Nursing Diary no1 - 5 September 1922-3 June 1923

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My Beloved Is Mine

Spirit of light, my soul would rise in contemplation high; My faith would grasp the infinite, and waft me to the sky, Oh! that on wings of faith, my soul could rise to realms of day; Could leave all earthly cares behind, and soar in bliss away. Was not my soul among the lost, for whom His blood was spilt? Thrice blessed thought - and can it be, He did for me atone? Yes, Lord, I grasp the sweetest thought, as if for me alone. Oh, Jesus! is my name engraved upon Thy heart of love? And doth the spirit watch o'er me, like a gentle holy dove? Inspire me with a stronger love,- - a child's confiding plea; And let me feel as if Thy life, Thy death, was all for me. Teach me the Truth, Thou art the Truth-- all else beside is vain; Fix, Lord, my gaze on Thee alone, until Thou come again. Hast Thou not promised to return, in glory and in might, To take Thy saints where Thou art gone, where faith shall turn in sight? Lord, here I grope in darkness, in weakness, and alone; Sometimes a gleam of light doth flash from out Thy glory throne. It lets me see Thy beauty, as it shone on Tabor's brow, And fills me with a longing to be over with Thee now; There --to behold Thy Glory, to worship, and adore, To sing the song of the redeemed, on that Eternal shore. REV. DR. IBBOTT. Arthur, Ont., October 18, 1923.

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HE'S NEVER BEEN SIXTEEN BEFORE We marvel that he does such things And is so keen to try his wingsBlind youth that feels the thrill of joy With all the daring of a boy, Who violates without concern The preachments we were made to learnHe should know better, should know more Who never was sixteen before!

He was not here when we were young; Dead is the past to which we've clung, 'Tis his to face the world to-day, To live, to dream, to be, to play, Not as we were in by-gone years But as the world this hour appears. This boy, so different, at life's door, He has never been sixteen before.

'Tis vain to talk of wrong and right Which marked an age long taken flight, Our youth to him is foreign land, Its ways he cannot understand; What life was once he cannot say, He knows he must be young to-day-- He smiles at customs we deplore Who never was sixteen before.

These manners which to us are grim Are very natural to him; Our time of youth has passed away And he is being young to-day. To this great truth old age must bow; Youth only knows what life is now. A new world this, he must deplore, Who never was sixteen before. -Edgar A. Guest (Copyright, 1923, Edgar A. Guest)

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The Wail of the

I walked alone in the twilight, In the city of the dead, No sound was heard save my footfall And the twittering birds o'er head.

It seemed so quiet and sacred I knew no sense of fear, But thought of the beautiful song, Oh, it's quiet down here.

The pine trees standing side by side Like soldiers in a row, They stood as tho' they were on guard O'er those who slept below.

But as the shadow deepened Then I heard other sounds, A gentle breeze began to blow Through trees and over mounds.

The pine trees seemed to sob aloud While swaying to and fro; I asked is it for the babes you weep, They sighed and answered, "No."

Why should we weep for the babes?

They bore the brunt of noon-day heat, Their battles they fought and won, They made the world a better place And have heard their Lord's "Well done."

"We weep for those who lived for self, Nor lightened another's load, Nor gave to any a helping hand Along life's weary road.

"The joy of service they never knew, Their interests were all their own, Their lives meant nothing to anyone else And now they are missed by none."

If you don't want the pines to weep, To your own self be true; Just help in every way you can And they will not weep for you

--Mary I.

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CERTAIN JOYS.

I shall not fail in this, Whate'er the day may bring: I'll smile to feel my baby's kiss And hear the robins sing.

I'll joy to greet the morning sun. And every garden rose, And marvel as I look upon My baby's little toes.

This heart of mine will leap With joy, in spite of care, To see my little babe asleep Upon her pillow there.

I'll greet my friends with cheer, Whoe'er those friends may be; In spite of doubt or fear, They'll still belong to me.

Oh, there is much in life Beyond the moments sad, Beyond the pain and strife, To keep a mortal glad, -Edgar A. Guest. (Copyright, 1923, by Edgar A. Guest.)

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The Wail of the

I walked alone in the twilight, In the city of the dead, No sound was heard save my footfall And the twittering birds o'er head.

It seemed so quiet and sacred I knew no sense of fear, But thought of the beautiful song, Oh, it's quiet down here.

The pine trees standing side by side Like soldiers in a row, They stood as tho' they were on guard O'er those who slept below.

But as the shadow deepened Then I heard other sounds, A gentle breeze began to blow Through trees and over mounds.

The pine trees seemed to sob aloud While swaying to and fro; I asked is it for the babes you weep, They sighed and answered, "No."

Why should we weep for the babes?

They bore the brunt of noon-day heat, Their battles they fought and won, They made the world a better place And have heard their Lord's "Well done."

"We weep for those who lived for self, Nor lightened another's load, Nor gave to any a helping hand Along life's weary road.

"The joy of service they never knew, Their interests were all their own, Their lives meant nothing to anyone else And now they are missed by none."

If you don't want the pines to weep, To your own self be true; Just help in every way you can And they will not weep for you

--Mary I.