I ASK no good where’er I go
That I by service have not won,
Nor plead that any good should flow
Into my life; if I to none
Have given joy, I cannot draw
From empty store—it is the law.

I hold this true—it is my creed:
Within me lies my heaven or hell.
It is by my own thought or deed
I build the house where I must dwell,
A marble mansion, tent or straw—
I am the builder—it is the law.

I weave the garments I must wear,
If beggar’s rags or robes of kings;
’Tis I the warp and woof prepare,
’Tis I alone the shuttle flings.
No one for me can thread withdraw—
Myself alone—it is the law.

My Saviour is the good I’ve done,
From this alone my heaven is grown;
My crown the love that I have won,
And deep within is God enthroned.
I to myself will surely draw
That which is mine—it is the law.

None questions but the voice within,
Judge and accuser is my soul;
My mind is that stern discipline
That ever seeks to make me whole.
I cannot from this court withdraw,
I must bear witness—it is the law.
—M. M. Baker.

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