Questions & Answers
Spring said to the early violet: "Thy work is needed here, — Here where the dead leaves linger yet And the earth is cold and sere. " Spring said: "Dear message-bearer, Thy work is needed here.
When navies are forgotten And fleets are useless things, When the dove shall warm her bosom Beneath the eagle's wings, — When memory of battles At last is strange and old, When nations have one banner And creeds have found one fold, — When the Hand that sprinkles midnight With its powdered drift of suns Has hushed this tiny tumult Of sects and swords and guns, — Then hate's last note of discord In all God's worlds shall cease, In the conquest which is service, In the victory which is peace! Frederick Lawrence Knowles. In "Love Triumphant.
Thou hast fallen asleep, O my burden, asleep! And I know Thou never wilt wake through the centuries' ebb and flow. Thy sovereignty of semblance is over at last; Barred are the doors of my being, thou pitiless foe, Forever to thee.
Be still, and know that I am God alone! Content to rest in this deep consciousness, The unrealities of sense that press Upon us are dispelled. The only one, The Lord of Hosts is with us, and the moan Of hurt is hush'd and still'd, and all the stress Of circumstance, the ills that would oppress And cast us down in misery are gone; And in their stead there come sweet joys again, And love,—the perfect gifts He waits to give To us, the weary ones who oft have trod The rough and bruising paths that seem to pain,— But only seem,—since thus we learn to live.
Life ! Life! Life! But a paltry time ago We thought its seat Was the rhythmic beat Of the heart, and the pulses' flow; But the scales have dropped from our eyes since then, And we know that Mind is the life of men. Truth! Truth! Truth! How we sought it everywhere! Oh, the years we gave To the effort brave, The unspeakable labor and care! And we learn to-day that deep down within We must wake to the truth which redeems from sin.
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. —Psalms.
What have we learned from all the load of years To stay despair, to stanch the stream of tears ? From out the centuries of night and crime Have we no message from the mists of time? Has knowledge no interpreter, no guide To read the riddle and to stem the tide? Whence have we come, and whither leads the way,— Our darkling path, whereon the moonbeams play? Who bids the violet wake beneath the snows ? Whence comes the scent of this consummate rose? How learned the lark, at morning's call, to sing His laureate song, the prelude of the spring? There is a book, and he who runs may read, And seek and find the solace of his need, Learn how the lark, the summer's sonneteer, Weaves his wild notes, and why the flowers appear, And last and first upon the enchanting page Learn man is one with God from age to age; And one with him who parted from our sight,— The first among the sinless sons of light. Hast thou beheld where passed the seamless dress, Or heard the still, small voice in storm and stress— The thunder moaning over moor and hill, That hushed as echo answered, "Peace, be still"? Are we the sons of God ? Let every tongue Join in the song by His creation sung.
Day dawns, and brings the world new light ; Fades, dies away the gloom of night. In silence comes the dawn's first golden ray; A power unseen has changed the night to day.
Our Father knows my need to-day; I do not, doubting, ask For happy hours or golden way, Or loving, helpful task; But, with all trust in Love, I pray : Our Father knows my need to-day. Our Father knows my need this hour; Where'er my steps may go, The saving light of Truth's high tower Now leads me—this I know.
Hungry , hungry, heart-hungry, While there is love enough and to spare! O pilgrim, suffer not dearth with its gloom and its thrust! For the bread and the wine of the feast are thy share— Thy meat, not scraps, with bones that are polished and bare— And with fuel thy hearthstone is heaped, not ashes and dust. Hungry, hungry, heart-hungry, While the viands of Love at thy fingertips lie! What criest thy pain— at thy Tantalus-touch they recede? Nay; to thy longing, advancing, they multiply, Imparting abundance for want, a smile for a sigh— Giving comfort and strength through the night of thy need.