Poems

That living cross! Great rugged stirring stick, Bring fire and purpose into my heart, Stir the too-long-buried thrill, Open me wide to that wave of love (To make those empty dull thoughts come alive— No trickle charge but a surge of new awe so strong That it stretches my thought to prophetic vision)! May I never be found standing still But living the Christ's way as never before, With its hymn of praise sung by those who are called — Astonished by His gifts, humbled by His power, Always to hear that beat and obey Despite the hurling stones. Make me leap to apostle-like prayers.

It sounds so simple—love. Is it just a word offered in compassion? No! Powered with understanding, tendered with faith, it reaches the hungering heart.

Like Joseph in the pit, I smelled the earth; like Moses at the burning bush, I felt the heat. I read the little book—the earth melted.

Love and the power of Love and the glory of the power of Love transfixed the instant as a point inside/outside of time It was a speaking of the very Word which memory alone could not communicate or recall— a benediction that echoes and echoes carving through time's quiet places a new definition of the palpable. STEPHEN GOTTSCHALK.

If error seems to sit upon the very doorstep of your thought and howl, don't fear it: No matter what external cacophony there seems to be, you are secure within the consciousness of Love. This noisy neighbor cannot harm you when you stay your thought on God, refusing entry to all else but good.

The passage of time— It seems such a Goliath. It tells me that life is a downhill trip, That at a given point Strength, companionship, resources, inspiration, begin to wane.

An imaginary lion is outside my tent. At first I am alarmed, but then I see that he is quite harmless.

Long ago, men tried to bury the Christ in darkened cave, and rolled a heavy stone across, to seal the grave. Fear, hatred, jealousy, lack of understanding, condemned and crucified; yet the living Christ today bears witness to the Truth, which never died.

I left behind a pile of disenchantment rolled up in tattered rags, a hug of holes, through which the wind of God blew out the husks of mortal sense— blew in Soul-sense. My Father ran to greet me.

Let not the love be stifled in the breast that Love has wrought in me and you to live. Let what Love's loving wakens in each heart live forth the love a heart's designed to give, for living without love is not to live.