Poems

By trade I am a baker of the bread. Employed within this great patrician home.

Gamaliel had a prescience of the truth. A reputable man, he rose up there And warned the council forcefully.

Think not of any armistice with death— death, the deceiver—death, the pitiless one, whose luring promises are but the dust blown by the winds beneath the desert sun. Give death no hostages of hope, nor any trust, yield not to lulling promises of rest.

The childlike, pure, and holy thought In God's own likeness fair Forever sees the Father's face And finds its glory there. No sweetness of itself may own Each childlike grace He gives.

Arc describing the earth in color, Span the day. Your beauty tells us mists of error Cannot stay.

To quiet hearts and confident The Lord hath promised peace; So I shall quiet stand and wait Till war and clamor cease. No loud alarm shall stir my calm, No terror mar this hour, For all my days are in His hand, And He alone has power.

He who trusts God knows no defeat, and dreads No trial, no trick of mortal mind. He sees The rainbow long before the storm is stilled; He knows the clouds will pass.

To view the pattern of the land You rise in solitude. Up there I know you feel the hand Of Soul's infinitude.

"I will arise," this said the foolish one, He who, through hardship, learned humility. "I will return now to my father's house And end this season of futility.

I prayed to hear Thy voice, O God: I longed To feel Thy hand and know Thy certain love, To have that quiet confidence to say, "My Father—I, Your son. " For this I strove.