“Her prayer books had repose,
One word her heart sufficed,
Scent of a hidden rose;
Christ!
“To creeds her soul was shut,
For her confession of
The Christian faith was but
Love.
“She craved no temple wall.
Between the sky and sod
Her happy world was all
God.”
There is a great deal of waste in all lines of life, because men scatter their energies over too wide a field. Instead of doing one thing well, they do a dozen things indifferently. No one is great enough to do everything. In the arts and professions men are more and more becoming specialists. Even ordinary ability would be sure of success if it found its true place, and then devoted itself wholly to its work. Though a man may fail again and again, if he persists and never becomes discouraged, he will at last succeed.
“Blest is the man of high ideals,
Who fails today, tomorrow, and for days to come,
But never lowers his standards, nor surrenders to defeat,
Till hand and foot, till eye and ear,
Till vocal cord and tongue
Till mind and heart are disciplined,
And all abilities of body and of soul
Are marshaled by the Will
And move onward to the drumbeat of perfection.”
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