Poems

Not by any shore embound, Not encroached upon by sound, Nor by the presence of a fear, Nor yet the memory of a tear,— Is that sweet spot of which alone I fondly say, It is my own. Not any time-built crumbling wall Can house the sacred place I call My home.

When the glint of the diamond, sparkling white, Sheds luster and glow in the somber night; When the emerald, shaded to azure hue, So pleases the eye that life seems new — Think of this, dear heart: Earth's daintiest art Is not of the Spirit, however true. Love lurks in the gleam of an amber light.

Arise ! arise and, shine! On thee hath dawned the day! God is thy sun, and Christ thy light— Be thou a steadfast ray! Sing praise, O waking heart, For all thy God hath wrought; For Truth's clear light on thee hath shone And purified each thought. No more shall sin and wrong Obscure the light divine, For God hath given thee His Son, And lo! all things are thine! Arise! arise and shine! Uplift thee from the sod.

One thought he hated me: I thought the same. His looks were bitter, and his speech a flame That seared my soul and turned its day to night; In agony I sought relief in flight.

The promise of the distant day, The former time, the far away. For which the people watch and pray, — The Comforter! When will that happy time be here? The world awaits in doubt and fear; When will within our midst appear The Comforter? Lo, here and now all may be free! The day has dawned for you and me.

The devious paths of worldly glory lay Before me, and my heart exultant rose, In self-sufficient pride, to choose of those One for myself,—nor word nor deed might stay My eagerness for self-sought, self-made fray Against self-chosen, self-evoked foes. Yet strange the battle went.

When men shall stand alone with God, Forgetful of the things behind, Determined not to flinch nor fawn Upon their purpose well defined; Then shall the path which God hath planned Be strewn with flowers by human hand.

Laudations few this weary world receives; But we, this age, shall nowise stint our meed of praise, For through the open windows of its skies Have come, upon the wings of morn, Chaste dawn-tints of the day beyond, To rest within a woman's waiting heart, Whose love, as Christ's, unveils this holy noon to us. It glows from thence unto all journeying souls, And with its radiance glorifies their ways.

The way I cannot always see That leads to higher things, But yet I know God guideth me, And heav'n to me He brings. 'Tis He who calls me, and although I may not always hear His gentle voice, yet still I know That He is ever near.

When smiled the morning in my night-dimmed eyes, I, sighing recognition, used to say, O God, for me another weary day Through which to creep, though this spent strength denies Support for one day's feeble ministries. Too frail my pilgrim staff, too long the way Ere I attain the heights this mortal clay Knows not, blind in its futile, vain surmise.