Questions & Answers
Wild roses of music well up in my soul That the toiling thoughts stand still to hear; Reverberant, rich as the organ's roll, Their theme is the dawn of a dominant cheer. Swift rhythms of rapture my musings control, Untangling all discords, while, jubilant, clear, Wild roses of music well up in my soul That the toiling thoughts stand still to hear.
I set my life-door open wide, Inviting all to come inside; But they who hurried past my door, Left me more lonely than before! I watched them to my neighbor go— Some thoughtfully, some fast, some slow; Some glanced at me with smiling eye, But came not in—I wondered why. And watching them, I saw, although They oft looked sad and sick, walked slow And haltingly, as they went in.
Suffer them to come, the Master said, The kingdom is of such; and laid his hand With lingering tenderness upon the head Of one, the nearest of the little band. Wide-eyed, they clustered there about his knees, Held by the love that trembled in that voice Whose accents vanquished sin, unloosed disease, And called a world to hearken and rejoice.
A mote of vagrant pollen went, breeze-borne, With fertile gospel unto barren corn; One teeming talent, missed by vine and leaf, Bore magical enrichment to a sheaf; Yet no man saw the miracle that morn. A wee brown-breasted singer, during rain, Released one wild wood-lyric, and again The miracle of speech, to one long mute.
Art thou a seeker for harmonious day? Pale pearls the twilight in the quiet skies, The clouds dissolve, and plainer grows the way, As Love's clear vision meets the longing eyes. Hast thou to meet the chastisement of scorn, Which seeks to injure through material sense? Arise betimes, as one who, heaven-born, Wieldeth the weapons of omnipotence.
" I am the light,"—so spake in days of old The God-crowned Jesus, meek as he was bold. He spoke the word, and lo! the light of Love Descended softly, like the nestling dove: The light of ever-present Truth and good Brought joy to mourners, to the hungry food.
Comes a tide of joy, Surging, surging, Till it fills my life, Urging, urging; Now the voice of God, Clearer, clearer, Calls the wayward heart Nearer, nearer; And with song I answer, Serving, serving, Thou my all shalt be, In faith unswerving. Elizabeth Mallory.
O what a woe is this! that I, A child of Him who reigns on high, Should dwell in this mortality! Why do I deem that foul is fair, That dark is light, and hope despair? And who is Truth's interpreter? O well-a-day! and woe is me! How may I gain the golden key To loose my fetters and be free? For life is false, and love is cold, And truth itself is bought and sold, And earth is mildewed, worn, and old.
What is thy hope, as laboring day by day In office high or 'mid the loathsome mire, Or sunk in idleness: dost thou aspire To aims above this mortal world of clay? Knowest thou at length, awearied, thou shalt say: "I yearn, alas, for something nobler, higher, Yet know it not!" And wouldst thou then inquire For that strange something, aye, and seek the way? Above earth's falsities thy steps must go, Thine eyes on Truth be fixed to conquer fear; And Love' shall guide thee, for thy heart shall know His tender presence, comfort ever near, Till o'er the earth-hung mist the light doth show Mind's pure creation to thy vision clear.
In silence mighty things are wrought— Silently builded, thought on thought, Truth's temple greets the sky; And, like a citadel with towers, The soul, with her subservient powers, Is strengthen'd silently. Soundless as chariots on the snow, The saplings of the forest grow To trees of mighty girth; Each nightly star in silence burns, And every day in silence turns The axle of the earth.