Questions & Answers
Dear heart, when error would thy life enthrall To wrong beliefs of discord, sin, and death, And try to make thy better impulse fall Into the mire, despair not thou; But ever searching, list'ning for the call Of Love, pursue thy path along the straight And narrow way. Since Love is All, Then enter thou at Love's pure gate.
What though the call to arms sounds through the land, What though earth quakes with battle's thunder-shock Till ev'n the mighty mountains seem to rock, When hate's conflicting forces make their stand! What though false powers have uttered their demand! Their "shalt" or "shalt not" is a thing of naught To Him who the great universe hath wrought, And holdeth its deep places in His hand. Its firm foundations at His word appear, And foes defiant from that presence flee, When good triumphant conquereth every fear, And Love divine destroys malignity.
"Ah, what is Love?" The question softly fell. Can human tongue the perfect answer tell? Is it the sunset radiance, or the shade That steals at twilight down the sleepy glade? Is it the broken whisper of a prayer Springing from that meek heart where once despair Held sway but rules no longer, or the smile On childlike face that knows nor fear nor guile,— The song that rises as tears fall the while? "And where is Love?" The question plaintive grew.
Love fills thy every need; O doubting heart, look up, And lips rejoice, that ye may drink From Truth's unemptied cup. Love fills thy every need; Bid lurking fear go hence, And of the Father's bounty take In trust and confidence.
I stood on the hills in the morning light, And watched the dawn of a new-born day; I saw how the sunbeams on dancing wings Chased dusky shadows of night away, And thought how good deeds from a heart of love Could drive away the impure, untrue; I said as I turned from the glory heights, Oh, what today wilt Thou have me do? Then into my heart flew a song of love, An echo falling from angel choirs; Not mine was the song, but the dear Lord said, A spark can kindle earth's altar fires; A strain that may drop from Mind's harmony, A joy-strung harp, on its thrilling strings May catch and repeat with the power of Truth The life-giving song that an angel sings. In gladness I sang all the livelong day The song that echoed within my heart, And when on the hilltops again I stood To watch the westering day depart, The valley uplifted the song to me From one who had waked from his mortal dream, To know the glad truth and to see the light That through the mists of earth's errors gleam.
A little child lay helpless On a bed of fevered pain, And as weeks passed by he would sometimes cry, "Shall I ever play again?" He would turn on his downy pillow, Where the window brought to view A patch of sky where the clouds flew by Across a waste of blue; Then he wondered if God behind them Could see him waiting there; Or whether an angel passing by Ever caught his whispered prayer. But softly, one dark evening, At the close of the passing year, A message came in a friendly name To the child who was held so dear.
It is not the water of Spirit That is measured out to man, Nor the heads of the heavenly harvest That are crushed into chaff and bran; Nor is it the leaves from the tree of life That die in the autumn air, Nor the beautiful treasure of His good house That is hoarded with fear and care; For the spiritual flood of cleansing Is struck from the wayside rock, And the bread which the Father gives us Can never the hungry mock. And the tree of life in the midst thereof Yields never to time or age, And the wealth of the heavenly kingdom Is shared by the humblest page.
How tenderly the summer zephyr blows And wakes the slumbering air! How sweet the breeze! Softly the scene arouses from its ease And, erstwhile silent, gentle being knows, As through the valley quietly it goes, Invisible, 'mid flowers, grass, and trees That sway in harmony, and o'er the leas To grateful herds refreshment kind bestows. Soothing the troubled thought like summer wind, Love reassuring breathes exalting cheer, And from earth's lethargy to joys enshrined In Truth's pure temple, wakes the one in fear To knowledge that our home is peaceful Mind, And swayed by Love we walk with angels here.
Oh , not with outstretched hand and pitying glance, And lips that meet the tear-stained cheek with sighs, Not in soft words that fall but to enhance The floods of agony, our healing lies; But with the tender longing to restore Our wand'ring brother to his rightful home, We find the wings to rise from earth and soar Into Love's presence, where no ill can come. Ah, then, we know ! No better love than this, The love of him who saw and touched and healed; For though our Master spurned not Mary's kiss, He, through his works, the truer love revealed.
Beneath the summer evening's last late gleam, Who has not of a fair land dreamed a dream, And watched at sunset its bright doors of gold, And almost wept to see the darkness fold Them fast in shadows! Yea, or that country may Have lain much nearer to our common day, In mists enrolled, Even across the gray hills in the west, Where the swift birds flew homeward to their rest. They knew its ramparts and its gardens bright, And fled away there from the coming night.