Poems

Child of the street— Abandoned, thrown away? Your Father-Mother has never left you. Look, look for His hand.

Give us our God-given grace See Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health 4:3-5; 17:5. — patient waiting for the occasion to bless, ever ready with kind word, charity.

The Bible was like a rose with petals tightly furled. Yet, its secrets I would know to help this hungry world.

God holds His children in the secret of His tabernacle, a spiritual home where nothing changes, not even day to night. God answers our prayer.

Off I went to work one day. Opportunity came for me to pray.

How could she be so vindictive— especially when she knew I was trying to help her, and everyone said I was right? I rolled down the hill—faster and faster—gathering the dirt of resentment, self-pity, self-righteousness, and self-justification until I hit bottom. And it was "easy," rolling down.

The peace, the peace is so worth the struggle against futile human reasoning. Besieged by worldly ideals, I searched for morality, clarity, hardly expecting joy, much less bliss, as final reward.

I'm in great need. Please tell me plainly what your pastor says.

I can't ever fall out of His hand, out of His plan established for me so perfectly. I am engraved upon the palms of His hands.

I felt no tender love for my antagonist. My thoughts were dark as they ran around in self-defense.