When smiled the morning in my night-dimmed eyes,
I, sighing recognition, used to say,
O God, for me another weary day
Through which to creep, though this spent strength denies
Support for one day's feeble ministries.
Too frail my pilgrim staff, too long the way
Ere I attain the heights this mortal clay
Knows not, blind in its futile, vain surmise.
These, then, my haunting thoughts at dawn,
Till to my knowing came the truth at last
Of all the love that's mine to hold; and lo!
Each mental blossom reft of every thorn,
Each filmy fantasy into the sunlight cast—
And mine, ineffable contentment here below.
Poems
[Written for the Journal.]
AWAKENING
From the September 1907 issue of The Christian Science Journal
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