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WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE?

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From vain philosophies that try
The sevenfold gates of mystery,
And baffled ever, babble still,
Word-prodigal, of fate and will;
From Nature, and her mockery, Art,
And book and speech of men apart,
To the still Witness in my heart;
With reverence waiting to behold
His Avatar of love untold,
The Eternal Beauty new and old.

WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE?

“And they said among themselves, “Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?' And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away.”—MARK xvi. 3, 4.

WHAT poor weeping ones were saying

Eighteen hundred years ago,
We, the same weak faith betraying,

Say in our sad hours of woe;
Looking at some trouble lying

In the dark and dread unknown,
We, too, often ask with sighing,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

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WHO SHALL ROLL A WAY THE STONE?

Thus with care our spirits crushing,

When they might from care be free,
And in joyous song outgushing,

Rise, with rapture, Lord, to Thee-
For before the way was ended,

Oft we've had with joy to own,
Angels have from Heaven descended,

And have rolled away the stone.

Many a storm-cloud sweeping o'er us,

Never pours on us its rain;
Many a grief we see before us,

Never comes to cause us pain;
Ofttimes in the feared to-morrow

Sunshine comes—the cloud has fown-
Ask not then in foolish sorrow,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

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Burden not thy soul with sadness,

Make a wiser, better choice;
Drink the wine of life with gladness-

God doth bid thee, man, rejoice.
In to-day's bright sunshine basking,

Leave to-morrow's fears alone;
Spoil not present joys by asking,

“Who shall roll away the stone?”

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LITTLE BY

LITTLE.

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LITTLE BY LITTLE.

When the new years come and the old years go,
How, little by little, all things grow!
All things grow—and all decay-
Little by little passing away.
Little by little, on fertile plain,
Ripen the harvests of golden grain,
Waving and Aashing in the sun,
When the summer at last is done.
Little by little they ripen so,
As the new years come and the old years go.

Low on the ground an acorn lies,
Little by little it mounts to the skies,
Shadow and shelter for wandering herds,
Home for a hundred singing birds.
Little by little the great rocks grew,
Long, long ago, when the world was new;
Slowly and silently, stately and free,
Cities of coral under the sea
Little by little are builded—while so
The new years come and the old years go.

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Little by little all tasks are done;
So are the crowns of the faithful won,
So is heaven in our hearts begun.
With work and with weeping, with laughter and play
Little by little, the longest day
And the longest life are passing away;
Passing without return—while so
The new years come and the old years go.

GRAD A TIM.

HEAVEN is not reached by a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,

mount to its summit round by round.

And we

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I can count these things to be grandly true;

That a noble deed is a step towards God

Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under our feet,

By what we have mastered of greed and gain,

By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ill that we hourly meet.

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We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we trust,

When the morning calls to life and light,

But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men!

We must borrow the wings to find the way

We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, But our feet must rise or we fall again.

Only in dreams is the ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;

But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached by a single bound;

But we build the ladder by which we rise

From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.

J. C. HOLLAND.

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