Poems

The Bible was, to me, Like a door without a key, Until a "little book" Unlocked it, easily. Now its treasuries hold Precious pearls and gold— Healing truths That continually unfold.

The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein. His work is honourable and glorious: and his righteousness endureth for ever.

Kind and sensitive friend, You are in reality, safe above The passionate storm of unenlightened sense, Of magnetic enchantment, Which would draw you Like a perceptionless moth Into the flame of self-destruction. No hypnotic thrall Reaches man in Soul.

Go there quickly. Move out of illusion into Soul.

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Through the darkness—in this valley at the bottom of all hope— At the lowest moment that my heart has ever felt (it seems), There comes a gleam. Gleam of God's light—of His truth, that paints out shadows in my thought And makes a place for form and line and color to appear; For precious lengths of freeing prayer.

It will surely come— the reconciliation. Meanwhile I will work.

Like waves, they could beat and pound upon us— those lost in heartache, hate, and fear. With words like angry fists they would jab and numb us, refuse the Christlike touch of drawing near.

Come, pray with me, friend, 'til the dark vision passes, And the truth of God's allness avails. (The caller and called—fellow learners, Partners in a project of proving God's Word is forever.

I obeyed! Although it didn't make much sense at the time, I had heard God's demand in my thought, And though I fought (I reasoned, remonstrated, refused!) When I finally acquiesced— Acted— What blessing it brought! PAMELA LYNN CRAWFORD.