The right to feed and clothe the poor,
The right to teach them to endure;
The right,—when other friends have flown,
And left the sufferer all alone,—
To kneel that dying couch beside,
And meekly point them o'er the tide;
The right a happy home to make,
In any clime for Love's sweet sake;
Rights such as these are all we ask,
Until in bliss our souls shall bask.
Many years ago a lady, — Mrs. Washburn, of Worcester, Mass., — now happily in heaven, was speaking with me on the subject of these writings, and she handed me the following lines defining love. They are very good: —
"Love is not love that ever wanes;
Pure love, true love, the soul retains,
That fulness it may gain.
"Love sees the blessing pouring down,
In storms and tempests, though they frown,
And bravely bears the pain.
"True love shrinks not from foes severe;
It feels no hatred, knows no fear;
But rests in conscious might.
"Its power to conquer none can know;
While other weapons they would show,
It dares to do the right.
"It smiles serene when hatred cowers;
Grows strong in persecution's hours,
And boldly owns its own.
"Defiant of all else beside,
It stands, for God is on its side;
In God it can be known.
"God lives in him whom this love keeps,—
Moves in his soul's great deep of deeps;—
His being is divine.
"All filled with an Almighty power,
He cries in his great trial hour,
'Forgive all foes of mine!'"
