Questions & Answers
Dear Father-Mother God, in Thee we find our way, Made gloriously bright by ever present ray Of Truth's encircling light. We walk serenely on, enfolded in its glow, Courageous, steadfast, sure, with confidence we know The way in Thee secure.
I walk alone sometimes with hand outstretched, Like to a little child in midnight hours, Stumbling and calling "Mother" in the dark; And then I hear the voice of Love assure: The God of Israel slumbers not nor sleeps, The Father-Mother God is ever near; The gentle hand of Truth is leading thee! Then in the bright effulgence thus revealed I tread aright along the path of good.
" Straight on its course flies opportunity, Once gone, unused, 'twill nevermore return. " Thus quotes, with false suggestion, mortal mind.
Dear one, look up, behold that vast expanse Of good, of beauty, life, and love, where floats No cloud of sense; where neither fear nor pain Can mar your vision of the perfect man. Son, thou art with me; all I have is thine! This fact of God's creation stands untouched By mortal dreams, and all their train of woe.
Love be with thee in the silence, Comfort thee and keep thy heart, Love be with thee in the shadows When the anxious teardrops start. Love be with thee in the tumult When confusion seeks to reign, Point thee to a wiser purpose Far than futile human gain.
The peace of Love divine is here for all Who hear the voice of Truth and heed the call: Come! Leave this restlessness, this strife and din That all around thee seems to draw thee in. Come to that place of peace and love oft told, Where Christ awaits with blessings manifold.
"God is our Father and our Mother, our Minister and the great Physician: He is man's only real relative on earth and in heaven. "—Miscellaneous Writings, by Mary Baker Eddy, page 151.
'T was but a violet in a glen— It gave its praise to God; Obedient to the law of Love, It smiled above the sod. No place it craved except to be Where Love had set its bloom, To voice the song of beauty free In nature's mansion room.
They are not real— The terror, sin, and pain That seem to surge and billow endlessly! They are not real! May we but cling to that, And hold so quietly, so firmly, to the fact That we can walk Serene into the seeming storm, With holy consciousness That all is well; Nor let the waves of hatred, pride, or scorn That rise resistant to the touch of Truth, Disturb our quiet sense That good alone is real. So may we never pause to ask If it were better to avoid the waves, And wait for calmer seas; But move triumphantly and joyously Into whatever lies before our path, So wrapped within the sacred calm Of all-enfolding Love That no intruding thought can harm; So undisturbed, whatever be the claim, That others, mesmerized by seeming ill.
I wake , dear Lord, at morning's dawn— The smile of this, Thy day— To find the night, though dark and long, Is passing fast away. I listen, Lord; Thy voice I hear In message sweet, to me.