Poems

Before the Truth was Known. The wind is sighing through the leaves An autumn wind; It speaks to me of life's regret Of hopes unreached, but longed-for yet, Ungarnered sheaves.

Who lives in Love, lives too in God. He cleaves the air and spurns the sod, In skyward flight.

Servants of His who patient stand, In God's full heav'nly armor clad, His strength is yours in heart and hand, Yours is His joy when earth seems sad. Beyond the cloud, the silver rim Shows where the sun is shining through; The cloud that seems the light to dim Will fall as heaven's refreshing dew.

Cometh my wee one wearily When the evening shadows fall; When the moon climbs high in the silver sky, And peeps through the poplars tall. Cometh my wee one eagerly, Yet with many a smile and sigh, And offers a prayer with reverent care To God, the ever-nigh.

Who loves the most 'tis he possesses most; Who loves the least 'tis he possesses least. Indifference is ignorance, and hate Informs with falsehoods.

Oh Life Divine! That at each morning's waking hour. Fills me with longing high to do and dare; Strong to stand firm upon the promises.

Creeds change, All outward forms Recast themselves. Sacred groves, temples, and churches Rise and rot and fall.

"Stand porter at the door of thought. "— Science and Health, p.

O physician, canst thou minister To a mind diseased with sinister Doubts and fears? Will potions, pills, Heal this grief of mine that kills All the joy that I should own? Hast thou balm to soothe the moan Of the weary heart that gropes Blindly in the dark, and hopes Heaven to find and peace mind? Thoughts of hatred change to kind; Envy's tongue, with poison pointed, Still and heal with love anointed; Bitter strife with peace soon quell, Lying hearts with truth make well; Sin-seared lives of men reclaim For righteousness and higher aim,— Canst thy medicine do this? Nay, it cannot? 'Tis amiss! Go, then, leave me here alone With my God, and at His throne Humbly will I kneel, and pray That He lead me in the way Of His truth and life and love; And as ages yore the dove Haven safe and peace did find, So shall I for body, mind! O Thou Great Physician wise, Lift the sackcloth from the eyes Of my faith! Help me to know That, as in Thy truth I grow And all Thy promises believe, Answer shall my prayers receive; And trusting still—though yet no sign— I'll wake to find the healing mine!

Mirrors of morn Whence the dewdrop is born, Soft tints of the rainbow and skies— Sisters of song, What a shadowy throng Around you in memory rise! Far do ye flee, From your green bowers free, Fair floral apostles of love, Sweetly to shed Fragrance fresh round the dead, And breath of the living above. Flowers for the brave— Monarch, or slave Whose heart wore its grief, and is still; Flowers for the kind, Aye the Christians who bind Wreaths for the triumphs o'er ill.