Poems

He only knows life's greatest peace, Its deepest sense of loss and gain, Whose inmost thought has found surcease From sorrow, care, and wearing pain, In knowing God as Life. He only knows life's greatest joy, Its one triumphant, ceaseless song, Whose life is just, — knows no alloy Of hidden sin or flagrant wrong, — For God, he knows, is Truth.

How came the carnal lie From out the cavernous home of perfidy. To weave its woeful cobweb o'er the sky? From what foul haunt of infamy and shame Think ye the fleshly load of horror came.

From gold to gray Now pales each twinkling star, For dawns the day; And in the east afar, From gray to gold. And with a tranquil light That grows more bold.

Lo, here the self-same hope of ancient springs, To meek arbutus-hearts doth first appear; And joyous border-realms of budding things Resurgent, conquer winter's grim frontier: These floral pilgrims, perfume-shod and shy. From snow-wrapt slopes breathe tribute to the sky.

" Shepherd , show me how to go!" The bells ring out this prayer in rhyme — The weary one, tossed to and fro By mortal fears that ebb and flow, Pauses to listen to the chime That brings to him a hope sublime, From echoing prayer, so soft and low — "Shepherd, show me how to go!" "Shepherd, show me how to go!" A woman's heart gives forth the song. Before the altar bending low.

Father , the tithes are in! Within Thy house is gathered all my store; All I possess I now have counted o'er, And here I lay it down. Would it were more! Father, the tithes are in! Father, my tithes are in! Weary, and yet triumphant, do I stand With emptied heart and waiting, outstretched hand; And only Thou and I can understand How all my tithes are in.

An arid waste, so bleak, so drear— 'Tis surely life-forsaken here! The eager eye in vain looks 'round. In vain the ear awaits some sound That tells of life—and waits and longer waits— Stands still, and waits again, to prove The truth, the all sufficiency of Love.

Each separate child of God is beautiful. Dwelling in heaven, his forever home.

Give , give! cried Love. Seek not for self to gain, But, with both hands o'erflowing, of thy best Give unto those that ask thee, nor refrain From those who.

" Thy will be done"! Not as of old we pray This prayer of Jesus for ourselves today; With fuller knowledge of the truth we say,    "Thy will be done!" In earlier years our foolish blindness deemed That we, than Thou, far kindlier purpose dreamed;— A tearful thing to say, and hard, it seemed,    "Thy will be done!" But now naught lovelier than Thy will we know; Forth from Thy will to all Thy children go All good and perfect gifts in ceaseless flow.    Thy will be done! What is Thy will for me today? I raise Glad, trustful eyes, and heart outbreaks in praise, For good are all Thy thoughts, good all Thy ways!    Thy will be done! For me Thou willest no slightest touch of pain; No sickness, weakness, no transmitted stain; No disability, defect, nor strain:    Thy will be done! Within Thy will for me can be no trace Of doubt, dejection, failure, or disgrace; Nor sense of lack, or discord, find a place.