Questions & Answers
I trace your lines of argument, Your logic linked and strong; I weigh, as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. Yet in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed stake my spirit clings, I know that God is good.
Oh May, dear May, thou hopeful May, With smile of night and laugh of day! Why should it not be always May? So mote it be, and so it will, Whene'er the storm of sin is still And all come into God's dear will.
Then buckle on the armor bright, The breastplate fasten sure; 'T will glisten in the morning light Of that blest day secure. The shield of Truth our guard shall be; The Spirit's sword, this hour Will make the claims of error flee, And give Truth's mighty power.
Nothing is lost. The tiniest seed, By wild birds borne or breezes blown, Finds something suited to its need, Wherein 't is sown and grown.
I lived first in a little house, And lived there very well; The world to me was small and round, And made of pale blue shell. One day I fluttered from my home, To see what I could find.
The suffering child, with an unerring trust, Clings only to the one who loves him most; The mother-touch alone can still his cry, The mother-love alone his needs supply. How oft have we, children of riper years, Longed to regain the trust that calms all fears.
Our Saviour's prayer has often been versified and set to music, notably to the tune Home Sweet Home. Why not Mrs.
Do saints keep holy clay in heavenly places? Does the old joy shine new in angel faces? Are hymns still sung the night when Christ was born, And anthems on the Resurrection Morn? Because our little year of earth is run, Do they make record there beyond the sun? And in their homes of light, so far away, Mark with us the sweet coming of this day? What is their Easter? For they have no graves; No shadow there the holy sunrise craves,— Deep in the heart of noontide marvellous, Whose breaking glory reaches down to us. How did the Lord keep Easter? With his own! Back to meet Mary, where she grieved alone; With face and mien, all tenderly the same, Unto the very sepulchre he came.
Shower and smile Flower and wile,— April, please remember,— Thus in file, Us beguile, Until earth's last ember.
"Let us keep the feast with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. " Let us not bring, upon this joyful morning, Dead myrrh and spices for our Lord's adorning, Nor any lifeless thing.