Questions & Answers
IF he tarry till I come, What is that to thee? ('Tis the Master who reproves) Follow thou me! If his stumbling steps seem slow, What is that to thee? I am guiding him—and thee; Follow thou me! Is thine own step steady, sure? Thine eye clear to see? Hast thou thyself left all for me? Follow thou me! His slow and stumbling steps may be Steadier than thine own; Who art thou that thou shouldst judge? That work is mine alone. Would'st thou haste Truth to unfold? Live it, lovingly; Let thy brother see thy steps Following me.
Sing unto the Lord, O, sing! Sing a gladsome, cheering song; Let its melody outwing Every murmuring of wrong. Come, forego your doleful lays, Serving only to depress; Learn the harmonies of praise, Which uplift, redeem, and bless.
Beside the door six water pots were ranged. Empty for service.
I Care not if the clouds be hanging low. And spreading mists obscure the light of day.
To-day holds all the joy and good of yesterday, Reflected and expressed; To-morrow, but to-day made manifest. And so the days, each one a glistening pearl In the full strand, Unfold at length unto the seventh,— The Sabbath consciousness of God's great plan, Perfect universe and perfect man,— The day of rest.
How shall I sing the praise Of Him who is the Lord of all my days? How can my tones conform With His, whose clarion rules the raging storm, Though men hear not His voice, nor view His form? Can any creature of a passing day Touch His high footsteps on their heavenly way? We know man lives not here, As leaves that fall with every passing year, As falling leaves that fade, That laugh or weep in sunlight or in shade For one brief hour, then in the dust are laid. Our life in Truth can never faint or fail In God's eternity within the veil.
When day 's begun, And hope with vivid hues illumes the sky, And songs spontaneous rise, and heaven is nigh,— God is thy Sun. At height of day, When self in subtle guise would baffle thee, And Mammon offering bribes says, Worship me,— God is thy stay.
They say you are gone, O lad of mine, Killed in action, the message read. Of what avail is our faith to us now, Since the one we loved is dead? But what is death? And what is Love? 'Twas told us in days of yore By the prophet who lived and healed and taught On that far Galilean shore.
In Thine almighty hand I know that all is well,— The sea, the air, the land. Alike Thy glory tell; My life is hid in Love's protecting power.
A rest remaineth on earth's battle fields To every son of man, a Sabbath rest,— Progressive states of peace to him who yields His all to Principle,—unfoldment, blest With true enlightenment. There is, indeed.