Poems

I have loved the moon and watched, enchanted, To see man set his foot upon her surface, Stand etched in brilliant light, Gather her treasures, then come back to earth, Leaving her echoing for a space of time. And I would pattern that triumphant journey, Break from the gravity of mortal mind, Rise weightless through immeasurable realms Of Spirit, Scale Mind's peaks, Stand fast upon the rock of Principle Reflecting dazzling light of Life and Love, Gather the priceless, changeless things of Soul, And hear Truth's ringing and majestic tones Echoing, echoing, echoing in my heart, Across the dream of time Into eternity.

Jacob told Pharaoh, "Few and evil Have the days of the years of my life been.

Celebrated victory from distant past— the summoning of courage for a cause when Gideon rose in strength after pause of prayer. The spirit of the Lord came upon him.

Let peace begin with me. Let my eyes always see man as he was made to be "in the beginning.

He left, that day, for the world's sharp cold— no money, no work, feet poorly shod, coat frayed—oh, my child! He was not very old, but he had his hand in the hand of God! I trusted my Father, and watched from afar: saw my child fall in tunnels, and love his way through, master temptations, triumph in war; then, turn loose God's hand! Oh, keenly I knew I had grown vain—proud of my son who was actually God's ! How I prayed to renew my own grip on God—leave nothing undone of the work that He gave me daily to do! I loved—loved—loved! And one day I heard my son to his own child earnestly preaching: "Whatever the odds, keep your hand in God's, and your heart in accord with our Master's teaching!" Althea Brooks Hollenbeck.

Is it such a little thing, or so hard, to trust God's love? Can I forget His goodness inflooding to the center, outflowing to the rim and far beyond my known circumference? Such a little thing— to believe. Can it really move this mountain? Can it lay this ghost? Or must I dig its grave with pick and shovel, forgetting the grace of God.

That winter night when Christ Jesus slept in a manger bed on the sweet cropped hay, a star arose to light the way of those who followed its quickening ray, and lowly shepherds knelt to pray. And here tonight in quiet room or on battlefields in a world war torn, when a proud heart yields, or a soldier kneels, a child is born.

At the heart's midnight listen— for the angel song (glory in the highest) silencing earth's cries of desolation. An ark once lifted the faithful above the floods of evil, and as those receded a new world began, began in the minds— always first in the thinking; the listening ear, the obedient heart, built afresh, to specifications.

The sun rose upon Jacob as he passed over Penuel, The struggle behind him, the dark night spent, Blessing of peace after battle seeping into his seeking thought. In the private bastion of his meekness he had fought a good fight, Fear and false dealing, the facade of a renegade selfhood, Surrendering to the angel of God, The blessed, reclaiming, renaming angel of God.

Some who would walk on the water must have a boat deck intervene. Some who would transcend time feel dependent on scrapbooks and clocks (or fantastic imagined machines), not knowing that Jesus talked with Moses through the effortless, natural inclusiveness of elevated thought.