DOING.

Oh, friend, whoe'er thou art, who dost rejoice In the sweet tones of thy melodious voice; Which to thy fancy are so rich and clear, Falling like music, on the list'ning ear, Of thee I ask, What hast thou done of that thou hast to do? Art silent? Then I say, Until thy deeds are many let thy words be few. Oh, man, whoe'er thou art, within whose breast The glowing thoughts disdain ignoble rest; Whose soul is laboring with a monstrous birth Of winged words, to scatter through the earth Of thee I ask, What hast thou done of that thou hast to do? Art silent? Then I say, Until thy deeds are many let thy words be few. Oh, brother mine, who would'st reform mankind Purging the dross, and leaving all refined; Preaching of sinless love, sobriety, Of goodness, endless peace, and charity, Of thee I ask, What hast thou done of that thou hast to do? Art silent? Then I say, Until thy deeds are many let thy words be few. Speech without action is a moral dearth, And to advance the world is little worth: Let us think much, say little, and much do, If to ourselves and God we will be true; And ask within, What have I done of that I have to do? Is conscience silent—say, Oh! let my deeds be many and my words be few. J. G. L. Bulleid.