Questions & Answers
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.
Pray listen, friend and neighbor, may I ask Just where God's sunshine enters thy domain? Thy welcome smile, in which I love to bask, Brings twofold healing to my bed of pain. Is 't through thy trusting heart that thou receiv'st The cheer that only heaven can bestow? Or is it through thy healing words thou leav'st A sense of quiet rest where'er you go? Perhaps thine eyes, so filled with hope, may be The windows to thine inner realm, and through Them shines the light that helps thee well to see Thy brother's daily need with clearer view.
My "upper room" is furnished. Lord, fails there yet one thing, Or has aught been forgotten, That Thou wilt not come in? I've washed my dusty floorings All white with purity, And swept out many a falsehood, To make more room for Thee.
I am so happy all the glad day long That each new morning brings another song; And each new problem which I dare assay Is but a step upon ascension's way. No good is ever lost; no truth destroyed; No pure desire by failure is alloyed; But as the moth forsakes its chrysalis And soars up eagerly to realms of bliss, With ne'er a backward look for what is lost, Nor e'en a sigh, counting how great the cost, So have I seen the gradual giving way Of things and thoughts and circumstances,—clay Which did but blind my inner, holier sight, Mere hindrances upon my upward flight.
A Kindly word Dropped in a heart, And grew and grew, Until in overflow It reached Some other weary hearts; And these, in turn, Spilled their sweet burden, Until a million hearts Were comforted.
The Syrians by companies had gone out And captive brought away from Israel A little maid to live in servitude, A friendless orphan in a foreign land. I love thy story, little captive maid; The Book's brief chronicle a volume speaks, And humbles us with wonder and amaze.
Oh , dear, dear heart, when thy dark hour is come, And thou canst see no ray of hope, bow not Thy head in grief, nor sit in silence dumb; But stand, and know that sorrow cannot blot The joy from out thy heart. 'Tis but a lie That would deceive thy frightened human sense Of things.
She asked not any rest, nor any praise, This meek and dauntless messenger of God; Only the right, amid the many ways, To seek and find the path her Master trod. And so she found it.
I stagger on with weary shoulders bowed Beneath the burden of my self-made cross. Tired arms I lift to Thee, but manacled In self-forged, rankling chains.