Ask me not about time nor space nor age nor about my sons or daughters. Talk to me not about the weather or the media nor ask my vocation or location nor query my involvement in politics or society no matter how kindly meant.
Everywhere and every hour The Lord upholds all life. The presence of eternal Mind Is here to still all strife.
On the crashing shores, the ebb and flow of sense, I cry— Feed my famished heart! Satisfy my yearning for higher, purer ways. Quicken my affections in the radiance of the real, the shelter of Spirit’s embrace.
For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy work:… I shall be anointed with fresh oil. — Psalms 92:4, 10 In the quiet of morning I kneel my thoughts Before Love divine To hear God’s voice, To receive God’s Word; In this precious communion I can feel God’s closeness, His tender comfort, I grasp fresh glimpses Of His truth; I bow my head In humility And thank Him for This spiritual nourishment, The oil of inspiration.
Dear weekly Lesson-Sermon, You’re a vehicle for Soul To speak our Pastor’s message; This is your sacred role. Your message in each Sermon Brings our Pastor ever near, The Word of God around the globe, Eliminating fear.
If Love is God, whose grace cannot be thwarted, then Love prevails, and you and I endure. Like oil and meal multiplied, and Cana’s water turned to wine, the good at hand, our very substance, springs afresh and ever new.
Matthew 5:43–45, 48 You may have heard men say Love your neighbor; hate your enemy. Our Master knew a kinder way: Love your enemies, include them Each time you pause to pray, So you may prove yourself a daughter or son Of your Father, the heavenly One.
Reach out to God Right where you are And as you are He is right there With you Loving you completely, Unconditionally, Seeing you as His perfect, Precious child. Reach within For the higher, truer thoughts Of your identity, They lift you above The clamor of matter’s lies And help you realize Your spiritual being.
In stillness of prayer There’s a fire within Lighting the way Over discord and sin Its oil of pure gladness Rejoices the heart On heaven-bound journey Where grace has its start There lessons await Love’s claiming its own In nearness and dearness Its children are known As chaff from the wheat Love does refine Calling all in its kingdom Thou art mine Thou art mine —G. Gershala Goldsmith.
Not in the earthquake or the flame, The wracking wind, or violence, came The voice of Truth—omnipotence. But in the stillness and the calm, Omniscient quietude—the balm Of Love’s supernal evidence.