Questions & Answers
Betwixt two seas we stand, One is on either hand,— Matter and Soul. One is the sea of naught; The other's Life is caught From Mind, the whole.
The last month of the year, We have come to its cheer, Its season divine, When to each human thought Comes the knowledge, God-fraught, Salvation is mine.
We make this life a mournful, empty dream, And stones for bread we give; And know not that the Soul's realities In its Ideals live. These are the stars that shine within its night, The angel one it sees, And evermore, unconsciously, it learns Its possible from these.
Oh Mother Love! Thou broodest still. In tenderness divine, On each dear child who does Thy will, And finds his strength in Thine.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn till night, my friend.
In the month of gray November, We must all our sins remember,— Call to mind that they may leave us, And no longer plague and grieve us.
What though earth's jewels disappear; The turf, whereon I tread, Ere Autumn blanch another year, May rest above my head. Touched by the finger of decay Is every earthly love; For joy, to shun my weary way, Is registered above.
Oh do not bar your mind Against the Light of Good; But open wide, let in the Word, And Truth will be your food. It will from error free Your long-enslaved mind; And bring the light of liberty Where it shall be enshrined.
The waves and the rocks in fierce combat meet ever, (So sang a pink sea-shell to me). And which shall be victor, they tell us, oh never,— Bold cliff, or tempestuous sea.
'Tober, ripe and mellow, Well-met, jovial fellow! Though your leaves turn yellow, Brown us old Othello,— And your tempest bellow, Like some deep-toned 'cello, We their fury quell, oh, And your harvest smell, oh. Though your squirrel hello, As he cracks yon shell, oh,— Squeak like Punchinello,— And your sighs up-swell, oh, Like some lost Costello, You must ever tell, oh, Of a goodly spell, oh, Hidden in your cell, oh.