Poem by Annie Johnson Flint — The Rest

The great Composer writes the theme

And gives us each a part to play.

To some a sweet and flowing air,

Smooth and unbroken all the way.

They pour their full heart’s gladness out

In notes of joy and service blent;

But some He gives long bars of rests

With idle voice and instrument.

He who directs the singing spheres,

The music of the morning stars,

Needs, for His full creation’s hymn,

The quiet of those soundless bars.

Be silent unto God, my soul,

If this the score He writes for thee,

And “hold the rest”; play no false note

To mar His perfect harmony.

Yet be thou watchful for thy turn;

Strike on the instant, true and clear,

Lest from the grand, melodious whole

Thy note be missing to His ear.

Poem by Annie Johnson Flint — One Day At A Time

One day at a time, with its failures and fears,

With its hurts and mistakes, with its weakness and tears,

With its portion of pain and its burden of care;

One day at a time we must meet and must bear.

One day at a time to be patient and strong,

To be calm under trial and sweet under wrong,

Then its toiling shall pass and its sorrow shall cease;

It shall darken and die, and the night bring peace.

One day at a time --- but the day is so long,

And the heart is not brave and the soul is not strong.

O Thou pitiful Christ, be thou near all the way;

Give courage and patience and strength for the day.

Swift cometh His answer, so clear and so sweet;

“Yea, I will be with thee, thy troubles to meet;

I will not forget thee, nor fail thee, nor grieve;

I will not forsake thee; I never will leave.”

Not yesterday’s load we are called on to bear,

Nor the morrow’s uncertain and shadowy care;

Why should we look forward or back with dismay?

Our needs, as our mercies, are but for the day.

Poem by Annie Johnson Flint — Be Ye Also Ready

“What are the signs of Thy coming,

And when shall the end time be?”

Anxious, they questioned the Master,

Curious, even as we.

Are these the signs of His coming

That loom over sea and land,

That darken the earth and the heavens?

Is the day so near at hand?

We know not; He hath not told us

This secret of the Lord,

But all we need He hath left us

To read in His sacred word.

And pulsing through the silence

Like the far, faint throb of a drum;

“Watch, be ye also ready,

For ye know not when I come.”

Sweet as a silver trumpet

Through tumult and clamor clear;

“Watch, be ye also ready,

For the time is drawing near.”

Poem by Annie Johnson Flint — By The Way

Go with me, Master, by the way,

Make every day a walk with Thee;

New glory shall the sunshine gain,

And all the clouds shall lightened be.

Go with me on life’s dusty road

And help me bear the weary load.

Talk with me, Master, by the way;

The voices of the world recede,

The shadows darken o’er the land,

How poor am I, how great my need.

Speak to my heart disquieted

Till it shall lose its fear and dread.

Bide with me, Master, all the way,

Though to my blinded eyes unknown;

So shall I feel a Presence near

Where I had thought I walked alone.

And when, far spent, the days decline,

Break Thou the bread, dear Guest of mine!

Poem by John Quincy Adams — The Wants of Man

“Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long.”

‘Tis not with me exactly so;

But ‘tis so in the song.

My wants are many and, if told,

Would muster many a score;

And were each wish a mint of gold,

I still should long for more.

I want (who does not want?) A wife ---

Affectionate and fair;

To solace all the woes of life,

And all its joy to share.

Of temper sweet, of yielding will,

Of firm, yet placid mind, ---

With all my faults to love me still

With sentiment refined.

I want a warm and faithful friend,

To cheer the adverse hour;

Who ne’er to flatter will descend,

Nor bend the knee to power, ---

A friend to chide me when I’m wrong,

My inmost soul to see;

And that my friendship prove as strong

For him as his for me.

I want the seals of power and place,

The ensigns of command;

Charged by the People’s unbought grace

To rule my native land.

Nor crown nor scepter would I ask

But from my country’s will,

By day, by night, to ply the task

Her cup of bliss to fill.

These are the Wants of mortal Man, ---

I cannot want them long,

For life itself is but a span,

And earthly bliss --- a song.

My last great Want --- absorbing all ---

Is, when beneath the sod,

And summoned to my final call,

The Mercy of my God.