Questions & Answers
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.
" Talitha cumi!" If of thee 'tis said, As of that daughter of Jairus' heart, Thou art beyond the help of human aid, God's healing truth can bid the dream depart. "Talitha cumi!" Though they laugh to scorn The spoken declaration made for thee, Still, like the eastern maid to life reborn, At this decree thine opened eyes shall see.
Oh , I am so glad, said the little rose, To grow! So glad of the dew and the soft fresh winds That blow! So glad I can lift my petals pink From the clod; Praise God! cried the rose, in her own sweet way, Praise God! Oh, I am so glad, cried the little brook, To flow! To wend my way from the mount to the vale Below; To ripple cool by the rocks and the fair Green sod. Praise God! cried the brook, as it sang to the sea, Praise God! Oh, I am so glad, said a son of man, For life! For the power to be and do in a noble Strife: To joyously act, and neither shirk Nor plod.
Why should I wait for evening star, — Why should I wait to cross the bar, And death's dissolving hand to trace The outlines of my Pilot's face? Must my frail barque be driven and tossed By winds and waves, —be wrecked and lost Upon life's strange and storm-swept sea Because my Pilot's far from me? No, not alone my way I trace, Each wave gives back my Pilot's face; To every sin and fear and ill, To every storm he says, "Be still. " I need no longer vex my soul With longings for that distant goal: My Pilot sitteth at the prow, And heaven's within, and here, and now.
Amid the somber shades and deep'ning hush Of night and gathering storm; thro' paths o'ergrown With tangled underbrush, the serpent's lair, Seeking in solitude the place of prayer, Jesus went up alone. Alone and unafraid; no lurking foe But shrank aside as the calm footstep passed.
Uncounted now, those years of toil and struggle; Forgotten now, those hungry days and cold, For in the miner's horny hand Lies treasure of his promised land. From vein upturned of rarest virgin gold.
Out of the depths I heard a woman cry: "Give me, dear Lord, a mission that I may Work as my brothers work, and grant that I May know the joy of sacrifice,—the way Of human love—the shadows and the light. " I heard a cry out of the depths of night.