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A higher aim, an object that is lasting,
A height we cannot reach,
A treasure that is of intrinsic value,
A thought too deep for speech.

Be still, oh fluttering Spirit, ever striving
Like some imprisoned bird to leave its cage,
Yet in a higher flight a nobler calling
Thou shalt engage!

When the great sun has smiled a few more mornings
Upon these transient longings and desires,
There shall be kindled in thy inmost being
Quenchless celestial fires.

Be still, what seemeth little may seem greater
When we shall view with clearer vision all,
When looking back upon these little strivings
They may not seem so small;

And yet we dread to leave our work unfinished,
We cannot give our petty prospects up
And should we have to leave them we might murmur
At this our bitter cup.

We might deem all our usefulness as ended
And mourn to leave our greatest work undone,
When if our lives have been what we should make them
Our work is just begun.

Had we but faith to grasp the dim hereafter
With strong unwavering hands,
Methinks we could give up without a murmur
These little earthly plans;

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