Questions & Answers
Thou art the way! With Thee to guide, Gloriously the pathway shines; And naught on earth can dim or hide The brightness of that light divine. Thou art the Truth! With Thee to shield, Dark error cannot overcome; The sword of Right we bravely wield, And victors prove in ev'ry strife.
Still , still with Thee when purple morning breaketh, When the tired waketh, and the shadows flee, Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee. Alone with Thee, amid the seeming shadows, The solemn hush of being, newly born, Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
Ah ! solemn mountain at whose feet I stand, Clouds do adorn thy brow, skies clasp thy hand; Nature and God, in harmony profound, With peaceful presence have begirt thee round. And thou majestic oak, from yon high place Guard'st thou the earth, asleep in night's embrace? Or from thy lofty summit, pouring down Thy sheltering shade, her noonday glories crown? Whate'er thy mission, mountain sentinel, O'er my lone heart thou hast a magic spell; A lesson grave of life, thou teachest me— I love the Hebrew figure of a tree.
Now the ills of flesh surround us, Oft the storm clouds hide the sun, But though dark the night around us, Day is breaking further on; Further onward all the mists and clouds are gone. Here the thorns with flowers are growing; Rough and weary is our path; Gentle waters seldom flowing In the desert ways of earth, Further onward, sweet immortal springs have birth.
The soul wherein God dwells (what church can holier be?) Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty. How far from earth to heaven, not very far, my friend; A single heavy step will all thy trouble end.
What though temptations fierce allure thee, Poor child— storm-tossed! Though all the waves of sin surge o'er thee Thou'lt not be lost. If, when dumb anguish drives thee onward, (And hope seems dead,) Thou still with thy firm gaze fixed God-ward The wine-press tread, Till self lies crushed at last beneath thee, Its passions stilled: Then quick from thy Gethsemane, And newly thrilled, The peace that's born of conquered sorrow Thou sure shalt see, And ere to-day becomes to-morrow, God's signal free Shall pass thee on to heights eternal, Where waits the joy That thou hast earned , of things supernal, Free from alloy.
Saw ye my Saviour? Heard ye the glad sound? Felt ye the power of her Word? 'Twas the Truth that made man free, And was found by you and me In the life and the love of our Lord. Mourner, she calls thee: "Come to my bosom; Love wipes the tears all away, And will lift the shades of gloom, And for thee make blessed room When the darkness hath yielded to-day.
"'T is finished!" So may cry Old Year, With many a sigh, with many a tear. "I 'm waking!" Thus loud sings the New, When thought is fresh and skies are blue.
What if the little rain should say: "So small a drop as I, Can ne'er refresh the thirsty fields, I'll tarry in the sky"? What if a shining beam at noon Should in its fountain stay, Because its feeble light, alone, Can not create a day? Doth not each raindrop help to form The cool refreshing shower, And every ray of light to warm And beautify the flower? As I was looking over an old book of poems today, I came across the foregoing lines. I hope they may impress others as forcibly as they do me, for I have felt quite unhappy, thinking how little I am doing to influence those around me.
We are standing on the threshold, we are in the open door, We are treading on a border land we have never trod before: Another year is opening, and another year is gone, We have passed the darkness of the night, we are in the early morn: We have left the fields behind us o'er which we scattered seed; We pass into the future which none of us can read. The corn among the weeds, the stones, the surface-mould, May yield a partial harvest, we hope for sixty fold.