Poems

Out of the shuddering night To Thee I cry in all my sin's despite, Father of mercy! from Thine holy hill Heed my complaint, and bid my woes be still! There is no pain, there is no scalding tear Where Love is king; and Love alone is here: To do Thy will the winds and waters sweep Along the eternal hills and on the moaning deep. I feel Thy presence here— A chord of peace upon the enchanted ear Breathing the tones of heaven: my dark distress Touched a white garment in the throng and press.

"My peace I leave with you. " How true the Master's word! The threat'ning storms of life, By human passions stirred, May rage for one brief day— May rage and cease to be, As when the Christ-mind stilled The waves of Galilee.

I folded away my garments of care, I folded away my pain; And forth I fared from the Inn of Despair, Alone in the beat of the rain. I was tired of the world and its tawdry gifts, Tired of revel and fret; And I longed for the comforting calm that uplifts Wherein to rest and forget.

When , sore beset by doubts and fears, thou farest forth alone. Bereft by thine own hand of all that thou hast called thine own, When by the river thou dost pause, ere thou its flood essay, God's angel there with thee shall strive until the break of day.

Back of wild clouds that spill their brew of shadow On wave and hill and vale. The faithful sun and faithful stars we trace; Rack of the thunder and the hurtling hail, Rack of the wailing clamor of the tempest, Blue lies the rhythmic hush of boundless space.

" Woman , why weepest thou?" "Why weep not whilst my darkness hath no star, And I from love and joy am so afar In maze of misery? Tell me, I pray, Why weep not when so burdened all the day, Whilst fear and anguish seem on me outpoured, And, tho' I yearn, I cannot see my Lord?" "Woman, awake! 'tis not indifference That saith, 'Why sorrow,' to thy suff'ring sense; Thy Saviour knows 'tis but a mortal dream. E'en tho' thou dreamest, good is still supreme; Love still is loving; all God hath is thine.

"God never failed me yet!" she said, and peace Shone from the aged eyes undimmed and clear. Widowed, with nine young appetites to feed, I knew she sought His aid in every need And supplemented prayer with doughty deed.

There was a time when in my daily prayer I asked for all the things I deemed most fair, And necessary to my life,—success, Riches, of course, and ease, and happiness; A host of friends, a home without alloy; A primrose path of luxury and joy, Social distinction, and enough of fame To leave behind a well-remembered name. Ambition ruled my life.

Not for the love that this world gives, Do I now pray, Not for the love that only lives Just for a day. The love divine I seek is giv'n Of God above.

Mine is the music of the woods and waves, I strike the strings, and give the grand octaves; The mighty tones are mine Of mountain and of pine, And loud upon the listless ear of morn I wind my wakening horn. I am the wing-foot wanderer, that brings A thousand greetings of a thousand things! My chariot mists among I sing the welkin's song; And when the moon is on the moaning deep I sob the world to sleep.