Poems

Not winged visitants with plumage bright, And robes that glisten, But loving thoughts, fresh winged with heavenly light. To those who listen.

Why toil we so in the darksome night, While winds and tempests toss the sea? We labor with care and with human might, Trusting alone to our own short sight; Why labor we so anxiously? Consider the lilies how they grow, Happily nodding the live-long day, They toil not, they spin not, nor trouble know, Sweet perfumes rise wherever they grow, And how much better are we than they! Behold the fowls of the air, they rise Above the earth and worldly things. Sweet songs come back from the azure skies, The fowl of the air sings while he flies, Can we not, too, while we labor, sing? My brother, my sister, rejoice while you go, It will lighten your burden though heavy it seems; When night comes on and the shadows grow, When tempests arise and the mad winds blow.

He who has gazed upon the starry sky Nights without number, and has learned to trace The path of planets, and the majesty And mystery of numbers numberless, Knows his own nothingness—as dust so small— And learns at length that "He is all in all. " He works His will in all the heavenly host, And none can stay His hand, nor question bring, Nor say, "What doest Thou?" The furthermost Of heaven's white wonders known to angel's wing, Flash but His glory, and adoring fall Before His feet, for "He is all in all.

Once again the Easter tidings Ring far out across the earth, Flashing through th' eternal heavens, Flooding all things in their birth. Christ, the Son of God, is risen; Risen by the strength of right, Far above the seeming chaos Into God's eternal light.

Behold the charm of Nature's touch On bush and shrub and tree; Bending 'neath their icy coats As if they would be free. They stand transformed in garments white As lovely as a bride; They sparkle all with myriad hues In beauty undenied.

Earth may bloom fair on Easter Day, The sun's resplendent glory Above the mists of night in strength arising, Their terrors all despising, May tell anew From skies of blue The resurrection story. But dreary clouds may cover o'er The cheerful sky, and rain Cold and forlorn, On this dear morn, May hearts depress and spirits lower That joyous should remain.

Hugging my staff in my blindness I begged of the passer-by, As sat blind Bartimæus Till the Master heard his cry. I heard the shouts of the people And I knew that the Lord was near, But I hugged my staff the closer And shrank as if in fear.

The glance that doth thy neighbor doubt, Turn thou. O man, within, And see if it will not bring out Some unsuspected sin.

No room at the inn for the Lord of Life, No place for the baby head, And the child of Love in his swaddling clothes Was laid in a manger-bed. No room,—and I ponder the story old Of that peaceful Christmas night, Of the crowded inn, and the sleepers there Who saw not the blessed light; Who heard not the song that the angels sang Of the Christ child's holy birth, And only the watching shepherds knew Of the love that had come to earth.

One by one pure thoughts and holy Lift us out of self and sin; One by one bright gleams of glory Show the goal we all would win. One by one our trusts are strengthened, As our lives to thee we give; One by one our days are lengthened, As in love we move and live.