Poems

Beneath a sullen, somber sky, Gloomy and gray the waters lie— Leaden and dull and listless, save The heavy toss of wave on wave. But look! for now the clouds divide— O'erhead warm skies, below the tide— Erstwhile so languid, dull of hue: One flashing, sparkling sheen of blue! Not mine to ask from whence or why Those earth-born clouds, nor whither fly; But mine alone the joy to know That neither height nor depth below Nor any creature can obscure God's light, which shines unchanged and pure.

But he held his peace, and answered nothing. — Mark, 14:61.

Before I was, Thou knewest me; Safe wilt Thou keep what is of Thee, How could I stand without Thy aid? How should I walk if Thou forbade? Or speak? My thoughts are in Thy hand, No help, unless Thou understand! Thee have I sought. At Thy blest hour Answer me, shield me with Thy power.

Soft , rosy, sweet, on nature's wings there steals the dawn; Each songbird waking, almost whispering sings, See, comes the morn! A soft breeze o'er earth's fields with reverence blows, Fearful lest aught too rough should bid each flower unclose. In wondrous mystery of color-dreams the dawn-light grows, And almost breathless nature seems in golden hues; Till with one shout of life earth's grateful throng Welcomes with pulsing joy the risen sun! 'Tis past, and twilight comes with saddening ray.

Spring said to the early violet: "Thy work is needed here, — Here where the dead leaves linger yet And the earth is cold and sere. " Spring said: "Dear message-bearer, Thy work is needed here.

When navies are forgotten And fleets are useless things, When the dove shall warm her bosom Beneath the eagle's wings, — When memory of battles At last is strange and old, When nations have one banner And creeds have found one fold, — When the Hand that sprinkles midnight With its powdered drift of suns Has hushed this tiny tumult Of sects and swords and guns, — Then hate's last note of discord In all God's worlds shall cease, In the conquest which is service, In the victory which is peace! Frederick Lawrence Knowles. In "Love Triumphant.

Thou hast fallen asleep, O my burden, asleep! And I know Thou never wilt wake through the centuries' ebb and flow. Thy sovereignty of semblance is over at last; Barred are the doors of my being, thou pitiless foe, Forever to thee.

Be still, and know that I am God alone! Content to rest in this deep consciousness, The unrealities of sense that press Upon us are dispelled. The only one, The Lord of Hosts is with us, and the moan Of hurt is hush'd and still'd, and all the stress Of circumstance, the ills that would oppress And cast us down in misery are gone; And in their stead there come sweet joys again, And love,—the perfect gifts He waits to give To us, the weary ones who oft have trod The rough and bruising paths that seem to pain,— But only seem,—since thus we learn to live.

Life ! Life! Life! But a paltry time ago We thought its seat Was the rhythmic beat Of the heart, and the pulses' flow; But the scales have dropped from our eyes since then, And we know that Mind is the life of men. Truth! Truth! Truth! How we sought it everywhere! Oh, the years we gave To the effort brave, The unspeakable labor and care! And we learn to-day that deep down within We must wake to the truth which redeems from sin.

If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. —Psalms.