Poems

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath the noise of tempests dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.

"Oh, where is the sea?" the fishes cried, As they swam the crystal clearness through; " We've heard from of old of the ocean's tide. And we long to look on the waters blue.

What is the Christ of God? It is his touch, his sign, his making known, His coming forth from out the all-alone: The stretching of a rod, Abloom with his intent, From the invisible. He made worlds so; And souls, whose endless life should be to know What the worlds meant.

As the "bread on the waters "cast— A word that the weary cheers, When the spring-time of life is past, Comes back on the tide of years. A kind word can never perish, Charity knows not decay; For some heart the word will cherish, Though we drop it by the way.

In Alpine valleys, they who watch for dawn      Look never to the east, but fix their eyes      On loftier mountain-peaks of snow, which rise To west or south.                               Before the happy morn Has sent one ray of kindling red, to warn      The sleeping clouds along the eastern skies      That it is near,—flushing, in glad surprise, These royal hills, for royal watchmen born,      Discover that God's great new day begins; And, shedding from their sacred brows a light Prophetic, wake the valley from its night.

Whoe'er on the mountain In the Veiled Presence has reverently trod, He has drunk deep of the life-giving fountain, Filled with the grand inspiration of God. With awe he unravels the mystery of ages, And secrets divine are breathed into his ear; As in wonder he searches the God-written pages, Unseen, yet impressive, the Author draws near:— Draws near so tenderly, Broad'ning his vision, dispelling his fear.

They stood in the open doorway, Ere day was scarce begun,— A winsome, happy young mother And bonny little son. Her eyes in their love-lit beauty Resting with love untold On his sweet red lips, kiss-pouted, And hair of tawny gold.

From the scenes of sense so fleeting, From the tempest, wildly beating, Lashing all the mighty ocean Into billowy commotion; Turn we, and with hearts of gladness, Try to cheer earth's grief and sadness. Fitting emblem seem the waters Of earth's weary sons and daughters, Who see our Father's loving-kindness Slowly breaking through their blindness, Lift their doubting eyes to Heaven, Whence the blessed light is given.

And try Me now in this, Saith Jehovah of Hosts,— Whether I will not open to you the Windows of Heaven, And pour out upon you a blessing. Malachi.

God's Spirit falls on me as dewdrops on a rose, If I, but like a rose, my heart to Him unclose. The soul wherein God dwells,—what church can holier be?— Becomes a walking tent of heavenly Majesty.