Poems

Father , did'st not Thou the dark wave treading Lift from despair the straggler with the sea? And heedest Thou not the scalding tear man's shedding, And knowest Thou not the pathway glad and free? This weight of anguish which they blindly bind On earth, this bitter searing to the core of love; This crushing out of health and peace, mankind— Thou all, Thou infinite, dost doom above. Oft mortal sense is darkened unto death, (The Stygian shadow of a world of glee) The old foundations of an early faith Sunk from beneath man, whither shall he flee? To Love divine—whose kindling mighty rays Brighten the horoscope of crumbling creeds, Dawn truth delightful, crowned with endless days,— And Science ripe in prayer, in word, and deeds.

Lo! this thou art. The only one Who e'er hath borne thy special grace Who with thy peers life's course doth run With thine own blessing for thy race.

Victory! Oh loving Father— God on high, Thou hast healed me, heard my cry! My enemy of pain has fled; The battle's won— I lift my head In triumph, and exulting shout: "The living Truth is error's rout!" Oh for the tongue of an angel to cry My paeans of joy aloud to the sky! Victory! Victory! But hush, my heart, thy song restrain; Oh bow before thy God again! Here kneel, and silence every sound; For lo! this place is holy ground.

I made at dawn an humble cake, And broke the morsel with a friend; An handful will a banquet make, When oil and meal and leaven tend, And one. in faith's pure vessel blend.

Call him not a heretic whose works attest His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. Whatever in love's name is truly done To free the bound and lift the fallen one Is done to Christ.

I seek from thee, O perfect Love, A knowledge of the things above. Let sense no longer bind me fast To things of future, things of past, Or present things that cannot last; But give me now thy joy and song Which waft sweet notes of health along, To heal earth's weary, waiting throng.

Sweeter than twilight music winging thought to heights Unseen; serener than the summer sea in nights Of silver splendor; loftier than the peaks that part The freighted rain-clouds; brighter than the diamond's heart Where captive lightning flashes; changeless as the pine Whose green boughs greet alike the centuries' storm and shine; Firmer than rocks that rib the wrinkled hills; yet mild And white and songful as the pure mind of a child Is one against whose breast in vain sin hurls his spears, Whose armor mightier is than that at The tis' prayer By Vulcan forged. The strong, true man, priest at the shrine Of Truth, triumphant over doubt and pain and tears, Heir of the morning, lord of earth and sea and air, God's masterpiece, unveils his lineage divine.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. — Luke.

In sullen gusts the north-wind flays the brooding plain And sweeps the green hills of the sea, The while swift silver regiments of rain Encamp around the day and me; Deep in my heart Gaunt shadows start, And fear and sorrow charge with bayonets of pain. Hark! through the tear-sprent wilderness of storm and grief Sounds an exquisite melody; A Voice breathes.

Crespus has gold, while none have I, yet mine Are aurous buttercups, and gold divine From sunset's cupel blown at day's decline. Crespus has broad domains, but envy I His holdings? Nay: I have the broad, blue sky And sea wherein and o'er my dreambirds fly.