Help me cultivate Thy garden;
Help me plant it, row by row;
Keep me sowing, gracious Master,
That every seed may thrive and grow…

Help me cultivate Thy garden;
Help me plant each precious seed;
Hope and faith and love and mercy –
All the things my soul doth need…

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Life’s highway doesn’t always lie
In smooth and sunny miles;
It often leads through rocks and hills,
And dangerous defiles.
Sometimes dark mountains loom ahead,
The winding trail seems dim;
But with us is our heavenly Guide,
Full safe, we follow Him.
And when we’ve made our final mile
And rounded our last bend,
We’ll see the welcome lights of Home,
And smile at journey’s end.

from a Moody Monthly paper.

I cannot do it alone;
The waves run fast and high,
And the fogs close all around,
The light goes out in the sky;
But I know that we two
Shall win in the end,
Jesus and I.

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The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
That stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king,
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To heaven from the common soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man,
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow in ease;
The stronger wind, the tougher trees;
The farther sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength;
By sun and cold, by rain and snows,
In tree or man, good timber grows.

Where thickest stands the forest growth
We find the patriarchs of both;
And they hold converse with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and of much strife –
This is the common law of life.

by Douglas Malloch

 A lamp once hung in an ancient town
At the corner of a street,
There the wind was keen, and the way was dark,
And the rain would often beat.
And all night long its light would shine
To guide the travelers’ feet.

The lamp was rough and plain and old,
And the storm had beaten it sore;
‘Twas not a thing one would care to show,
Whate’er it had been before,
But no one thought what the lantern was,
‘Twas the light that within it bore.

The lamp is a text for young and old,
Who seek, in a world of pride,
To shine for their Lord and to show Him forth
And never their light to hide.
You are the lantern, a thing of naught,
But Christ is the Light inside.

by G.G.