Poems

So many hills arising, green and gray, On earth's large round, and that one hill to say: "I was his bearing-place!" On earth's wide breast So many maids! and she — of all most blest — Heavily mounting Bethlehem, to be His mother!—Holy maid of Galilee! Hill with the olives, and the little town! If rivers from their crystal founts flow down, If 'twas the Dawn which did Day's gold unbar, Ye were beginnings of the best we are, The most we see, the highest that we know, The lifting heavenward of man's life below. "The Light of the World.

I pause before the might of silent things, And know that earth is blest for weal of man; And when I seem most near Thy miracle, Most like Thine image, wrought in perfect plan, Hushed be the long caprice of mortal birth, The ordinance of heav'n rings o'er the earth, The seal of Spirit only maketh grand; To Thee I lift up this my helpless hand. I have not peered beyond the dim-veiled stars, I cannot tread the chast'ning boreal main; My hand cannot refine the virgin gold Of dew-laved daisy crowns that fleck the plain, Nor set the laurel chalice on its stem, Nor fill its waxen cup with spice again; Nor open wide the treasuries of hail, Nor bind the fields in winter's stainless mail; But Thou, who taketh up the isles and hills And comprehendeth them as grains of sand, Th' assembling patient stars, like folded flocks— O power of Love—are all within Thy hand.

Peace now be to thee! Far mightier walls than those of builders' clay Encompass thee, Though unperceived by blinded eyes, And keep thee safe. No mournful yesterdays sigh 'round thy dwelling; No grief-begetting dawns stand weeping at thy gate.

Love found me idling, — "Wilt thou follow Me?" "Yea, Lord," I cried, "if Thou my guide wilt be, On and forever will I follow Thee. " Then straight across the valley swift we sped.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace. — Isaiah.

Eternal Love, Almighty One, So gracious to forgive, We fix our thoughts on Thee alone, In Thee would ever live. O'ercome in us the mortal thought And make our hearts inclined To love the truth yet feebly sought And gain immortal Mind.

Master , from heav'n's open hymnal page, Pours Love's deep canticle — thy full-toned life; Above the desolate threnody And clam'ring call of strident centuries, This obligato of divinest power Is heard of men. The undulating fields Where thou hast looked and prayed would reapers come, No husbandman save thee, thy Father knew, could shield from rust and hail.

O fair white sisters of the field and fell, With your sweet-honey lips thus laid on mine, In world-forgetfulness I fain would tell Of Him, my Father-Mother God and thine, And breathe the while a word of praise and prayer divine Have you. as I, a consciousness of Him Who is the center and circumference Of earth and heaven? and is He clear or dim To your white lids of sainted innocence, Who is our Soul and source, creator and defence? Each flower a secret hath, beyond the ken Of earth's philosophers; the gifts of God Are multifold, and have their origin Beyond the cloistered darkness of the sod In Wisdom's secret cell by mortal feet untrod.

I know a garden, green and sweet, Where thrush and skylark sing; A garden far from mart and street. From dust and heat and clamoring.

Within a little world of sombre light I sit with self, whose unrelenting reign Since time unknown has swayed this small domain, Where brisk ambition elbows toward pride's height, Where darkling doubt and fear and envy blight, Where even death itself has dared to gain Outrageous entrance. Can I here remain, Fore'er content with naught but husks and night? I will arise and to the Father go, For He is Life—eternal life He gives; For He is Truth—the infinite, all-wise; For He is Love—His joy, love to bestow; On all His children.