My Evening Prayer

Written by Charles H. Gabriel

If I have wounded any soul today, If I have caused one foot to go astray, If I have walked in my own wilful way-- Good Lord ,forgive!
If I have uttered idle words or vain, If I have turned aside from want or pain, Lest I myself should suffer through the strain-- Good Lord, forgive!
If I have craved for joys that are not mine, If I have let my wayward heart repine, Swelling on things of earth, not things divine-- Good Lord, forgive!
If I have been perverse, or hard, or cold. If I have been longed for shelter in Thy fold, When Thou hast given me some part to hold-- Good Lord, forgive!
Forgive the sins I have confessed to Thee, Forgive the secret sins I do not see, That which I know not, Father, teach Thou me-- Help me to live.

A Creed

Written by Edwin Markham

There is a destiny that makes us brothers; None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others Comes back into our own.
I care not what his temples or his creeds, One thing holds form and fast-- That into his fateful heap of days and deeds The soul of man is cast.

The Loom of Life

Unknown author

Man's life is laid in the loom of time To a pattern he does not see, While the weavers work and the shuttles fly Till the dawn of eternity.
Some shuttles are filled with silver threads And some with threads of gold, While often but the darker hues Are all that they may hold.
But the waver watches with skillful eye Each shuttle fly to and fro, And sees the pattern so deftly wrought As the loom moves sure and slow.
God surely planned the pattern: Each thread, the dark and fair, Is chosen by His master skill And placed in the web with care.
He only knows its beauty, And guides the shuttles which hold The threads so unattractive, As well as the threads of gold.
Not till each loom is silent, And the shuttles cease to fly, Shall God reveal the pattern And explain the reason why.
The dark threads were as needful In the weaver's skillful hand As the threads of gold and silver For the pattern which He planned.

Love that is hoarded

Written by Louis Ginsberg

Love that is hoarded moulds at length;
Until we know some day
The only thing we ever had
Is what we give away.

And kindness that is never used
But hidden all alone,
Will slowly harden till it is
As hard as any stone.

It is the things we always hold
That we lose day by day;
The only things we ever keep
Are what we give away.

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