The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-08-01
THE JOURNALS POETS.
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Compensation.
o man Of toll whence comes the pay for the
worlds Of work you do?
Does your heart not break with the toll by day
and the worry the long night through?
With smile the laborer answer made, and his
words sank deep as the sea:
There was Taught in his smile that told of mirth,
there was naught that told Of glee
But his smile was as sweet as mothers smile
when her babe is on her knee.
'I am OF content" the laborer said: 1.-THE man
who is satisfied
the man whom God would have to help
in His work; beside
I have little ones three that are dear to me, and
I have fathers pride
Their lives must not be like mine own in all
that is hard rough,
Though 1 know full well He has sent to me
whatever craved. and enough:
And that He will forgive if anxious thoughts
have sometimes made me gruff.
But the sweet the sweet there is to it all! The
bitter does not compare,
In it's mountain bulk, to the sweet there is in a
life of toll and care
If there's only the love of wife and child your
and fame who bear.
I'm the single touch of a loving hand, in the
press of loving arms
the dearest of Satan's charms;
There's enough of joy to allay the pain of
million Of nfe's alarms.
IN the blessed sense that some depend on you
for their daily bread,
In the sense that some one trusts in you and
would mourn if you were dead,
There's enough of rest to bring sweet sleep to
the tired and aching head.
Last night 1 laid my wee one down after
grooming her fast asleep
She chung to in her sumber still, though her
breath came soft and deep
Till over my cheeks in a stealthy stream the
tears began to creep.
Sometimes when I try to steal away from the
check laid close to mine,
a frown comes over the sleeping face and the
arms more closely irvine
About my neck like the tendrils soft of a morn
ing-glory vine.
And in that little loving clasp as my wee one
clings to
Is enough the joy of the kind that helps to set
all the devils free
That hide themselves in my heart of hearts when
the struggle seems hard to me.
And then-don't tempt to covet wealth or
ask me to change my lot
Don't ask me to turn from the cares that bless
to the cares that curse and blot;
Don't teach to spurn the things that are and
to love the things that are not
This life is life that compensates; and for
every stinging sorrow
There's a joy somewhere; for each sad to-day
there's a glori6ed, glad tomorrow
That comes so sure, when my soul can trust, that
troubles 1 never borrow.
But the patience-yes, and the patience still it
takes, sometimes to wait
Till the compensation comes-alasI How many
have called it fate
And cursed and died the coming day was
shaking the morning gate
My heart believed what the laborer said; and like
a soft refrain
The words Re spoke to my listening ears and the
thought he spoke to my brain
Kept ringing still through my head and heart
again l heard and again
But tie sweet, the sweet there is to it all! The
bitter does not compare.
In its mountain bulk, to the sweet there is in a
life of toll and care
If there's only the love of wife and child your
name and fame who bear
every scathing sorrow
1 think there's joy; that each sad to-day has a
glorious, glad tomorrow
That comes to ALL Then why should l fret and
why should | troubles borrow?
Richmond, Ind. S. w. Gillian.