It is not the deed we do--
Tho' the deed be never so fair--
But the _love_ that the dear Lord looketh for
Hidden with holy care
In the heart of the deed so fair.
The love is the priceless thing,
The treasure our treasure must hold
Or ever our Lord will take the gift,
Or tell the worth of the gold
By the love that cannot be told.
Behold us--the rich and the poor--
Dear Lord, in thy service draw near;
One consecrateth a precious coin,
One droppeth only a tear;
Look, Master, the love is here!
--Harriet McEwen Kimball.
True love shall trust, but selfish love must die,
For trust is peace, and self is full of pain;
Arise and heal thy brother's grief; his tears
Shall wash thy love, and it will live again.
--John Boyle O'Reilly.