Poems

Look up and give the Father gratitude, O mortal! Why be dissatisfied, afraid, and full of sorrow? The good is present now which comes through heaven's portal, Divine Love waits not for the coming of tomorrow! Is it for joys long past or future's hope you yearn? Perhaps companionship of one no longer near? The joy He gives us knows no going or return; The Father-Mother's love unceasingly is here! Then know the seeming discord is a lifeless dream; And courage, faith, and understanding must be tried. But see! The day is bright with Truth's eternal beam.

When Noah sent a dove out of the ark to see if the floods of waters were assuaged which covered all the earth, the dove returned to him. And he stayed— with what patience— "yet other seven days," and yet another, till the dove returned no more— and then he knew the waters were assuaged.

A sacrifice unto the Lord Was oft required in ancient years: A bullock, dove, Or little lamb, With deepest penitence And tears. Sacrifices still are made By those whose love is duty-driven; And oh, what higher part Is played When sacrifice of self Is given.

Waiting need not be a sere, dry plain Stretched endlessly beneath continuous sun. Nor need it be an arid, parching wind That withers every deed in love begun.

As the fledgling's fragile wings Grow strong in fearless flight, Man's mounting steps find greater strength Upon the road of right. Greater strength to face the claim Of discords that impose Their fancied, risen barriers, Whose pretense wisdom knows.

I asked for healing, having heard it said That Jesus' works were once more being wrought By consecrated seekers, Bible-taught To heal the sick and sinning, raise the dead. And I was healed! Then prayed I might be led To find this priceless pearl, not to be bought, But in our Master's footsteps to be sought With firm, self-sacrificing, patient tread.

From pride that planned how healing would be wrought, From wrath that bade him turn away from Love, From a material thought of self, unclean, "Then went he down. " Led by his servants' gentle, loving grace, Humbly obedient to the message given, He glimpsed man's perfect self, the child of God, "And he was clean.

Infinitely pleasant is the voice of God Beyond the common usage of the word, Filled with tenderness and power, with wisdom rich, Tireless, vibrant with the melodies of Truth, Complete in harmony, and eloquent with Love. And the song God sings is man, the well-beloved.

Love is at hand, here, now, with me. Fear, sickness, hatred disappear; Peace comes, for Love is seen to be Omniscient power.

A Turkish peasant cultivates his field. Each day from dawn to dusk he labors there.