Poems

Christmas, let me somehow reach you, Find the peace for which you stand. Know the secret self-surrender, Far apart from worldly splendor.

"The iron did swim" its weight as wood caused by Him whose law of good, applied by man, bids matter act subservient to Spirit's fact. Margaret E.

Let music swell within God's house, Clear springs of joy that never cease To celebrate His truth, His love, Compassion, wisdom, peace. Lo, these the healing streams that gush From grateful hearts and, gathering might, Pour rivers deep and wide to form Seas that are infinite.

The loving deed implicit in the spoken word of love rounds into wholeness shaped by perfect Mind, the word and act inseparable, as bird and song, as root and vine. Love gives full measure in consonance divine; pleads not that it should be, but is.

Master, the disciples said, All these thousands have not fed And have not sufficient bread To meet their need. Jesus turned in humble prayer.

Your lot Screamed error's channel— Discord, loss, loneliness, Doubt, and fear All the days of your life to come! And, oh, how error televised Its own evidence, Cruel and bold. Weeping and helpless, I bowed for a time Until one day My heart rose up And in rebellion cried, Not so! God is good! God is Love! My lot is home, Complete, secure, With a father's faith, A mother's hope, And a child's pure joy.

"Father, I will go," I said; "At Your bidding I will venture out, and will do Your will; Perform all things diligently at Your behest, Relinquish my own desires, reservations, deepest yearnings, To do Your will, Yours only. I will travel to whatever far country You send me, Leaving home and hearth, kith and loving kin, Sheltered garden, worn paths, known ways, Loved landmarks, safe grooves, sure resting places.

Father, if they only knew the dear rewards which come from serving You— if they could only find the blessings You so bountifully give; the peace of mind, the inspiration bright, the inner song, the life unburdened, free from sense of wrong— then would they understand how small the price, how large the good that flows into our lives from sacrifice. Jean Moulton Immerwahr.

Prayer is poetry, the perfect statement Of God's infinity, of His great goodness; Each word forged as Truth's sword, Shaped and sharpened to meet the need. Sure as singing, bright as sunshine, Erasing error, dispelling darkness; Question no longer question, But affirmation complete and whole.

"And a man shall be As an hiding place from the wind, And a covert from the tempest; As rivers of water in a dry place, As the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. " Prophecy is fulfilled.