Twine Not a Laurel Wreath for Me.
By M. J. Cottrell
Twine not a laurel wreath for me,
It ne'er can deck my brow,
I will not strive to win, or wear,—
Thorns graced my Saviour's brow. And shall I seek the world's applause?
It scorned my Saviour's claim,
Shall I wear laurels twined by those
Who scoff at his dear name? They twined for him and on his head,
Instead of laurels fair,
Placed thorns, which pierced his holy brow,
And tore his shining hair. Then tell me not of “honor's wreath,”
Within fame's gilded halls;
My name I care not there to read;
For Jesus' sweet voice calls. It calls in tender tones and deep,
Leave all and follow me;
Yes, all; and if that call I heed,
Fame ne'er will ring for me. But I will gladly now forego,
Earth's fleeting smile and praise,
That I may win the heavenly crown,
And join angelic lays. Then tell me not of “honor's wreath,”
Or fame's rich laurels rare,
Those thorny chaplets quickly fade;
I would not win, or wear. M. J. COTTRELL.
Ridgeway, N. Y.