Poems

Pilgrim on earth give heed unto these words: "In strict obedience to th' Eternal Truth Man—in the image and the likeness made Of his Creator—doth within himself Reflect the attributes of God, and thus From sin and sickness claims immunity. Speed, Pilgrim, fearlessly along the path Of life, each seeming presence of a claim Of Evil spurn.

Beside Bethesda's quickening pool he lay, A wreck of sin, Not knowing how to demonstrate the way To enter in. "Wilt thou be whole?" said Christ unto him then.

If you are tempted to reveal A tale some one to you has told About another, make it pass Before you speak, three gates of gold. Three narrow gates—first, "Is it true?" Then, "Is it needful?" In your mind Give truthful answer, and the next Is last and narrowest, "Is it kind?" And if to reach your lips at last It passes through these gateways three, Then you may tell, nor fear What the result of speech may be.

If the treasures of ocean were laid at my feet, And its depths were all robbed of its coral and pearl, And the diamonds were brought from the mountains' retreat, And with them were placed all the wealth of the world— Nor silver, nor gold, nor the spoils of the sea, Nor the garlands of fame that the world can bestow, But a purified heart that from sin is set free, I would ask for thee, friend, on thy journey below. James A.

Sitting in the woodland dim, Waves of God go over him, And the bird that sings apart Seems to voice deep Heaven's heart. All things intimately seen— Creeds nor theories between, All things credible—how sweet Not to even know deceit! Ah! if we would only know, Back to childhood we must go, Lose the learning of the book, Take a long, glad, loving look!

Come to me, Joys of Heaven! Breathe in thy summer air A balm—the long lost leaven Dissolving death, despair.      O little Heart!      To me thou art A sign that never can depart.

Immortal are the sons of God; Man claims the heritage, Love wakens now the thought of all, Who read the living page. Within our hand we find the Key That opens wide the door.

True Love is that which comes from God alone, And Perfect that which Christ for man hath shown— Jesus, who triumphed over Sin and Death, Jesus, who pardoned with his dying breath. God is Supreme! the one omniscient Mind Through whom the Way, the Truth, the Life, we find.

It may have been a dream—but beautiful at first: I found myself upon a breezy eminence At sunrise; and the hill was one great flashing opal In the bright morning sun, blushing resplendently Beneath his passionate June kisses; and the oaks That crowned the hill stretched out their glist'ning, pleading arms For more—and more—and more. Their quivering foliage Was full of bird-songs, and of airy whisperings From Heaven and other far-off tributary hills.

Jesus loves you, so do we, Little children though we be. Little hearts that Mother-love In your bosom broods above; Little feet that you have led, In the paths of love to tread; Little ones whom you have taught, How the deeds of Christ were wrought; Little eyes that beamed with bliss, When dear Mother sent us this— Sweetest poem ever read.