Poems

We have boiled the hydrant water, We have sterilized the milk; We have strained the prowling microbe Through the finest kind of silk. We have bought and we have borrowed Every patent health device, And at last the doctor tells us That we've got to boil the ice.

The full seven days are completed, And the dawn of a new day appears, When Mary and Magdalene, coining, Are seeking the Light thro' their tears. With the oil of Heaven's inspiration, And the perfume— the richness of Love, They have come in the hush of the morning, Their devout consecration to prove.

If the Lord your habitation, And your dwelling has been made, Nothing evil shall befall you, Neither can you be afraid. Angels shall be round about you.

Thou little Book! what depths divine Of Life, and Truth, and Love, Mark all thy pages, fill each line, And lift the thought above Earth's sordid things, its emptiness. Its tumult, sin and strife, Its pain and woe—deceitfulness, To the real things of Life.

It is the morning of the Sabbath-day, The light is breaking through with golden ray, I must awake, the glorious Truth to see, For God and Love are coming near to me. I must press through the crushing throng of thought, And hear the Word by Revelation brought, Reach out and touch its holy garment, white, Knowing I shall again receive my sight.

Once it was the blessing, now it is the Lord, Once it was the feeling, now it is His Word, Once His gifts I wanted, now the Giver own, Once I sought for healing, now, Himself alone. Once 'twas painful trying, now 'tis perfect trust, Once a half salvation, now the uttermost; Once 'twas ceaseless holding, now He holds me fast, Once 'twas constant drifting, now my anchor's cast.

' Tis Love that banners all the western sky At eventide when shimmering Love-lights fall O'er field and wold; and then again at morn, "Tis Love unfolds her gorgeous curtain in the East, O'er distant mountain tops. 'Tis Love that firmly holds the vasty deep Within its bounds, with grasp omnipotent, And stays its ravages o'er all the land.

When thou art happy, child, And life is glad and free; Amid thy loved ones, child, All happiness for thee;— Ah! couldst thou only know, And, knowing truly see, Thy God is here below The joy to share with thee. When thou art weary, child, And life and earth are drear; When thou art lonely, child And sorrow seems so near;— Ah! couldst thou only see And, seeing this, believe, Thy God is near to thee The sadness to relieve.

Despite of sneers like these, O faithful few, Who dare to hold God's word and witness true; Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil time, And o'er the present wilderness of crime Sees the calm future, with its robes of green, Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft streams between; Still keep the path which duty bids ye tread, Though worldly wisdom shake its cautious head! No truth from heaven descends upon our sphere, Without the greeting of the skeptic's sneer; Denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall Common as dews and sunshine over all. Then o'er earth's war field, till the strife shall cease, Like Morven's harpers, sing your song of peace; As in old fable rang the Thracian's lyre, Midst howl of fiends and roar of penal fire, Till the fierce din to pleasing murmurs fell.

MINE the silver, mine the gold, (Hag. 2: 8.