Poems

Two years old And under: Had Herod's decision, Taunting the skies, Taken hold, What call, They ask us— And we wonder— Had come to Paul; What vision Had caught his eyes, At Damascus?

I thank Thee, Father-Mother God, That one with need to know, Clear-seeing, strong, Threw off the shackles of a mortal self And stood, her courage born of Love divine, With Thee .

Paul prayed; he lifted up his heart in faith To the true God, whom he had come to know, The God whose goodness called him from his dream Of hatred in religion's name to serve The very Christ whom he had so despised. He prayed that there might be removed from him The thorn which seemed a torment to his flesh, Not for mere selfish ease, but that he might Give surer proof of his discipleship.

Drawn to the Word, we come from our schools and our workshops, From our factories and our houses, from the noise of our busy week; From our work—or from our search for work—we are gathered, Knowing Him we seek. We have come to the Father, gratefully trusting His message, Quiet with expectancy, clad in obedience and rest.

Look up and give the Father gratitude, O mortal! Why be dissatisfied, afraid, and full of sorrow? The good is present now which comes through heaven's portal, Divine Love waits not for the coming of tomorrow! Is it for joys long past or future's hope you yearn? Perhaps companionship of one no longer near? The joy He gives us knows no going or return; The Father-Mother's love unceasingly is here! Then know the seeming discord is a lifeless dream; And courage, faith, and understanding must be tried. But see! The day is bright with Truth's eternal beam.

When Noah sent a dove out of the ark to see if the floods of waters were assuaged which covered all the earth, the dove returned to him. And he stayed— with what patience— "yet other seven days," and yet another, till the dove returned no more— and then he knew the waters were assuaged.

A sacrifice unto the Lord Was oft required in ancient years: A bullock, dove, Or little lamb, With deepest penitence And tears. Sacrifices still are made By those whose love is duty-driven; And oh, what higher part Is played When sacrifice of self Is given.

Waiting need not be a sere, dry plain Stretched endlessly beneath continuous sun. Nor need it be an arid, parching wind That withers every deed in love begun.

As the fledgling's fragile wings Grow strong in fearless flight, Man's mounting steps find greater strength Upon the road of right. Greater strength to face the claim Of discords that impose Their fancied, risen barriers, Whose pretense wisdom knows.

I asked for healing, having heard it said That Jesus' works were once more being wrought By consecrated seekers, Bible-taught To heal the sick and sinning, raise the dead. And I was healed! Then prayed I might be led To find this priceless pearl, not to be bought, But in our Master's footsteps to be sought With firm, self-sacrificing, patient tread.