Poems

The God who made both heaven and earth, And all that they contain, Will never quit his steadfast Truth, Nor make his promise vain. The poor oppressed from all their wrongs, Are eased by his decree.

Prince of peace, the Heavenly King As a mortal babe disguised, He appeared whom angels sing, Earth-disguised. Empty-handed from his birth, Gifts exceeding pure he brought: Treasures hidden not in earth Jesus brought.

" There is a story told In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold, And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit, With grave responses listening unto it: Once, on the errands of his mercy bent, Buddha, the holy and benevolent, Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look, Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook. 'O son of peace!" the giant cried, 'thy fate Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to hate.

.

Thy will, almighty Father, thine And thine alone be ever done; For Thou art Life and Truth and Love, The great, eternal, holy One. Reflectors, we, of all Thou art, Of all the sunshine of Thy love.

' Mid the silence of the mountains, When the dawn unlocks the day, And the mist's white, curling fountains Up their sides fantastic play; There our Father walks beside us, Leading up Love's towering heights; Through His vision we are gazing On the morn that spirit lights. When the evening shadows hover O'er the river's restless flow; When the silvering moonbeams cover Earth with all their softening glow; Then His presence fills the gloaming With the vesper-song of love, And from o'er the waters foaming, See, with olive-branch, the dove.

Once I wandered on in darkness, Now the Light Divine hath shone; And my Life is full of beauty That I ne'er before have known. Oh, the blessed peace and comfort Now Thy promises afford! And with joy that never ceases All my Life is sweetly stored.

Down in my garden are blossoms fair, Lifting their heads to the sun's bright rays; Scattering perfume upon the air, As incense sweet to the summer days. When the earth with opening blade was green, I watched each leaf as it came in sight; Carefully plucking the weeds between My flowers, seeking the warmth and light.

O! Father of the endless days, Thou Light that lighteth all, Our hearts exhale perfume of praise, And open at Thy call. And Thou art here, oh Lord! Within, without, around; And near and far I hear the chord Of harmony resound.

The following grew out of a suggestion that Science should by this time bring forth words for its own Hymnal. It is offered without any attempt at self-justification, or maternal pride.