Questions & Answers
Back of wild clouds that spill their brew of shadow On wave and hill and vale. The faithful sun and faithful stars we trace; Rack of the thunder and the hurtling hail, Rack of the wailing clamor of the tempest, Blue lies the rhythmic hush of boundless space.
" Woman , why weepest thou?" "Why weep not whilst my darkness hath no star, And I from love and joy am so afar In maze of misery? Tell me, I pray, Why weep not when so burdened all the day, Whilst fear and anguish seem on me outpoured, And, tho' I yearn, I cannot see my Lord?" "Woman, awake! 'tis not indifference That saith, 'Why sorrow,' to thy suff'ring sense; Thy Saviour knows 'tis but a mortal dream. E'en tho' thou dreamest, good is still supreme; Love still is loving; all God hath is thine.
"God never failed me yet!" she said, and peace Shone from the aged eyes undimmed and clear. Widowed, with nine young appetites to feed, I knew she sought His aid in every need And supplemented prayer with doughty deed.
There was a time when in my daily prayer I asked for all the things I deemed most fair, And necessary to my life,—success, Riches, of course, and ease, and happiness; A host of friends, a home without alloy; A primrose path of luxury and joy, Social distinction, and enough of fame To leave behind a well-remembered name. Ambition ruled my life.
Not for the love that this world gives, Do I now pray, Not for the love that only lives Just for a day. The love divine I seek is giv'n Of God above.
Mine is the music of the woods and waves, I strike the strings, and give the grand octaves; The mighty tones are mine Of mountain and of pine, And loud upon the listless ear of morn I wind my wakening horn. I am the wing-foot wanderer, that brings A thousand greetings of a thousand things! My chariot mists among I sing the welkin's song; And when the moon is on the moaning deep I sob the world to sleep.
Behold when skies are torn by trebled thunder, And daytime, foul with fury, seemeth night, Across the path of clashing hail there cometh The long-enduring sun's benignant light, And archeth over earth a beauteous halo, Which lusting hands all restlessly beseech— A silent, sevenfold wonder, out of chaos, The radiant rainbow bends, God's law to teach. Yea, clouds drop sweet distilment in their anger, And craving earth doth find her latter rain; Though needles of the frost seem, plied with blighting, They clothe with autumn splendor wood and plain; And nothing fails nor fades apart from being, Life's law of recompense hath countless signs,— The shriek of desert wind at length becometh The soft, balm-breathing discourse of the pines.
Before my heavy lids were raised, And almost mingled with my dreams. These words came clear: "A mortal seems A monster" Miscellaneous Writings, p.
What work is thine? No one of us, in his own single might, Is sent to set a wandering world aright, By call divine. Thy work lies near; Yea, next thy hand, with pregnant promise stored; Nearest of all things,—yet too oft ignored, Because so near.
A tiny thing came drifting through the air, And sought my heart—to find subsistence there. It strove to enter; but the door was fast, And cold the hearth within; the winds that passed Were not more cruel than the coldness drear That held the thing at bay, nor felt it near.