And will ye now despond
      Amid consuming toil,
    When there is hope and joy beyond
      Which death can not despoil?

      Herein all comfort is: 
      In usefulness and zeal,
    The Lord announces who are His
      And gives eternal weal.

Sacrifice

    Through stern and ruthless years
    Beyond the ken of man,
    All filled with ruin, pain, and tears,
    Has God worked out His plan.

    Change on the heels of change,
    Like blood-hounds in the chase,
    Has swept the earth in tireless range,
    Spangled with heavenly grace.

    At last the mystery
    Of the great Cross of Christ,
    Red with a world-wide agony,
    The God-Man sacrificed;

    And from the Sacrifice
    The seven great notes of Peace,
    Which pierce the clouds beneath all skies
    Till pain and sorrow cease.

* * * * *

The Mind of Christ

    Into the surging world,
    Upon thy lips His word,
    And in thy hand His flag unfurled,
    Go, soldier of the Lord;

    Like Him who came from far
    To toil for our release,
    And framed the startling notes of war
    Out of the psalm of peace.

    And all the recompense
    Which thou wilt ever need,
    Shall kindle in the throbbing sense
    Of this life-laden creed: 

      Grace has for him sufficed
      Who has St. Michael’s heart,
    The fullness of the mind of Christ,
      To do a hero’s part.

* * * * *

Sympathy.

      The Master we revere,
      Who bled on Calvary,
    To fill us with heroic cheer,
      Abides eternally.

      From His ascended heights
      Above the pain and ruth,
    To all His servants He delights
      To come in grace and truth.

      His presence is so dear,
      His face so brave and fair,
    That all our heavy burdens here
      He somehow seems to share.

      Copartner in our work,
      He every pain beguiles;
    How can the fear of failure lurk
      In that on which He smiles!
       * * * * *

Love for Love.

      Master, far Thy dear sake
      I bear my anguish now,
    And in Thy blessed cross partake
      Whose sign is on my brow.

      For Thy dear sake I toil
      Who didst so toil for me;
    O more than balm, or wine, or oil,
      The cheer that comes from Thee.

     For Thy dear sake I live
     A servant unto all,
    And know that Thou wilt surely give
     Thyself as coronal.

     For Thy dear sake I watch
     And keep my flag unfurled,
    Until her golden gleam I catch,
     Sweet evening of the world.