Poems

Here in this sacred place commune with Love: withdraw from mortal sense; let earth weights fall, while healing truths come to your waiting thought with that rich peace the Christ extends to all. Gain here the sweet assurance that perceives man joyous, free, forevermore at one with good.

Come, worship God ''in spirit and in truth"! In humble prayer and pure desire partake Of Life and Love divine: for no uncouth Regime can hold the hearts that would forsake Their chains, outsoar their empty, useless shells. The idol melts, the splendrous pagan creeds Expire, but Truth's immortal law compels Us all to worship God with holy deeds.

Gently it came—the first soft glow of dawn— And then the fringe of dark was lifted. Within the stillness of that early hour My thought was stirred; I heard again the words the Master spoke: "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.

I am my brother's keeper. When he knocks Upon my door what room do I provide For shelter—one with bars and locks, A dungeon where no sun and air abide? Or do I gladly wield a mental broom And furnish, for both comfort and delight, My best, my many-windowed upper room, And bid him welcome to it day or night? Am I my brother's keeper? Yes, I am.

More beautiful than songs of birds at dawn, Awakening us on some fair summer's day, Are the songs of angels, which, swiftly borne On Love's strong wings, instruct us in the way To truly live, the way to prove our love For God and for our fellow men. If we But listen, we shall hear these songs above All other sound and, happily, be free! This gentle way of Love's design may seem Miraculous at first when we are healed.

O god Thou art my Father: Thy glory is ever before me. I am compassed about with Thy songs of deliverance; My goings are blessed with Thy psalms of salvation.

By trade I am a baker of the bread. Employed within this great patrician home.

Gamaliel had a prescience of the truth. A reputable man, he rose up there And warned the council forcefully.

Think not of any armistice with death— death, the deceiver—death, the pitiless one, whose luring promises are but the dust blown by the winds beneath the desert sun. Give death no hostages of hope, nor any trust, yield not to lulling promises of rest.

The childlike, pure, and holy thought In God's own likeness fair Forever sees the Father's face And finds its glory there. No sweetness of itself may own Each childlike grace He gives.