Poems

Like a child, Father, trusting, obedient, I have come tonight; Eager, I sing the hymns praising Your omnipotence, listen to the reading: "Love, the way of Life. " Refreshed, I pray to know Your kingdom come, let Your will be done, break Your daily bread, give the glory, power to You; Rejoicing, hear these, Your witnesses, You have strengthened, lifted up, thank You, Father.

They say it is a miracle when I am healed. Dear Father, it is natural to see Thy love revealed! The very fountain of Thy light is here, with Thee.

When thought becomes a desert, scorched and dry, With no clear streams of love for thirsty sand, No singing lark will spiral to the sky And no embroidering blossoms trim the land. Where selfishness has sapped once-fruitful loam And spread its cactus to the canyon's brink, No little dove will light to build its home And no shy doe will come for food and drink.

Only our outward senses touch the griefs, mark the sad sequences of suffering and sin and death. They watch the wars, and hear the sound of weeping; they smell corruption, taste the bitter cup.

Come, turning, waking April earth, rejoice with me in Life's own season! No shuttle days go back and forth in vain from Mind to mortal reason. Spirit's steady zenith brings the radically radiant hour when I discern the secret springs in rocks, and wilderness is flower.

Deep in the gloom the torches glowed, In the evening hour; We grew to perceive a candle flame, A flickering oil wick, Then the arc lamp's modest power. Steadier now, and brighter far, Vision leaps to the nearest star.

Was the promise made to Abraham alone? —Seeing thou "hast not withheld thy son— In thy seed shall all the nations of the earth Be blessed; because thou hast obeyed my voice. " Did Abraham resist God's first demand To sacrifice his son on Mount Moriah? Did his feet stumble on the upward journey, Did his hand falter at the altar's fire, Would his voice fail at the familiar—Isaac? Could the knife cut the life from his despair? What Mind could father such obedience? Was it the mind of Abraham alone? Did the command, "Lay not thine hand upon the lad," Release in him a spurious contentment? Did his call—Isaac—ring with repossession? No.

"In self we trust," my motto was; My coin, philosophy. My citadel, pure reason's shell, My pearl, the knowledge tree.

"Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. " No need to hesitate, or wait; with instant loving sanction favoring obedient adventure, Master bade follower, "Come.

No Niagara now, nor pistoned power nor politics provides us enough light to walk, unmolested, Main Street's night infested with forked hates and fears. The hour is ominous.