Poems

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

What have we learned from all the load of years To stay despair, to stanch the stream of tears ? From out the centuries of night and crime Have we no message from the mists of time? Has knowledge no interpreter, no guide To read the riddle and to stem the tide? Whence have we come, and whither leads the way,— Our darkling path, whereon the moonbeams play? Who bids the violet wake beneath the snows ? Whence comes the scent of this consummate rose? How learned the lark, at morning's call, to sing His laureate song, the prelude of the spring? There is a book, and he who runs may read, And seek and find the solace of his need, Learn how the lark, the summer's sonneteer, Weaves his wild notes, and why the flowers appear, And last and first upon the enchanting page Learn man is one with God from age to age; And one with him who parted from our sight,— The first among the sinless sons of light. Hast thou beheld where passed the seamless dress, Or heard the still, small voice in storm and stress— The thunder moaning over moor and hill, That hushed as echo answered, "Peace, be still"? Are we the sons of God ? Let every tongue Join in the song by His creation sung.

Day dawns, and brings the world new light ; Fades, dies away the gloom of night. In silence comes the dawn's first golden ray; A power unseen has changed the night to day.

Our Father knows my need to-day; I do not, doubting, ask For happy hours or golden way, Or loving, helpful task; But, with all trust in Love, I pray : Our Father knows my need to-day. Our Father knows my need this hour; Where'er my steps may go, The saving light of Truth's high tower Now leads me—this I know.

Hungry , hungry, heart-hungry, While there is love enough and to spare! O pilgrim, suffer not dearth with its gloom and its thrust! For the bread and the wine of the feast are thy share— Thy meat, not scraps, with bones that are polished and bare— And with fuel thy hearthstone is heaped, not ashes and dust. Hungry, hungry, heart-hungry, While the viands of Love at thy fingertips lie! What criest thy pain— at thy Tantalus-touch they recede? Nay; to thy longing, advancing, they multiply, Imparting abundance for want, a smile for a sigh— Giving comfort and strength through the night of thy need.

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.