Questions & Answers

I like the story of that monk who knelt In prayer devout, and lest some thought of sin Should mar its grace, dared not his work begin Till in the silence of his heart he felt Thought grow divine, and earthly longings melt Beneath God's touch, and o'er the Babel din Heard the clear whisper of the Christ within. What wonder, when such inspiration dwelt In his calm bosom, that he dared not rise, But day by day, with meek and lowly heart, Painted upon his bended knees, and wise, Deemed not the work his own, but his the part To seize what God revealed into his eyes And bid the panel grow with the holy art.

A Flower unblown; a Book unread; A Tree with fruit unharvested; A Path untrod; a House whose rooms Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes; A Landscape whose wide border lies In silent shade 'neath silent skies; A wondrous Fountain yet unsealed; A Casket with its gifts concealed; This is the year that for you waits, Beyond to-morrow's mystic gates. Oh! may this Flower unfold to you Visions of beauty, sweet and new; This Book on golden pages trace Your sacred joys, and deeds of grace; May all the fruits of this strange tree Luscious and rosy-tinted be; This Path through fields of knowledge go; This House with love's content o'erflow; This Landscape glitter with the dew Of blessed hope and friendships true; This Fountain's living crystal cheer, As fail the springs that once were dear; This Casket with such gems be stored As shine in lives that love the Lord.

Happy Christmas, dear teacher, happy Christmas to you! May anthems be written, be songs sung anew, To show through the darkness your life-giving light, As guide to the strangers who toil in the night. Perchance a bright ray from your science divine May appear to their hearts and find welcome like mine.

I. From the first Christmas of long, long ago, Brush all the hundreds of winters' white snow— Through the long shadowy aisles of the past Bring, and once more let it live in the last.

Oh, was it spoken, "Go ye forth, heal the sick, lift the low, bind the broken!" Of the body alone? Is our mission, then, done, When we leave the bruised heart, if we bind the bruised bone? Nay! Is not the mission of Mercy twofold? Whence twofold, perchance, are the powers that we hold To fulfil it, of Heaven!

I shall not want. Upon Thy arm relying, Hunger and thirst and pain will flee away; And the dark valley where my hope's been lying Shall smile like day when night hath gone away.

All truth is calm, Refuge and rock and tower; The more of truth the more of calm, Its calmness is its power. Calmness is truth, And truth is calmness still ; Truth lifts its forehead to the storm, Like some eternal hill.

Let progress mark the footsteps Of Science grand and strong. " Truth bringeth forth her increase," Will be the victor's song.

There was never a brook or stream But some rocks would lie in its course; But where thickest the rocks do seem, The banks grow the greenest moss. There was never a cloud so dark But it waned as its tears fell; And what day is there we can mark Without one mercy to tell?

It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold. Peace on the earth, good will to men, From Heaven's all-gracious King; The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.