Poems

Truth alone can free us from a peace which is not peace. Champions must be vital soldiers for the things that are and not be snared by dull complacency; they know indeed the fiercest war of all is now at hand.

Oh , do I love with all my heart And let my love speak plain? Or do I sometimes turn aside, From those I may disdain? If I would follow where Love leads, I may not choose to shun Another who displeases me. Love blesses everyone.

This is God's perfect day. It was not born As first bright, probing fingers of the morn Broke through.

One who saw it told it well, Let its beacon shine, Dared to spread the vital Word, Preaching "not my will, but thine. " Had he not proved what he taught, Walked with only learned men, Passing by the maimed, the blind, Cleansing not the lepers ten, Sent away the faint of heart, Then this present world would not Know the Comforter is here, "Former things of old" forgot.

There is a golden message which is sent from God to man; the prophets comprehended it and little children can; profound in its simplicity, magnificent in scope, with solace for the sorrowing, for the despairing, hope; its grace has touched the centuries, with light time cannot dim— all those who love the Father know that they are loved by Him.

This day can ask no more of us than we can give. In the infinitude of Life divine we live.

" Dear friend"! What worlds of meaning these words hold! No greater miracle we are told Than friendship long unbroken. So much forgiven, much more received.

This Mind in us which was in Christ protects as any fact; motivates our every desire, our every act. None can be brainwashed or tongue-tied who has listened, who has heard and accepted without question the holy Word.

My shelter is the house of God, And there I live in peace; While radiation of His love Is the sole fallout from above. Destruction of mortality Will elevate mankind; Impurities lodge not in Life; They are removed by holy strife.

Back to Bethlehem? Back to a stable so long gone dust? Do you think me able to telescope time, to reconstruct two thousand years with a caroled fable, a word bridge flung as a viaduct for moonbent minds which can't remember as far back as Lincoln? But thought was cold, thought was dark—mankind's deep December. There was no room at the inn.