Poems

Yes , we do right to fear,—not mighty God, In whom all goodness ever dwells,—but him Who can destroy the body's image fair, And wreck our bark on error's fatal strand.

Crystal the face of the watch, where we read Time's onward march, which all mortals must heed. Crystalline gems among the tresses may twine, Brought from the depths of some far-away mine; Crystal far more than the frontlet they bind, The fathomless deeps of a generous mind.

The Lord is risen! From out the garden tomb, Set amid lilies' fair and fragrant bloom; The Conquerer, triumphant from the dead, Bright and serene, uplifts his royal head. Scent of his garments' spicery and balm Distills through all the garden.

And Enoch lived sixty-and-five years, and begat Methuselah; and Enoch walked with God, after he begat Methuselah, three-hundred years, and begat sons and daughters. And all the days of Enoch were three-hundred-sixty-and-five years; and Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him.

He liveth long who liveth well; All other life is short and vain; He liveth longest, who can tell Of living most for heavenly gain. He liveth long who liveth well; All else is life but flung away; He liveth longest, who can tell Of true things truly done each day.

I trace your lines of argument, Your logic linked and strong; I weigh, as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. Yet in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed stake my spirit clings, I know that God is good.

Oh May, dear May, thou hopeful May, With smile of night and laugh of day! Why should it not be always May? So mote it be, and so it will, Whene'er the storm of sin is still And all come into God's dear will.

Then buckle on the armor bright, The breastplate fasten sure; 'T will glisten in the morning light Of that blest day secure. The shield of Truth our guard shall be; The Spirit's sword, this hour Will make the claims of error flee, And give Truth's mighty power.

Nothing is lost. The tiniest seed, By wild birds borne or breezes blown, Finds something suited to its need, Wherein 't is sown and grown.

I lived first in a little house, And lived there very well; The world to me was small and round, And made of pale blue shell. One day I fluttered from my home, To see what I could find.