Questions & Answers
What is the Christ of God? It is his touch, his sign, his making known, His coming forth from out the all-alone: The stretching of a rod, Abloom with his intent, From the invisible. He made worlds so; And souls, whose endless life should be to know What the worlds meant.
As the "bread on the waters "cast— A word that the weary cheers, When the spring-time of life is past, Comes back on the tide of years. A kind word can never perish, Charity knows not decay; For some heart the word will cherish, Though we drop it by the way.
In Alpine valleys, they who watch for dawn Look never to the east, but fix their eyes On loftier mountain-peaks of snow, which rise To west or south. Before the happy morn Has sent one ray of kindling red, to warn The sleeping clouds along the eastern skies That it is near,—flushing, in glad surprise, These royal hills, for royal watchmen born, Discover that God's great new day begins; And, shedding from their sacred brows a light Prophetic, wake the valley from its night.
Whoe'er on the mountain In the Veiled Presence has reverently trod, He has drunk deep of the life-giving fountain, Filled with the grand inspiration of God. With awe he unravels the mystery of ages, And secrets divine are breathed into his ear; As in wonder he searches the God-written pages, Unseen, yet impressive, the Author draws near:— Draws near so tenderly, Broad'ning his vision, dispelling his fear.
They stood in the open doorway, Ere day was scarce begun,— A winsome, happy young mother And bonny little son. Her eyes in their love-lit beauty Resting with love untold On his sweet red lips, kiss-pouted, And hair of tawny gold.
From the scenes of sense so fleeting, From the tempest, wildly beating, Lashing all the mighty ocean Into billowy commotion; Turn we, and with hearts of gladness, Try to cheer earth's grief and sadness. Fitting emblem seem the waters Of earth's weary sons and daughters, Who see our Father's loving-kindness Slowly breaking through their blindness, Lift their doubting eyes to Heaven, Whence the blessed light is given.
And try Me now in this, Saith Jehovah of Hosts,— Whether I will not open to you the Windows of Heaven, And pour out upon you a blessing. Malachi.
God's Spirit falls on me as dewdrops on a rose, If I, but like a rose, my heart to Him unclose. The soul wherein God dwells,—what church can holier be?— Becomes a walking tent of heavenly Majesty.
Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer; Rare is the rose-burst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is rarer; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter; And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the metre. Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing; Never a river that flows, but a majesty sceptres the flowing; Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than he did enfold him; Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him.
There were seven Ushers, with nets in their hands, And they walked and talked by the seaside sands; Yet, sweet as the sweet dew-fall, The words they spake, though they spake so low, Across the long dim centuries flow, And we know them, one and all,— Ay! we know and love them all. The livelong night, till the moon went out In the drowning waters, they beat about,— Beat slow, through the fog, their way; And the sails drooped down with wringing wet, And no man drew but an empty net; And now 't was the break of the day,— The great, glad break of the day.