Poems

With pointed inquiry dig about the roots of thought, let in Life's irradiance. Here's no fallow ground; growth is not by seasons.

Don't let on. Keep it dark.

I was standing in the damp, cramped Underground room at Philippi, said to have been Where Paul was cast after many stripes were laid upon him. A small finger-smudged icon and footworn step Broke the foreboding flatness of four uneven crumbling clay walls And, standing in the damp, cramped Underground at Philippi, Picturing Paul thrust there, his feet fast in the stocks, I prayed aspiringly: God, make the singing of my soul Break prison bands for others, at midnight, and in every hour! Leaving the damp, cramped Underground at Philippi, I stood in Paul's bright sun, Expecting Love's eternal promise of its unshackled likeness— Knowing Spirit's joy could sing its song through me.

is Soul's cry the Word's meaning sung the sound of God being— His euphony of joy Godfrey John.

Seeing my friend in church (after a long absence) I think, "How wonderful! He's come home again. " Then I hear the Father say to me—quite plainly— "My son has never been away.

"Church heals the sick," I thought, "so why not me?" and searched the definition See Science and Health by Mrs. Eddy, p.

Darkness never has consumed a beam of light. Death has never really blotted out a single ray of Life.

God is in this room (though not less elsewhere). I reach my hand to Him (never mind what direction— He is everywhere).

Once upon a time when imagination's dragons roamed, crusaders shivered in their fight with evil. But "once upon a time" is not Spirit's eternal frame, where evil becomes a name for nothing.

Who me? But I never .