Questions & Answers
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.
That I may touch a heart, O God, with song; That I may heal a wound, through Truth and Love, Or gently lift some toiler's weary load As o'er the steep and rugged way he strives; That, knowing true compassion, I may free Some sin-bound thought, and lead it toward the light Which ever shines, though men may heed it not, While dreams of mortal sense hold blinding sway; That, knowing full at-one-ment, Lord, with Thee, Its ever perfect peace I may attest, Though storm-tossed waves at times should seem to roll, And mortal night its darkest clouds should spread. Such is my longing hope, my constant prayer; Thus would I ever share Thy treasured gifts; For Thy all-truth, and life, and love supply The needs of all who come with childlike trust.
Love spread the feast, then bade me come and eat, Drink the sweet wine, and taste the heavenly bread; But I did eat the fruits of emptiness, And drank of dreams instead. Within the deepness of this cup lay grief, Regret, and hidden bitterness and pain; Across the hurrying phantom of the years, Love called to me again.