Poems

As Moses, slow of tongue, Thy guidance sought, I also ask: Dear God, be with my mouth Through this blest hour. Speak to the pure child-thought Turning expectantly.

Book of Isaiah, Chapter 40 to the end Is epic, after the Semitic way; All one trend, Israel dreaming how it may shun Exile and see repeated Its past glory. Prophets, of Isaiahs a council, Advise not to pronounce ill On Babylonian chains, But to shed them and endure the pains Of desert travel home to rebuilt Zion.

In Jesus' time, so now. And in this hour, Self offered up, leaves love the space to flower.

True prayer is not in asking God for things, Though we may feel a very pressing need; It is in giving gratitude that brings Enlightened thought to see the proper deed Which will in turn supply necessities. God has already given us all good; It dwells in Mind like unsung melodies To be brought out to bless our humanhood.

We are not infants fearful of the night. And all of us can witness now the birth Of fullest wisdom, for we are mature.

Another morning And the daylight cycles into a worker's eyes. Again his silent cry As thought projects him into business competition.

Launched into infinity, not space, Who can feel frustrated or alone In the great adventure, Promised support and "marrow" to the "bone"— Unfailing strength, with Mind to chart and trace Unerring course from sound and proven base? Clear through each barrier of sense, Breaking established records (for no speed Computable by instrument Could match that thinking rapider than deed) The traveler, assured of his defense, Thrills to explore the fathomless immense. Ready at zero signaling to leap And split the walled-up cubicle of sleep, To rocket forth and prove Unmeasurable the force, unchecked the sweep Of that resistless power, that ultimate deep— Of Love.

If in humility I turn to Thee For inspiration and vitality, Then is Thy holy Word a living thing, Filled with commands from Thee, my God and King. For yesterday these pages unillumed Seemed dark and colorless, and they assumed An aspect which to human sense was dull, But now I know that every word was full Of glowing messages for every need; Each individual problem had indeed An answer there complete; but to perceive The truth within each page I must receive Spiritual light, which lifts my thought above The human evidence and knows but Love.

Looking "through a glass, darkly" Epitomizes error's claim That worldliness and sensuality Only constitute reality. Looking through the lens of Spirit Mobilizes true conceptions, Shows our role as God's own child, Reveals existence undefiled.

Grace is not something far from where we are: a glimmering shore, across dark wastes of sea, or star fixed high from us in space, while we below, doomed to this dust, can do no more than strain with our eyes to stare at it—the sign perceived, the substance unpossessed. Grace is no thing apart like this.