Questions & Answers
The budding trees, the soft, warm breeze,— All herald life anew; In sunlight bright the radiant sight Dawns gloriously to view. God's work is done; to every one This knowledge comes at last.
May my work stand for Truth, O God, alone For harmony and Love. May no false tone Falling from harp strings out of tune with Thee Mar the sweet music of life's symphony.
"Whatever inspires with wisdom, Truth, or Love—be it song, sermon, or Science—blesses the human family with crumbs of comfort from Christ's table, feeding the hungry and giving living waters to the thirsty. "—"Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" ( p.
Help me to sing Thy praise In little, nameless ways. The smallest deed done, Lord, for Thee Makes such sweet melody; Oh, foolishness from singing thus to cease, Losing, thereby, my peace.
By His vision thou canst see, By His inspiration thrive; By His freedom thou art free; By His life art thou alive. Conscious of His strength we stand, With the power of His might; Thine to hold His guiding hand, Thine to follow in His light.
What thought of heav'n within thy heart appears To veil our eyes with sudden mist of tears? What secret of immortal loveliness Lies in the folded whiteness of thy dress? We may not know the gentle ministry Of thine appearing, till aright we see With inward vision, shining through thy heart, The Love that formed thee, separate and apart From taint of earth and sorrowful decay, Forever fair in His eternal day. Thus God's undying universe we see In the clear light of thy simplicity.
To till the ground— To know that 'neath the soil There lies the recompense for all thy toil; That through the clinging, heavy earth shall spring The fruitage of thy careful nourishing. To till the ground— To know there is no clay, But only Life that knoweth no decay; The bud and blossom of eternal thought Are sure reward for all that thou hast wrought.
The roses bloom for me more beautifully Year by year; More fragrantly the lilies of the valley Breathe their balm; Bird song is dearer every spring's arriving. Can't you hear The warbler's ecstasy anew proclaiming, "Spring—it is here!" Why should your heart, remembering ancient sorrows, Itself bemoan? From out the winter-chastened earth are springing Violets; All things are new—a new heart may be chosen For heart of stone, And softly, freshly, out of it be growing Joy—your own! The budding vines are tender, lucent, giving A goodly smell; "Better than wine" the scent of briar roses, And mignonette, And linden bloom.
Your life is "hid with Christ in God," So Paul, the dauntless, sang; Nor sword nor persecution feared, Nor viper's poisonous fang. He knew that God alone is Life, Whence all true being sprang.
O plodder! Lift thy gaze above the clod, And watch the lark that swings Against the dome of blue, And sings, and sings. O plodder! Lift thy thought above the earth, Above the hurt and sting, To see and know thy God,— And sing, and sing.