Passing Pleasures.

These blessed passing pleasures!
     We need not let them waste,
We need not leave their treasures
     Behind us in our haste.
We need not doubt their fitness
     Where earth’s deep shadows fall;
God giving, He is witness
    That we shall want them all.

Amid the old sad story
     Of human shame and sin,
If He gives gleams of glory
     We ought to let them in.
And oh, when brought before us
     Where heart and soul can see,
How might to restore us
     Love’s little signs may be!

A bird, a tree, a flower,
     A creature just as frail,
Will take us in His power
     To Him within the veil;
Will come, if He has bidden,
     Amidst the darkening fight,
And leave us safely hidden
     Behind a shield of light.

Perhaps His angels see us
     Disquieted in vain;
Perhaps His watch would free us
     From some ensnaring pain;
But only He can measure
     Who sees our nature through
The good that in His pleasure
     A passing joy may do.

If but for one bright minute
     Through gathering clouds it break,
There is a token in it
     That He would have us take.
And His least sign obeying,
     No wealth our hearts shall miss,
Even when we hear Him saying,
     “See greater things than this!”

For He the dull ear gaining,
     Meeting the dim weak sight,
Our faith is gently training
     To bear the perfect light.
And while His mercies guide us,
     We in one sure belief
May trust the joy beside us
     Even as we trust the grief.
                     
                          A. L. Waring

and

          Tiny Tokens

                    I.

The murmur of a waterfall
   A mile away,
The rustle when a robin lights
   Upon a spray,
The lapping of a lowland stream
   On dipping boughs,
The sound of grazing from a herd
   Of gentle cows,
The echo from a wooded hill
   Of cuckoo’s call,
The quiver through the meadow grass
   At evening fall:–
Too subtle are these harmonies
   For pen and rule,
Such music is not understood
   By any school:
But when the brain is overwrought,
   It hath a spell,
Beyond all human skill and power,
   To make it well.

                  II.

The memory of a kindly word
   For long gone by,
The fragrance of a fading flower
   Sent lovingly,
The gleaming of a sudden smile
   Or sudden tear,
The warmer pressure of the hand,
   The tone of cheer,
The hush that means ‘I cannot speak
   But I have heard!’
The note that only bears a verse
   From God’s own Word:–
Such tiny things we hardly count
   As ministry;
The givers deeming they have shown
   Scant sympathy:
But when the heart is overwrought
   Oh, who can tell
The power of such tiny things
   To make it well!

                    Frances Ridley Havergal  

What tokens have you?