TO MY CORRESPONDENTS.
I ye thought the troubles over, Your 8 and my own, And feel no good will follow By making moan ; Do all the good that you can do, And leave the rest, And try, though hard to feel, whatever is Is beat. Ye whom unkindly acts and words Makes dark the way, Cease sorrowing o'er the scoffs And strive to pay Back to the unkind one kindness And love for acorn, The clouds may melt before its softening Tender dawn. And ye who seek and toil and strive For nobler strength, Strive on, seek on, press on, Twill come at length ; And make the ladder of St. Augustine, My faltering friend, The ladder from the earth to htaven You will ascend. Ye who with wrong and grief so long Have vainly striven, And by rough windß to desert shores Are hopeless driven, Keep the watch fires alight through dark And dreariest night ; At length a ship— a rescuing shipWill sail in sight. I've thought the troubles over, Yours and my own, Pondered and thought about them. In hours alone, And feel 'tis no use grieving By day— by night; There seems but one redemption— To do the right. It seems so slow of curing The deep set ill, Just simply dally doing One's duty. Still There is no greater conquest, Or nobler way, Than living to the very best From day to day. —Alice,
TO MY CORRESPONDENTS.
Otago Witness, Issue 1866, 26 August 1887, Page 33
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