Questions & Answers
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.
How often, when the storm was fierce, My path was dreary, and the thorns did pierce, I paused, and heeding this divine command, Beheld sweet roses blooming 'mid the sand. How often, when I long for rest, Borne down by toil and care, I wake to find myself most blest, God's happy child and heir; To find that good doth ceaseless flow To those who heed "Be still, and know.
"Beloved , now are we the sons of God. " O hope sublime, yea, surety passing sure! 'Tis ours on earth to rise above the sod, To dare the heights immortal, angel-trod, Till on the God-crowned peak we stand secure.
Enough and to spare of the buttercups gold That wander the meadow over; Enough and to spare of the dandelion, The gay little vagabond rover. Enough and to spare in the robin's nest For the soft mother-wing to cover; Enough and to spare in the thrush's note, The shy, sweet woodland lover.
To persevere unto the very end, To leave no work unfinished, none untried That duty seems my willing hands to send; That my most earnest efforts be applied When wisdom sends me forth to fare alone T' uproot the tangle in life's garden grown— This, my desire. To laugh with those who leap along the way, To sorrow with the languishing who mourn, To sing His praises through the darkest day, Thus cheering the world-weary, the forlorn; And when the night shuts down, steadfast to stand Beside the drooping eye, the heavy hand— This, my desire.