers, however lowly, you did it to me.’ Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Go from my presence, accursed, into the enduring fire which has been prepared for the Devil and his angels.’ For, when I was hungry, you gave me no food; when I was thirsty, you gave me no drink; when I was a stranger, you did not take me to your homes; when I was naked, you did not clothe me; and, when I was ill and in prison, you did not visit me.’

“Then they, in their turn, will answer,’ Lord, when did we see you hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or ill, or in prison, and did not supply your wants?’ And then he will reply, ‘I tell you, as often as you failed to do it to one of these, however lowly, you failed to do it to me.’ And these last will go away ‘into enduring punishment,’ but the righteous ‘into enduring life.'”

—Matthew.

Keep your home with all diligence, for out of it God is building civilization.

Columbus’ Birthday

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores.
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: “Now must we pray
For lo! the very stars are gone;
Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?
“Why say, sail on! and on!”

“My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak.”
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swathy cheek.
“What shall I say, brave Admiral,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”
“Why, you shall say, at break of day:
‘Sail on! Sail on! and on!'”

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said;
“Why, now, not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Admiral, and say—”
He said: “Sail on! and on!”

They sailed, they sailed, then spoke his mate:
“This mad sea shows his teeth tonight,
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth as if to bite!
Brave Admiral, Say but one word;
What shall we do when hope is gone?
“The words leaped as a leaping sword:
“Sail on! Sail on! and on!”

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness all that night
Of all dark nights; and then a speck!
A light! a light! a light! a light!
It grew to be a star-lit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn;
He gained a world! he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: “On and on!”

—Joaquin Miller.

Alternate Reading: John 7: 37-52.

The Chrysalis

My little daughter found one day
A curious something in her play,
That was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed;
It was not anything that grew,
Or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew;
Had neither legs nor wings, indeed;
And yet she was not sure, she said,
Whether it was alive or dead.

She brought it in her tiny hand
To see if I would understand,
And wondered when I made reply,
“You’ve found a baby butterfly.”
“A butterfly is not like this,”
With doubtful look she answered me.
So then I told her what would be
Some day within the chrysalis:

How, slowly, in the dull brown thing
Now still as death, a spotted wing,
And then another, would unfold,
Till from the empty shell would fly
A pretty creature, by and by,
All radiant in blue and gold.

“And will it, truly? ” questioned she—
Her laughing lips and eager eyes
All in a sparkle of surprise— “And shall your little daughter see?”
“She shall! ” I said. How could I tell
That ere the worm within its shell
Its gauzy, splendid wings had spread,
My little daughter would be dead?

To-day the butterfly has flown,—
She was not here to see it fly,—
And sorrowing I wonder why
The empty shell is mine alone.
Perhaps the secret lies in this:
I, too, had found a chrysalis,
And Death that robbed me of delight
Was but the radiant creature’s flight!

—Mary E. Bradley.

Alternate Reading: John 5:18-47.

“If” For Girls

If you can dress to make yourself attractive,
Yet not make puffs and curia your chief delight;
If you can swim and row, be strong and active,
But of the gentler graces lose not sight;
If you can dance without a craze for dancing,
Play without giving play too strong a hold,
Enjoy the love of friends without romancing,
Care for the weak, the friendless and the old;

If you can master French and Greek and Latin,
And not acquire, as well, a priggish mien;
If you can feel the touch of silk and satin,
Without despising calico and jean;
If you can ply a saw and use a hammer,
Can do a man’s work when the need occurs,
Can sing when asked, without excuse or stammer,
Can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs;

If you can make good bread as well as fudges,
Can sew with skill, and have an eye for dust;
If you can be a friend and hold no grudges,
A girl whom all will love because they must;

If sometime you should meet and love another
And make a home with faith and peace enshrined,
And you its soul,—a loyal wife and mother,—
You’ll work out pretty nearly to my mind
The plan that’s been developed through the ages,
And win the best that life can have in store.
You’ll be, my girl, a model for the sages,—
A woman whom the world will bow before.

—Elizabeth L. Otis.

Alternate Reading: Isaiah 65: 17-25.

God Served By Helping Those In Need

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,
A light shone round about the place;
The leper no longer crouched by his side,
But stood before him glorified,
Shining and tall and fair and straight
As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,—
Himself the Gate whereby men can
Enter the temple of God in man.
His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
And the voice that was softer than silence said:—
“Lo, it is I, be not afraid!
In many climes, without avail,
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail:
Behold it is here,—this cup which thou
Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now;
This crust is my body broken for thee,
This water his blood that died on the tree;
The Holy Supper is kept indeed
In whatso we share with other’s need.
Not what we give, but what we share,—
For the gift without the giver is bare;
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three.—
Himself, his hungry neighbor, and me.”

—Jamis Russell Lowell.

Life’s Ladder

Love is the ladder by which we climb up to the likeness of God.

—Johann von Schiller.

Helpful Greetings

As ships meet at sea—a moment together, when words of greeting must be spoken, and then away upon the deep —so men meet in this world; and I think we should cross no man’s path without hailing him, and if he needs, give him supplies.

—Henry Ward Beecher.

Alternate Reading: Psalms 119: 1-8.

Parable Of The Talents

“For it is as though a man, going on his travels, called his servants, and gave his property into their charge. He gave three thousand pounds to one, twelve hundred to another, and six hundred to a third, in proportion to the ability of each. Then he set out on his travels. The man who had received the three thousand pounds went at once and traded with it, and made another three thousand. So, too, the man who had received the twelve hundred pounds made another twelve hundred. But the man who had received the six hundred went and dug a hole in the ground, and hid his master’s money. After a long time the master of those servants returned, and settled accounts with them. The man who had received the three thousand pounds came up and brought three thousand more. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you entrusted me with three thousand pounds; look, I have made another three thousand!’

“‘Well done, good, trustworthy servant!’ said his master. ‘You have been trustworthy with a small sum; now I will place a large one in your hands; come and share your master’s joy!’ Then the one who had received the twelve hundred pounds came up and said, ‘Sir, you entrusted me with twelve hundred pounds; look, I have made another twelve hundred!’

“‘Well done, good, trustworthy servant!’ said his master. ‘You have been trustworthy with a small sum; now I will place a large one in your hands; come and share your master’s joy!’

“The man who had received the six hundred pounds came up, too, and said, ‘Sir, I knew that you were a hard man; you reap where you have not sown, and gather up where you have not winnowed; and, in my fear, I went and hid your money in the ground; look, here is what belongs to you!’

“‘You lazy, worthless servant!’ was his master’s reply. ‘You knew that I reap where I have not sown, and gather up where I have not winnowed? Then you ought to have placed my money in the hands of bankers, and I, on my return, should have received my money, with interest. Therefore,’ he continued, ‘take away from him the six hundred pounds, and give it to the one who has the six thousand. For, to him who has, more will be given, and he shall have abundance; but, as for him who has nothing, even what he has will be taken away from him. As for the useless servant, ‘put him out into the darkness’ outside, where there will be weeping and grinding of teeth.'”

—Matthew.

So long as one is true to his home he will not be false to any trust.

When The World Grows Fair

Come hither lads and hearken, for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all shall be better than well.

Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear
For to-morrow’s lack of earning, and the hunger-wolf anear.

I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be glad
Of his fellow’s fall and mishap, to snatch at the work he had.

For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed,
Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed.

Oh, Strange new wonderful justice! but for whom shall we gather the gain?
For ourselves and each of our fellows, and no hand shall labor in vain.

Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man crave
For riches that serve for nothing but fetter a friend for a slave.

And what wealth then shall be left us, when none shall gather gold
To buy his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold?

Nay, What save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill,
And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till;

And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead;
And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet’s teeming head;

And the painter’s hand of wonder, and the marvelous fiddle-bow,
And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know.

For all these shall be ours and all men’s; nor shall any lack a share
Of the toil and the gain of living, in the days when the world grows fair.

Oh, why and for what are we waiting, while our brothers droop and die,
And on every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by?

Come, join in the only battle wherein no man can fail,
Where whoso fadeth and dieth yet his deed shall still prevail.

—William Morris.

Alternate Reading: Psalms 139:1-14.

Getting Ready To Move

The owner of the tenement which I have occupied for many years has given notice that he will furnish but little or nothing more for repairs. I am advised to be ready to move.

At first this was not a very welcome notice. The surroundings here are in many respects very pleasant, and were it not for the evidence of decay, I should consider the old house good enough. But even a light wind causes it to tremble and all the braces are not sufficient to make it really secure. So I am getting ready to move.

It is strange how quickly one’s interest is transferred to the prospective home. I have been consulting maps of the new country and reading descriptions of its inhabitants. One who visited it has returned, and from him I learn that it is beautiful beyond description—language breaks down in attempting to tell of what he heard while there. He says that, in order to make an investment there, he has suffered the loss of all things that he owned here, and even rejoices in what others would call “making a sacrifice.”

Another, whose love to me has been proven by the greatest possible test, is now there. He has sent me several clusters of the most delicious fruits. After tasting them, all food here in comparison is insipid.

Two or three times I have been down by the border of the river that forms the boundary, and could almost wish myself among those on the other side. Won’t it be fine to live where “we shall know even as we are known nothing to hide, no doubts, no misunderstandings, just Love, Fellowship and Service, “pleasures for evermore.”

Many of my friends have moved there. I have seen the smile upon their faces, as they passed out of sight. Here the really satisfying joys of life,—its loves and fellowships—have always been hampered by the limitations of time, days, seasons, engagements, happenings, but there—” no night,” and “time shall be no more.”

Often I am asked to make further material investments here, but really many of those I have made are more worrisome than satisfying. On the contrary those which I have made on the other side have given great joy and peace. As our hearts go with our treasures, I am therefore positively declining so-called “good investments,” for most sincerely, I feel that I should be getting ready to move.

—Anon.

Alternate Reading: Psalms 36: 5-12.

Daddies

I would rather be the daddy
Of a romping, roguish crew,
Of a bright-eyed Chubby laddie
And a little girl or two,
Than the monarch of a nation
In his high and lofty seat
Taking empty adoration
From the subjects at his feet.

I would rather own their kisses
As at night to me they run,
Than to be the king who misses
All the simpler forms of fun.
When his dreary day is ending
He is dismally alone,
But when my sun is descending
There are joys for me to own.

He may ride to horns and drumming;
I must walk a quiet street,
But when once they see me coming
Then on joyous, flying feet
They come racing to me madly
And I catch them with a swing
And I say it proudly, gladly,
That I’m happier than a king.

You may talk of lofty places,
You may boast of pomp and power,
Men may turn their eager faces
To the glory of an hour,
But give me the humble station
With its joys that long survive,
For the daddies of the nation
Are the happiest men alive.

—Edgar A. Guest.

Alternate Reading: Psalms 66.