Questions & Answers
As from the distant skies, to sight unknown, Descends through heat of day the cooling shower, Giving refreshment to the grass and flower, That seem in summer's drought awearied grown: The gentle rain from out of heaven blown, Of Love's invisible and tender power, In heated error's inharmonious hour, Doth soothe the troubled thought till fear hath flown. And, wakening from its dream, the morning light Hath chased the dismal darkness round about: 'Twas but a fleeting phantom of the night, For Love's sweet freshness is within, without— Eternal springtime in each heart blooms bright, And leaves no taint of weariness or doubt.
For gladdened heart, now filled with love to overflowing; For thought inspired, in grateful deeds outgoing; For bounteous harvests, beyond our feeble sowing,— Give praise. For life that as the eagle its strength reneweth; For peace that by still waters its way pursueth; For brotherly love that the will of the Father doeth,— Give praise.
It was but yesterday I lay beside The gate called Beautiful, where entered in A ceaseless, ever changing stream of men; The most to pray, and some perchance to mock. And mine it was to ask an alms of these, Some scant material offering to receive To satisfy material needs,—the while Something within me hungered and cried out Against the seeming emptiness of all.
The sun creeps round my window-side,— How fair thou art, young day, And thou, so marvelously wide, Thou sky-blue passageway To God's dear happiness! The birds are singing sweet and clear; The bells, I hear them ring. Yes, Father God, Thy call I hear, I too will come and sing.
Not yesterday, tomorrow, but today Holds all of good for all. Th' impartial sun Shines not alone for the more beauteous flower, But reaches where the humblest blade of grass Works its way up through leaves last autumn shed, And strengthens it with warm life-giving glow.
" The sons of God," and "now" are we the same: So read a gentle voice when prayer was done. The daylight was gone out, but at that name I knew my day was only just begun: For how the vision of the Christ's loved one Dawned luminous! I was a son, a son! Now, through the avenue of Mind, I thought Unto the very home of God to fare: I knew no hidden snare, no toil, but sought A sweet uplifted path to lead me there.
Upon the wind of heaven the tones he heard That Adam heard in Eden, and the word Was wonderful, and in his heart it stirred A longing to uprise from faith to sight. Soft on the silver night the numbers fall, "Give me thine heart, my son: give me thine all: If thou wilt gain thy guerdon, heed the call.
Inasmuch as thou hast ventured in the turmoil and the doubt, And with clearer thought of Truth hast turned the hosts of terror out; Though gratitude or guerdon rare were never offered thee, Thou hast done it unto me, beloved, hast done it unto me. Inasmuch as thou hast labored oft, aye! seemingly in vain, To lift away the burden from a brother bent in pain; Though blessing were not whispered, nor a smile rewarded thee, Thou hast done it unto me, brave heart, hast done it unto me.
' Tis a lonely way, said a pilgrim, As he gazed at the path ahead; There is no one to travel beside me And my heart is filled with dread, Because, should I faint or falter Ere I win to the other side, There is none to care in the desert Or to know that I ever tried. The pilgrim went his way With girded loins and sandaled feet, And lo, at close of day His voice arose in accents sweet: He whom my steps fared forth to meet Hath been my guide and stay; 'Twas not a lonely way! 'Tis a rugged way, said a pilgrim, As he noted the dizzy trail; 'Tis a weary climb to the summit, And what if my strength should fail? For the path is so rude and winding And the cliffs are so very high! If I chance to lose my footing There's none who would hear my cry.
That is no true alms which the hand can hold; He gives nothing but worthless gold Who gives from a sense of duty; But he who gives a slender mite, And gives to that which is out of sight, That thread of the all-sustaining beauty Which runs thro' all and doth all unite,— The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, The heart outstretches its eager palms, For a god goes with it and makes it store To the soul that was starving in darkness before. Lowell.