Poems

" Forgive us our debts, As we forgive our debtors. " O God of mercy and of love, We leave our gift Before the altar.

With true and tender love the Master healed the sick, the brokenhearted, those long bound by false beliefs. He spoke the Word of God, and quickly those who sought his aid were cured.

Through grief-dimmed lens of mortal consciousness Men's eyes may seem to see Only a cross, Dark monument of earth's finality. Dreaming of failure and defeat, Men sit in darkness, bowed in Submission To unreal tyranny.

No time have I to spend in idleness today; No moments can I lend to error's subtle way. A task I have been given through this direct demand: Put off the old, put on the new.

Sad heart, grieved in befogged belief That mortal thought has any power at all To value you, belittle, or approve Your selfhood, your endeavor, or true worth, Come, now, recall the gentle, wise words: Nothing Outside a man can enter and defile; But that which is within—see thou to that! Probe deep and deeper for that hidden sin Which barbs the arrows shot from error's bow; Probe deep for pride—that cost vain Lucifer His heavenly home, peace, place, under God's dome— That cloaks itself in many a mask and guise (Self-pity, justification, apathy). Then, when the probe is pure unselfed desire To reach the truth of selfhood as God's son— Not you or I alone but everyone— Neither belittlement by mortal thought Will sadden us, nor adulation stir A pleased response to hollow blandishments.

" At evening time it shall be light," What matter that the earthly night Appears to shroud the budding thought? It cannot dim the inward glow, Whose rays dispel all human woe And show what wonders God hath wrought— When gratitude and faith burn bright: "At evening time it shall be light. ".

Let not a moment's specious apathy Seclude my consciousness from healing light. Nor vague unease despoil the clarity That sees, through error's claims of storm or blight, The way of Christ's appointing, straight and clean, Lucent with holy joy and tenderness, And free from querulous voice that would demean Man's purity or heaven's loveliness.

Along the streets of Babylon sweet music played, Commanding all to bow before the image made Of gold. That melody of dulcimer and flute Still summons mortal sense, though faster now, to suit This age.

Why strive to love when others seem to fall so short of Spirit's qualities? They seem unfeelingly to trample and offend my personal sense. Must I return love for the angry word or callous act and not retaliate in kind? Is it my lot to turn continuously the other cheek? The answer comes: Who tells you that God's child can sin? That anything exists but Mind and its idea expressing only good? Can God create an image which does not conform to the original? This is the serpent tempting you and arguing its own duplicity.

There in the Judean night he looked upon the city, Beheld the broken walls, the gates consumed by fire, And rode his beast around the stone that lay in rubble. Few knew what he had done, to what he might aspire.