Poems

Blind custom prods mankind to think of things Material as tangibility. All unperceptive of the glowing fact That lies beyond the symbol and the form.

To Jesus, in the silence of the night, came Nicodemus, ruler of the Jews. Had he not witnessed mighty healing works, listened in troubled wonder to the words of benediction from the Master's lips, "Come unto me.

God knows not man by color or by creed; He only knows the heart's unselfish deed; The innocent, the true, the humble mind Of gentle ones whose thoughts are pure and kind, Who think of God as ever-present good And trust in His protecting fatherhood.

Down in the canyon's quiet depths abiding, Keeping a faithful vigil here alone, Mirroring sky and forest in bright water. Making this peace and loveliness its own.

We may sometimes forget that God is here. But even if we call it darkest night Because our eyes are closed, still all is light.

We have not left this room, yet we have found The radiance of God's beauty all around; Love's consciousness is our vacation land, Where every joy is tenderly God-planned. In this glad upland valley, bright with flowers, The day unfolds its fragrant golden hours, And Truth's majestic mountains stanchly rise Beneath the azure loveliness of skies Forever glorious with heavenly light.

As on the shores of Galilee Christ led the multitude Through seeing Spirit's substance where The humble symbols stood, Just so, upon our shores of time Clan we with Christly art Share of our smallest nucleus To satisfy the heart.

" Thy gentleness hath made me great. " What depths of tenderness and power— Reserve of strength, resource divine— To draw upon each passing hour! Controlled and disciplined by Love, Whose greatness is to heal and bless, How truly strong are they who prove The Spirit's power in gentleness! Obedient, unafraid, I pass Beneath the Shepherd's tender rod; I know that I can love and trust The gentleness and power of God.

Perhaps we cannot choose the path, The certain, safe direction; But faith and hope, deep-rooted, leave The choice to Love's selection. With joy we pause in gratitude For that unerring vision, Our motives purged of self and will— For Love makes the decision!

Under the late and drifted snow the swollen bulbs are breaking, Fine roots are thrusting, deep and firm and true; Hues of the rainbow in the dark are making. Green spears are marshaled for the great break-through.