Questions & Answers
Not where they slay and speak of sin and doom Is my beloved found. Man's radiant self Was never born in kinship with the dust, And the bright splendor of his heaven-girt life Can never fail, nor fade out in the dark.
See the star of peace arise, Glowing o'er a world at strife, Lighting all who would be wise, Seeking Truth and Love and Life. Kindle in our hearts, bright star, Rays of good will, blessing all, Which like angels, near and far, Man unto his Maker call.
Upon a vine clad terrace, in one deep niche That fallen stones had made within the wall, Sat Mary; her head, heavy with hours of leaden thought, Drooped wearily upon her hand; her dreamy eyes Misty with unshed tears gazed out beyond The blue horizon of the distant hills In dull despair. The Master had not come! Four days, four nights, and yet he had not come! Oh, she had watched it seemed a thousand years That pathway from Judæa! Her straining sight Reeled inward, dazed and dizzy as she gazed, And her acute ears caught, between the sounds Of wailing and of mourning in the house, The falling of a pebble with sharp pain.
" He giveth his beloved sleep. " O heart unresting, overwrought, Disquieted by anxious thought.
Little lamb, do you seek the fold Where the shepherd is kind to you? Does he guard you well from the storm and cold, And tenderly watch the whole night through, Little lamb? Little lad, as you leave your play And seek the haven of warmth and light, Does the mother-kiss heal the scars of day As you safely slumber throughout the night, Little lad? Heart of mine, put thy fears away! God is near, though the darkness fall; Love will wake thee to peaceful day; Love is perfect, and All-in-all, Heart of mine!
The mask was played, the players gone: Yussuf Ben Orem lingered on And pondered o'er each mimic scene. Each player and his mirrored mien.
Where are the joys of yesteryear? Is no trace left behind? Have they taken wings, those treasures dear, And flown upon the wind? Not so; on Spirit, Truth, were stayed The joys of yesteryear. Thus they leave us not, nor can they fade, For Truth is always here.
You hold the wistful blue of mothering skies, The rose of tender dawns that glowed for you, The green of sheltering grasses,—myriad dyes,— And in your little heart, rimmed round with blue, Serenely shrined, a tiny likeness lies Of the gold sun, in whose great light you grew. You give your very self in blossoming; Your small largesse is prodigally spent; Joyously wide your tiny leaves you fling, Dispensing smiling what to you was lent.
Doth want and woe thy path attend? Art weary, sad, without a friend? Dear heart, from mortal dreams arise,— Only God's likeness satisfies. Seek not for ease or selfish gain; Let truth and justice ever reign, Thy life with unselfed love abound,— Thus Love's supply is always found.
Two patient pilgrims stood at eventide The eternal Ruler's palace gate beside, And sought admittance in the name of one They'd met on earth—the King's beloved Son. And when the Son had heard what they desired, Their proof of love and righteousness required.