Poems

Violets in a woodland glade Bespeak the burgeoning spring When, rapidly or long delayed, Joy comes to everything. From desert heath to forest tree Each has its hour of praise, Prepared for well and patiently Through stormy winter days.

He said, "I have found Truth. " And his friends asked him: "Where is it then? In the Word?" And he answered them: "Yes.

Whole , joyous, free, the real man never dwells In dreams of sickness, sorrow, sin, or crime, Nor lives imprisoned in material cells, A captive selfhood serving sense and time. When good is proved the real, the sick are healed; And freed from self, the sinning are forgiven.

" Too long," I cried, "I cannot carry on; 'Is there no balm in Gilead' for me?" Soft as a morning beam, the answer came: A little bud without a sign of bloom awakened sweet, angelic thoughts. I mused: Impatient probing will not bring to view the velvet petals or their rosy hue, nor stir untimely fragrance.

Knowing that God is One and good, That His command, "Let there be light," Is not annulled, that flawless sight Is man's forever, Jesus stood. Knowing the singleness of will, The might and wisdom of All-Mind, He made no haste to heal the blind— Seeing man whole, Jesus was still.

Encircling us, Love gently and warmly enfolds, In mantle of certitude, With armor invulnerable, Tempests within the heart are stilled. Over sharp precipice, above deep rock-rimmed vale, His might upholds us.

Touch not the bud of this unfolding rose: There is a law which governs growth in grace. Have no anxiety, the Father knows What each one needs in every time and place.

Let the seven thunders roll. Let the forest giants quake.

The finger writes again but not on stone; It writes on fleshy tables of the heart; And none today should wish to break his own Or the world's heart and crave another start. The finger writes.

David was alert. He ran to meet Goliath.