Poems

" Stretch forth thy hand. " The blessed Master spoke, And freed the trusting servant from his yoke Of bondage, proving matter never can Obscure the birthright of the perfect man.

" Let not your heart be troubled," Jesus said, And told them why. He pointed to a flower, Growing in gladness through a summer hour.

A haven of peace where storms and clouds subside, Through earnest prayer and joyous consecration. A mountaintop to meet God face to face And drink once more the wine of inspiration.

What tender words the gentle Master spoke To draw the weary ones, that they might hear The healing message that he came to bring. All down the centuries those sweet words ring, "Come unto me and I will give you rest.

When hate seemed near Or adulation lay Like heavy mist Above the changing bay, She sought a spot Apart, as Jesus did, to pray. This bare red rock Became a holy ground Where, pure in heart, She heard the heavenly sound Of angel voices near, Above the steady pound Of Red Rock's surf.

" Lovest thou me?" the Master said, And Peter fervently and eagerly avowed, "Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. " But he who overcame the grave and death Must have assurance that his work would stand, His flock be cared for; "Feed my lambs," he said.

As Truth is true, immutable, supreme, Upon this rock of Truth we build our house, The consciousness of ever-present good. Though storms assail and rains descend in floods, Fear not; your dwelling place in Christ abides.

Teach me, O Lord, that simple grace Which sanctifies the lowliest place, Inspiring every thought and act With gentleness and kindly tact, So that the humblest words of mine May breathe the Spirit that is Thine; And though my task seem slight and small Let me trace Thy will in all, Not seeking honor in fine deeds, But serving where another needs, So striving that at last I meet The Master at my brother's feet.

When he beheld an apple's certain fall And delved behind the event for something more, Sir Isaac Newton leaped the towering wall Dividing scientific minds that bore Like awls beneath an old investiture From those that merely mark the event's occurring— Such Fulton was and Watt, who found a lure Far sweeter than the drowsy kettle's purring. Just so, because our Master saw the bliss Of Soul as All despite the clouds of sense, And tested well his grand hypothesis, Completely proving God's omnipotence, We say with reverence, "Here indeed is power, Is Science, that commands us to be free, That saves the sick, that brings the promised shower Of blessing! Eyes untaught what sight may be Will now discern the wonder of a flower, Of dawn, of poppied sunset, of the sea.

I God's kingdom triumphs not "with observation," With Pharisaic classifying-care, With smug opinion pigeonholing nation And personality, "Lo here, lo there," Until from elevated seat of scorn Our self-assured surveying gains the whole Far world in proud appraisal and, forlorn, We lose our basic unity with Soul. But we must use this world of tumult-stress As monitor to show each local fault That lurks in our own thought, for we can bless, Renew, transform, co-ordinate, exalt The outer scene, only if we begin At self-correction's focal point within.