Poems

The paths and fields of Galilee were filled With lovely flowers. The birds sang merrily.

There is a line so fine one might despair of tracing it in stress of circumstance: dividing as it does what may appear not poles apart—not fact and fallacy— but truth and counterfeit so cunning-matched that even an eye well practiced in the art of severing what is true from what is not may be deceived. And find, too late, it has been tricked by skill of forgery.

Now let affection's ardency unseal The frozen fountains of the human heart. No more let cold self-centeredness congeal Impulses which, reluctant at the start, Yet having started, in resistless streams Pour forth their richness into all the world.

For you—is the tide far out And the look of life A half day's sighing into night? Be comforted. The promise is for you.

The early Christians knew the Comforter; Upon them fell the Pentecostal light. They trusted God.

There is a task for you, A joyous work you only can fulfill, A task demanding zeal and enterprise And close adherence to the Father's will. There is a life for you, Filling the niche to you alone assigned By Love divine that knows nor youth nor age, But pure reflection of the perfect Mind.

There were shepherds in the field On that Christmas night When the heavenly host appeared, Robed in radiant light; Humble keepers of the sheep, Children of the earth, Yet they heard the heralding Of the Saviour's birth. Exultant swelled the heavenly strain On Judaea's hill, Tender rang the angel theme— Glory, peace, good will! Shepherds in the realm of thought, Listen, watch, and pray.

The grateful heart awakes to see A world invisible before. Creative Mind, now understood, Opens wide the once closed door.

Salt is the tear. And salt solidified Who disobeyed, who vainly tried To tie the outgrown to the new, Refused complete acceptance of the now.

On bronze, on stone, this somber phrase: "Here sleep the brave. " And solemnly a wreath is placed Upon the grave.