Poems

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.

God loves us tenderly. His mighty power Is ever present.

This is the rock they say grinds men to dust: so men have cried in the waste of futile years, their opal bubbles shattered into tears and all their getting only moth and rust; the truth, the whole truth they desired so, proved the last thing on earth men want to know. Learn of the rock what elemental hand dismembered quartz and feldspar into sand, then built it up, a flint to strike a flame; ask of the gneiss the gin where it was bruised, out of what crucible corundum came, in what deep grave the diamond's laughter fused.

" Watch with me," Jesus said to those he loved. Yet sleep into their drowsy senses crept, And so he agonized and prayed alone While others slept.

The Bible and Science and Health, these are our pastor; they feed us daily, citation by citation. Section by section of the Lesson-Sermon, they lead us out on high and sunlit places.

I was weary and lost in the seeming night. Unto my path Thou gavest light.

It cannot be that the heart's glad notes are stilled; That apathy has muted pure desire. The voice that tuned the music of the spheres Will waken, guide, illumine, and inspire.

Only the pure in heart can sing the song That heals bewildered thought, that solves a wrong. While mortals chant their praise to things—mere things— And strum unskillful sounds on lifeless strings, The harmonies of Spirit hour by hour Reveal themselves as peace and skill and power.

This scientific word, so new, so old; My study of this truth has just begun. Though I know little and can scarce behold The vaguest outline of the path ahead, I see myself as God's beloved son, While happiness and healing fill my heart.