Poems

Why should I wait for evening star, — Why should I wait to cross the bar, And death's dissolving hand to trace The outlines of my Pilot's face? Must my frail barque be driven and tossed By winds and waves, —be wrecked and lost Upon life's strange and storm-swept sea Because my Pilot's far from me? No, not alone my way I trace, Each wave gives back my Pilot's face; To every sin and fear and ill, To every storm he says, "Be still. " I need no longer vex my soul With longings for that distant goal: My Pilot sitteth at the prow, And heaven's within, and here, and now.

Amid the somber shades and deep'ning hush Of night and gathering storm; thro' paths o'ergrown With tangled underbrush, the serpent's lair, Seeking in solitude the place of prayer, Jesus went up alone. Alone and unafraid; no lurking foe But shrank aside as the calm footstep passed.

Uncounted now, those years of toil and struggle; Forgotten now, those hungry days and cold, For in the miner's horny hand Lies treasure of his promised land. From vein upturned of rarest virgin gold.

Out of the depths I heard a woman cry: "Give me, dear Lord, a mission that I may Work as my brothers work, and grant that I May know the joy of sacrifice,—the way Of human love—the shadows and the light. " I heard a cry out of the depths of night.

We know as sure as the rain falls down That the green is hiding beneath the brown, The sunshine behind the cloud. Then why not trust for a little space? The life will return to the brown earth's face, The sky cast aside its shroud.

Why linger ye in aisles of pain, Where joy is dead and hope is vain? Why walk ye here with bleeding feet, When life without is glad and sweet? Oh, leave behind the aisles of pain, Nor weep o'er graves where hope is slain, For just beyond, Love opens wide The door to joys that will abide. We walk no more in aisles of pain When this we learn, hope is not vain— That God is Love—and good supreme— And evil nothing but a dream.

If all material things are mortal thought Made manifest, unholy misconception, And human ills a falsity distraught, A dark, untimely phantom of deception, Then let us undeceive our quickening minds, And to the morn's true radiance raise the blinds. If mortal man be but a false impression, E'en at his best, of God's true counterpart, And thou uplift thy voice in full confession That thou art ignorant of what thou art, Then, in the name of wisdom manifest, Plead we to set thy wandering doubts at rest And all who learn the torture and distress Of pain and tears, the ferment and the fret Of foul disease, or sin's deep bitterness, Would ye unlearn them? Long ye to forget? Then take to heart the lesson of the years, Truth is revealed, and man's true Life appears.

Like one who wanders in fell darkness vast. I trod the paths of pain and all unrest For weary, weary years, and came at last To dream that death of all things was the best.

He is our Father! Yet how oft We close our eyes in fear, Forgetful that by day and night, His guardian care is near. He is our Father; Then indeed His love must answer every need! And if perchance my straying feet Should tread the shadowy vale, My heart shall still be unafraid, My courage shall not fail.

What is the fruitage of that high estate, To be of those the greatest of the great? Surely, not wealth nor its ephemeral shows, Nor spoils of war, nor all the pomp of state! For great indeed are geniuses whose thought Arts and inventions to mankind has taught, And civilization hitherto unknown,— For they to earth immortal gifts have brought. And great indeed are artists who inspire Our thoughts with high incentive and desire, Through music, painting, poem, and high theme, To help and cheer our race to heights still higher.