Poems

Let those that search, come. And let those that come, hear.

Today for the first time since I began attending this small church I noticed that the hawthorn trees had reached high windows where I used to see only sky their magenta blossoms now filling my view with color and I knew that during those same years listening to the Lesson-Sermon in these pews I had also reached heavenward and grown (though with many unfruitful branches yet to prune) into a higher more spiritual view. Hazel M.

I marvel at Thy sacred words that feed Thy congregation through the laboring week— Thy pastor daily satisfies their need For gracious doctrine, healing those who seek Release from pain and fear. I stand with awe Behind the desk and pray, "Dear Father, lead My thoughts, that speaking I may live Thy law And understand aloud the truths I read.

May there be more Pauls who, like misguided Saul, receive the light on the mistaken pathway dark with fear, stony with hate. (O blind and headlong zeal!) May the adamant-hearted feel the touch of Christ—in tune at last to that persuasive voice.

What an interesting collection this group. From different places, occupations; Shy, or loud, or doubting, or quiet; All brought together to do one thing— To follow the Master.

It is said he even raised the dead. No! this has gone too far, We'll have to put an end to this charade— Lazarus; the man from Nain; a little maid— Ridiculous! I'll not believe what I can't see.

Do not dismiss the rose, or turn your back on the setting sun, or fear a word in favor of larks will brand you materialist. The beauties we see and hear seem matter-born and bound, but they hint at the glory that is there beyond the bud on the cherry tree, beyond the butterfly wing and the star, on the far far side of the dove.

Glory shines and a voice speaks: "Blessed among women. Fear not!" I bow my head.

It was a difficult time for Christianity: storms and quakes—a world convulsing from incipient hate. Arrogance, ignorance blind to what was done; a governor questioning what was won; disciples fearing all was lost; so few faithful at the foot of the cross.

How could this be with Love's ever-presence filling all space— could it leave one of its own outside beyond the reach of shepherding protection where it must ever abide? Could Love see anything but its own reflection? Guileless, obedient, a love of following, feels itself forever safe within this Love's affection. Elizabeth Glass Barlow.