Poems

"Truth, Life, and Love are the only legitimate and eternal demands on man, and they are spiritual lawgivers, enforcing obedience through divine statutes" ( Science and Health by Mrs. Eddy).

A second chance! How grateful for a second chance. When to mortal sense All signs of life seemed gone, And victory appeared In the grasp of matter, That still small voice of God So strong, so steadfast, so assuring, Rang out the truth: Life is eternal, Beyond the claims of matter.

This service is a fruitful, healing hour, Unfettered by man-made, outmoded creed, Unfolding truths that heal through Love's all-power, And ministering to the human need. The message reaches each receptive heart, For preparation has been made through prayer, And when the service ends and all depart, We trust the fruitage to the Father's care.

"I will arise and go to my father," said the prodigal long ago. Could I but do the same, To stand before Almighty God, call Him Father, and ask to be His hired servant, Who, me? Besides, does He have a robe my size and a ring to fit my finger? Would He see me afar off and run to greet this other wandering son? I will arise and go to my Father, I have all to gain, naught to lose.

In every nation, men have fought for human liberty; And since God's justice must prevail, then all men will be free. In every age, the heart has yearned for human hopes of peace; And since God's will must be fulfilled, then slavery has to cease.

Come to the mount of inspiration Seek new frontiers of Love's pure thought. You will then hear Love's revelation, The still small voice that's heard when sought.

Healing was needed, and so I had prayed. The "revelation" had come quite quickly—full of inspiration, newness, power, and light.

Time to lose weight! Time to drop off too much human opinion. How empty one can feel gorging on the unreal! No more snacks of puffed-up will, laced with indignation! False cravings cease when thought is filled with God's sweet communication.

If you'd been making it up you'd have made it up splendid— long tables coming down from heaven with fruit and crystal goblets and food—lots of it, exotic (not the usual bread and fish) But that's not how it was, actually, it didn't start from nothing nor stone turned to bread. The lad offered loaves and fishes —his own supper and his family's.

I feel the presence of a         shimmering sea of stars         (illumined thoughts,         Love's intelligent substance) as yet ungathered into a galaxy— uncomposed into symphony or song or written word, unsculpted into entity. Unformed.