Questions & Answers
The day seemed dark, and clouds hung black as night; Life seemed all struggle, fight came after fight; Friends seemed unkind, and discord reigned within; And everywhere seemed sickness, want, and sin. "Look up! Awake! These are not thoughts of Life; Love bids you rise above this human strife; Good is the real, no matter what may seem; Shake off the spell, the false material dream.
Our Father God, refine Thou our desires; Give us the strength and courage that can dare To face with joy even the cleansing fires, Since Thou art there. O Mother God, give us compassion's eyes That, conquering all illusion, clearly see Man as Thy glorious child, lowly yet wise, Reflecting Thee.
Dear God, for all that Thou hast ever sent me. My heart goes out to Thee in gratitude.
As Enoch walked with God in days of yore, In that he sought "for things above the floor," Poems, by Mary Baker Eddy, p. 38.
'Tis the glad messengers of Truth release From fetters false of sorrow, sin, disease, Poor struggling hearts 'mid ills that sense reports. His "still small voice" inspires with healing thoughts, And leads to higher views, to know His might, To see His tender, loving care, the light Of Love that knows no fear.
I do not long for power, nor lordly place; I do not sigh for jewels, nor for minted gold; I would not grieve if gifts of worldly grace, If land or houses or a large career, If luxury or plaudits men revere, My days of earthly pilgrimage should never hold. Yet, oh! within me wakes a craving deep And confident, like woodland wings that skyward start At dawn, the wish that I may find and keep Uplifting thoughts along my lowly way.
The hall was quiet for the priests were done; The people crouched obeisance,—all save I, Call'd son of Pharaoh's daughter; for a voice Spake in mine ear in accents half unknown: Moses, fare forth upon the winds of thought. Then I brake forth, until I saw the sky Above me, where into the firmament The planets burned, while from the banks of Nile Rose, to their God, the cry of Israel.
Time was when waiting seemed such idle play— To fold the hands and, hoping still, to weave The future's gold and silver threads, and leave All that we dreamed by night, or wished by day, For other hands to do. Misunderstood, God's will seemed seldom good! Pain, sorrow, care, Seemed sent from heaven to purge and make us good, And fit us for a future journey there.
When the earth-clouds gather 'round me And my path I cannot see, As a child that gropes in darkness, Reaches out my sense for Thee. Then within a still voice whispers: God is with me where I go, And His presence lights my pathway; Prayer pleads not,—it doth know.
We ask not, God, for greatness, to be thrust Upon us as we walk Thy way: Not for acclaim, nor yet for heads bowed down; No, not for these we watch and pray. But this we ask of Thee with midnight tears, With prayerful hearts and longing strife, That we may walk with Thee in gentleness, And show the tenderness of Life.