Poems

Slow , dusty miles to Bethlehem, But inward singing all the way; No lodging in the worldly inn, But humble rest on wind-sweet hay. A travail prophesied of old Beneath the ancient, golden sun, But only homespun swaddling clothes For sacred kinghood just begun.

The star that blazoned Bethlehem's sky Still lights the world; it cannot die: And those who follow it with grace Are led into "the secret place. " No stress, no strife, can enter there, But doors swing wide to humble prayer.

Actually there is no lack of good and no temptation to believe in bad; no unsolved problems continuing in rehearsal, no unhealed grievances to tell, no unchecked annoyances to revel in. The child of God has no affinity for any sin.

No loneness dims my happy solitude, Nor sad repining. The silent Christ, all radiant, joyous, shining, Is here to sup with me, to teach, to heal! We share the sacred meal, Quaff of Love's brimming cup, And giving thanks, eat of Truth's bread in unity.

Forlorn , they wandered in the wilderness— The bondwoman with Ishmael, her child. Their pot of water and their bread were spent.

O Life sublime, Thy gracious, pure demands Have summoned us into this holy place. Unlimited by time's constraining hands, The Soul-filled years of Truth's appearing trace Unfolding patterns of eternity Upon the history of the waking world God's Science stands in true conformity With Christ, its healing power all unfurled In Spirit's everlasting law and light; Its ministry is not bound up in pride And person, but is compassed by the might Of Principle, man's governor and guide.

Our pasture fences are massed with berries on bushes whose roots are rain-drenched, and the fruit which is plump and sun-ripened is abundant in bounty for him who parries thorny thrusts to pluck it from stems enmeshed. Sturdy resolve furthers growth in fields of mental endeavor, and richly blessed is the sweet extra fruitage by Love ripened, the largess of grace for him who yields personal sense to the touch of Truth's persuasion.

Push back your wide horizons day by day. Enlarge your borders.

How love-impelled that Hebrew mother's act! How comprehensive must have been her prayer, As, taking God's protection for a fact, She loosed the infant Moses to His care! No slightest jot of time could she devote To outlining his future, or to think Of self, but cast his tiny ark afloat Among the rushes at the river's brink. What mother by her thought, or word, or deed Would be a stumbling block to her loved child, Knowing that mortal planning may impede The heavenward progress of the undefiled? While human bondage shackles liberty, The perfect child of God is always free.

Here swift winds have raced, Blowing clean the rock, Scouring the earth. Here the sun has poured Its brilliant clarity, Its cleansing fire.