Verses

    A widow had two sons,
      And one knelt at her knees,
    And sought to give her joy
      And toiled to give her ease;
    He heard his country’s call
      And longed to go, to die
    If God so willed, but saw
    Her tears and heard her sigh.

    A widow had two sons,
      One filled her days with care
    And creased her brow and brought
      Her many a whitened hair
    His country called—­he went. 
      Nor thought to say good-by,
    And recklessly he fought,
      And died as heroes die.

    A widow had two sons,
      One fell as heroes fall,
    And one remained and toiled,
      And gave to her his all. 
    She watched “her hero’s” grave
      In dismal days and fair,
    And told the world her love,
      Her heart was buried there.

Our Mission

    In the legends of the Norsemen,
      Stories quaint and weird and wild,
    There’s a strange and thrilling story,
      Of a mother and her child. 
    And that child, so runs the story,
      In those quaint old Norsemen books,
    Fell one day from dangerous play ground,
      Dashed in pieces on the rocks;
    But with gentle hand that mother
      Gathered every tender part,
    Bore them gently, torn and bleeding,
      On her loving mother heart. 
    And within her humble dwelling,
      Strong in faith and brave of soul,
    With her love-song low and tender
      Rocked and sang the fragments whole. 
    Such the mission of the Christian,
      Taught by Christ so long ago;
    This the mark that bids us stay not,
      This the spirit each should know: 
    Rent and torn by sin the race is,
      Heart from heart, and soul from soul;
    This our task with Christ’s sweet love-song,
      Join, and heal, and make them whole.

—­Rev. E. M. Bartlett

Verses

    Lord over all!  Whose power the sceptre swayed,
      Ere first Creation’s wondrous form was framed,
    When by His will Divine all things were made;
      Then, King, Almighty was His name proclaimed.

    When all shall cease—­the universe be o’er,
      In awful greatness He alone will reign,
    Who was, Who is, and Who will evermore
      In glory most refulgent still remain.

    Sole God! unequalled and beyond compare,
      Without division or associate;
    Without commencing date, or final year,
      Omnipotent He reigns in awful state.

    He is my God! my living Savior He! 
      My sheltering Rock in sad misfortune’s hour! 
    My standard, refuge, portion, still shall be,
      My lot’s disposer when I seek His power.

    Into His hands my spirit I consign
      Whilst wrapped in sleep, that I again may wake,
    And with my soul, my body I resign;
      The Lord’s with me—­no fears my soul can shake.