'Tis not by selfish miser's greed
The great rewards of love are given;
'Tis not the cynic's haughty creed
Which gladly makes this world a heaven;
But tender word and loving deed
Increase the angel joys of living,
And mortals gain life's grandest meed
By acts of giving and forgiving.
Let warriors bold with armies fight
Their awful battles brave and gory,
To reap the harvest of their might
And fill a gaping world with glory!
The humble heroes, out of sight,
Where hidden tears and woes are striving,
Win victories for truth and right
By deeds of giving and forgiving.
Let mighty kings of loyal lands
Despise the faithful sons of duty,
And with the swords of vandal hands
Destroy the homes of joy and beauty;
The honest lords of low commands
Will find a nobler way of thriving,
In lonely vales where sorrow stands,
By sweets of giving and forgiving.
Let rich men with their heaps of gold
Be servants of the shining splendor,
And crush the bosom, poor and old,
That lives by mercies pure and tender;
But still the soul with saints enrolled
Will keep its charity surviving,
And have its humble glory told
In tales of giving and forgiving.
O, helping hands and Christian hearts,
Twin parents of the race's gladness,
God speed the time when your sweet arts
Shall banish every sign of sadness!
When mournful cries, when pain's wild darts,
Shall cease to curse the days of living,
And Heaven's love to man imparts
The joys of giving and forgiving.
"O, SACRED SOULS THAT GRANDLY SING."
O sacred souls that grandly sing
The secret songs of human hearts,
Where your wild music madly starts,
The sorrows into raptures spring!
Within the warbles of your chimes
Man reads the longings of his days,
And finds, amid your lofty lays,
Glad music for his gloomy times.
How sweet the mute, melodious cries
Which only lives like yours may hear,
Where pleasures thrill the singer's ear
With laughing strains of lullabies!
You know soft voices, rich with love,
That mingle in the fields and woods,
To bless the silent solitudes
With carols coming from above.
Your golden harps resound alway,
Where valley bound with blossom lies,
And rugged mountains highest rise,
And silver fountains softly play;
While in the gladness of your songs
The fainting bosoms hope again,
And toil among their fellow men,
Forgetful of their ancient wrongs.
You sport with singing meadows bright,
With fragrant winds and scented gales,
Where shine and shadow kiss the vales
In fairy fondness of delight;
For where the meads and forests blend,
The sweetest songs of life are found,
And where the lonely hills abound
The soul of music meets a friend.
Glad hearts that warble songs divine,
Sweet singers of a mourning race,
The ages long your brows shall grace
With crowns where bays and laurels twine!
For man the grandest garland brings,
To bless the tender lives that tell,
And with their mystic music swell,
The lays that Nature fondly sings!