Questions & Answers
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.
Thy Kingdom here? Lord, can it be? Searching and seeking everywhere For many a year, "Thy Kingdom come" has been my prayer. Was that dear Kingdom all the while so near? Blinded and dull With selfish sin, Have I been sitting at the gates Called Beautiful, Where Thy fair angel stands and waits, With hand upon the lock, to let me in? Was I the wall Which barred the way, Darkening the glory of Thy grace, Hiding the ray Which, shining out as from Thy very face, Had shown to other men the perfect day? Let me not sit Another hour, Idly awaiting what is mine to win, Blinded in wit.
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.