Poems

With the hot breath of pursuit on my neck and the load of guilt in my heart, the hard, suspicious looks of the strangers through whom I passed, the long miles straggling by under a harsh sun, the growing desolation, and nothing before me but grim uncertainty, questions, guesses, then nightfall and the slow chill creeping up through the hostile darkness and the desert place where I halted, footsore and parched, my eyes still aching with day, and the night no comfort, and made my bed, found a pillow of stone, sank into numb sleep— there, in that very place, God unfolded the light from the heart of light, and I suddenly knew. It came like a vision with bright-faced messengers going to and fro on a ladder of light that reached from the shining dew to the shining sky, brighter than moon or sun, singing with light, radiant with soundless music, triumphant yet gentle, washing my tired eyes, wiping away my stains, filling my heart with sweetness, and crystalline wonder mounting on wings of fire.

Oh, let my thoughts be as the fledgling eagles are— Poised for the upward flight, Piercing the earth mists rejoicing, and winging far Into Truth's spacious light! Scarce higher than the sparrow's homely flight, it seems, My laden thoughts attain; Yet, since the way be heavenward, seeking noble themes, Each small ascent is gain. Truth's mighty tasks await us; attempt them and be free: Spread wide those wings and rise! Courageous as the eagle, let thought win liberty In Godlike enterprise.

Young Joseph knew no bondage. Neither bands Of father's human love nor brethren's hate His onward course could check or deviate.

How fine Luke's tale about small Zaccai, Who sought to see the Master passing by, "And could not for the press," so ran before To climb the branches of a sycamore. Our Lord looked up and hailed him as a friend; He bade Zacchaeus speedily descend; Who, coming, glowed with truly humble pride, When told, "This day must I with thee abide.

He was only a little lad With a morsel of fish and bread, But he promptly gave what he had. He was only a little lad, But multitudes, waiting, were fed When the Master's blessing was said.

How late you are in coming, little son; See how the shadows lengthen in the street. Where have you been? All day, my mother, I was with the Master.

Mine is the beauty of the sparkling spheres, As I encompass them within my thought. Mine is the wonder of the ageless years Which prove the mortal sense of life is nought.

I Prayed that You would show the way, That I might walk Your paths each day. I asked for courage, wisdom, love, And patience too.

So quiet was the scene that day When Jesus walked beside the sea, His voice rang out; they heard him say Those words of challenge, "Follow me. " They straightway tossed their nets aside; They left their ships.

To John alone that tender name was given. Was it because he early recognized The high, pure nature Of his holy friend? Was it, perhaps, because John clearly saw That all the Master's thoughts Were thoughts of Love? We read John's record Of those distant days When Jesus taught deep lessons To the twelve.