Poems

My song once soared in praise to God. (Let me be heard! Let me be heard!) And still it soared with holy Truth.

If they would listen to me, their troubles would flee, but my words are bubbles to my children, who hear only the willful drone of their own voices beating the air to gain the ears of their own deaf children, in vain! Despairing, I turn my head— there stands my father—he has been speaking to me— seeking with eyes that burn parental concern to catch my ear by word! What has he said? ( I have not heard!) Thus clangs the chain of the human will—word-studded— an instrument of hate—linking together the generations, with sound prolongations that make earth shake, but with no communications! Can we not break this chain, for mankind's sake? Let us be humble, O God, Father-Mother! Help us speak less and listen more! Help us break through the earthquake's roar to hear Thy voice—small and still— to do Thy will! In so loving Thee, we shall love one another and rule out this muffling hate— we shall communicate! Althea Brooks Hollenbeck.

Because Mind knows man's every path, his every way, he cannot stray beyond encompassed reach, out of eternal day. No flight to distant star, no probe of depth at sea, but what His love enfolds.

Yielding our lives to God, we find The fruitful blossoming of Mind. Thus, radiating gratitude, We help Him feed the multitude.

The truly free steadfastly challenge now Error's attempts to dominate mankind. The truly free in thought refuse to bow Before the false beliefs of mortal mind.

The pride of place and power Is nothing new; In Bible times men vied For honors, too. The treasure stored, the barns Piled high with grain; The seat beside the host, The goal to gain.

Will people—our neighbors— Talk of robbings and muggings, Of error and fear, of mayhem and sluggings? Will they twitter like sparrows? Will they parrot their fear? Or will they speak of the blessings That flow from us , here? Will they speak of our church As "a blessing from heaven"— Of the healings performed; Sins destroyed and forgiven, Of supply never failing, of devils cast out, Of spiritual riches and faith without doubt? So unbushel the candle and let your light shine! Let our church be a beacon, Let our light far outshine The mute trumpet of error That can play only nothings, Negation and terror. The love in our hearts can fill every pew, The joy from our lips Can "distil as the dew"; The strength of our smile Can welcome the stranger, The power of our Truth Can protect us from danger.

Until he touched the Saviour's side, of Thomas it is said he could not believe that the Lord had risen from the dead. But dream or doubt can never hide what Mary sensed in Soul: the evidence of Christ adored, and man forever whole.

Did faithful Abraham ask why? He simply answered, "Here am I!" No time he wasted to decide, Nor, like Adam, did he hide. Awaiting his commander's voice, Abraham had made his choice To obey the God he knew, Like a soldier brave and true.

Then suddenly the fact comes clear, and you no longer have to roam, asking: is it there—or here? You have come home. You have come face to face with Truth.