Questions & Answers
Does the day seem dark, and the way seem long? Be still, and know. Does there seem to be less of right than wrong? Be still, and know.
Awake , O earth, awake to hear the singing Of angel hosts that throng thy midnight hour. Lift up your eyes and see the radiant glory That marks the coming of the Christ in power! With justice and with judgment, e'en forever, The Christ will reign and tyranny shall cease! Lift up your hearts, ye nations, greet his coming, The King Eternal and the Prince of Peace.
It is a wondrous thing that thou and I On a new world are gazing, on the verge Of that vast ocean of eternity Whose hymn the prophets heard, whose rhythmic surge Fore-sounded through the centuries, and doth urge The doom of the oppressor: thus we gaze As when from Pisgah's height, upon the marge Of Palestine, athwart the encircling haze Of yore one looked, and longed in wonder and amaze. Like as an eagle, as the tale is told, Renews its youth upon the mountain's crest, Bathing in amber light of liquid gold, And gazing on the sun with fearless quest, So doth the world with all her sins confessed, Her myriad sins, her wars, her woes, her sighs— She that has given her bravest and her best— Pass through the flame, renew her life, and rise From out her own dead self into the radiant skies.
Where there is no vision, the people perish. —Proverbs.
As come the raindrops to a withered flower, So to the heart in an oppressive hour There come these tender words with healing power,— "My peace I leave with you. " Then, weary one, rest in the promise made, At this thy testing time be unafraid,— Let all thy thoughts upon the Christ be stayed, And prove his promise true!
The lamp burned low. 'Gainst Mary's throbbing breast The babe had nestled for the night.
Soft twilight comes, the hour of rest; A crescent moon shines in the west, Yet on the roof and window-pane. I hear the welcome sound of rain— Soft summer shower, whose music falls On listening ears! The heart it calls To peace and joy and gratitude, Telling to all that God is good.
A FAITHFULL student read one night The Holy Scriptures,—his Scriptures,—his delight, His guide, his stay, his daily bread,— And these words stopped him as he read: "Thou shalt increase my greatness. " Yea, But what is greatness, who may say? Can it be wealth or power or fame, Or anything which men acclaim? Is it that greatness hedged with caste, Rank, pomp, precedence? Surely, passed Are all these childish vanities; And God increaseth none of these.
LIKE some small child who waking in the night, Half dazed with dreams, dim phantom shapes espies, Knowing one refuge only from his fright, And groping toward it to his mother cries,— E'en thus do I, when sometimes dreams of sense Creep up, with vague imagined horror shod, O'erwhelmed with fear, in human impotence, Turn quickly to our Father-Mother God. And like a child who finds his mother's arms So warm, so dear, so safe from shadow things, And laughs with her to see his wild alarms Were nothing but a curtain's flutterings,— I too would come to Thee, O Love divine, Helpless myself, but sure of help in Thee.
What is the prize the hero seeks to win? And there be prizes won in quiet ways, Unhonored by the nation's gala days, As great as any won midst battle din. What then this prize the hero fain would gain, So mortal life, and all that in it lies Of treasure, duty, or most sacred ties Bind him with greed, or pride, or love, in vain? Ah! brother, 'tis a joy you may not know Till you have touched his robe who, long ago, Won for himself and proved for us the life That walks serene amid earth's fiercest strife, Bearing the truth made manifest in deeds, Meeting with love divine all human needs.