Questions & Answers
Thou art the Way, dear Christ, by which we walk! A thorny way to sense, yet strewn with flowers For those who falter not, nor turn aside In search of broader paths and heedless hours. Thou art the vine, and we the branches are.
The oil of gladness let me bring, Despite the voice of strife, To solace with its Christly gift The woes of human life. Let charity command my lips And give them gentle speech, With warmth and love and quietude The troubled hour to reach.
Tune our ears to hear the symphony of Soul; Train our eyes to see the grandeurs of each day; Be every thought-touch gentle, that the whole Of life be voiced in a love-sweet roundelay. Let joy's perfume be scattered in the world abroad, The excellence of wisdom grace dissent or nod, Truth's beauty be upon us which we praise and laud, And Love, the all-harmonious, be known—our God.
We long for wings! Self, weary of a sense that clings To dust, and all material things,, Rebels at limitation; then We long for wings. We have our wings—God-given, free; Unfurled, they reach eternity.
The peaceful river in its flow Mirrors the radiant morning's glow, And glistening sunbeams dance their way Upon its surface, glad and gay; And in the quiet sunset hour It wears the hue of every flower, From faintest rose to brightest gold— Mother-of-pearl its ripples hold. Thus may the Sun of righteousness Shine forth in us to heal and bless; Its beams of light, reflected, shine In gladdening thoughts from Love divine.
There was a time when I approached each day With willful feet and calculating eyes, Like some young child who sees an offered prize And steps out greedily. I did not pray For guidance that I might not lose my way; I took the path that self-will justifies, Nor knew its tongue could only tell me lies About the goal, to lead my steps astray.
Let us seek Truth's holy temple, And with reverence enter there, Close the door to sense and sorrow, Lift our thoughts in silent prayer; Know that God through Christian Science Has revealed Himself to men; That the false beliefs of error Are but mortal dreams, and then Praise the Lord and count our blessings. Hearken not to error's voice, But with gratitude, thanksgiving, Count our blessings and rejoice.
Thou art free from harm or fear— Only God, none else is here. Spiritual, His wise design Keeps in safety thee and thine.
Oh , when the clouds break and the vision shines, Clear, radiant—unchanged in perfect grace— We wonder how we doubted or gave place To such a brood of fears and murmurings!
Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith—Matthew 6:30. The clouds float by on seraph wings; Care-free above the skylark sings, And soars, and sails on parted wings.