Love is the filling from one's own,
Another's cup,
Love is the daily laying down
And taking up;

A choosing of the stony path
Through each new day,
That other feet may tread with ease
A smoother way.

Love is not blind, but looks abroad
Through other's eyes;
And asks not, "Must I give?"
But "May I sacrifice?"

Love hides its grief, that other hearts
And lips may sing;
And burdened walks, that other lives
May buoyant wing.

Hast thou a love like this?
Within thy soul?
'Twill crown thy life with bliss
When thou dost reach the goal.