Questions & Answers
In finite sense, which views the starry dome above With mortal vision, human thought cannot conceive Of aught that is beyond. A finite sense has circumscribed itself And all that comes within its misty view, And through the vast domains of space takes timid wing, As e'en the tender nestling from some low-bent bough.
Help me, O God! to do Thy will; Thy every gift to me unstained keep; Help me the voice of sense to still, Till I the harvest of Thy sowing reap. Help me to hold the thought in check, Which, if in me it e'er should find a place, Would my most cherished treasures wreck, And all my aspirations pure debase.
"I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance. " Matt.
It came, but after weeks of pain, you say; When darkened hours prevailed, with scarce a ray To cheer you on your ever faltering way. And you were patient, trustful, kind? It came, you say, a glint of heavenly blue, And 'round your couch Love's healing presence threw A halo of assurance, strangely new.
"Truth will at length compel us all to exchange the pleasures and pains of sense for the joys of Soul. "—Science and Health, p.
Father-Mother God , unchanging Love, Give me an understanding of Thy gift, To feel Thy tender presence, far above The struggling senses, thoughts adrift. Unfold in me the truth, that I may find Humility to serve no other voice But Thine,—Thy call—one Mind,— And ever in that work rejoice! Reflect through me Thy love, that I may give The living bread—and not a stone— To all who ask; so, I may live Unselfed, and seek Thy love alone.
God held thy hand; and thou didst reach to me Thine other as I stumbled, tenderly Lifting me to the mount where thou didst stand; And now I, too, can grasp the Father's hand. God smiled on thee; thy countenance did show The joy which comes to those who Love's smile know; I listened to thy songs of praise a while; And now I, too, can see my Father's smile.
There is no sorrow, though our tears are falling, There is no malice where we see the frown; No terrors lurk where darkness seems appalling, No poverty, though human hopes be flown. There is no death, though many a heart is aching; Love waits triumphant at each mourner's side, And in the seeming gloom is gently breaking The glorious truth which earth can no more hide.
No more I pray for worldly things, For gold, or fame, or mortal ken; I pray for light of Truth, which brings The richest blessings unto men. No more I pray tn be content With false ideals, as of yore; I pray that now I may present A higher selfhood than before.
Look up when the dark skies lower; Climb high when the road is steep, When evil would have thee cower, And the waters of sin run deep. Fear not, for Love's arm victorious Hath never forsaken thee, And thou in God's image, glorious, Hath gotten the victory.