Poems

The dawn of Truth is breaking over us, And filling now our waiting hearts With God's pure light. All sorrow, sin, and error disappear, So silently, so surely, Gone the night.

A lighted candle in my hand, I tread my path, unknown to mortal sense; whilst looking up, I see the brilliant light of constant Love. It's with me, guiding, as I go.

Let me behold, as in a mirror clear, My neighbor, as myself, as we appear In Truth, sinless and pure, untouched by fear. Give me discernment, God, that I may see Thy children as they are.

Keep us alert, dear God, we pray, not only in the gloom-wrapt hour when error's claims would make their boast, their threat, of a destructive power. Keep us alert when earth seems bright, when fortune heaps her favors high, lest we unwittingly conclude that aught but Thee can satisfy.

He stands, secure, when shifting, crumbling sands of vain desires and selfish human will disintegrate, dissolve, and pass away, who plants his feet upon the rock of Christ and builds thereon his house, his true abode, in everlasting Life, and Truth, and Love. He stands, secure, in resurrecting joy who rolls away the stone of selfishness, arises from enslaving tombs of sense and buried hopes, and high ideals revives, that Christ, the Truth, may come with quietness, with liberating peace and healing power.

I like to think in springtime Of a garden far away. Where a tomb was standing empty On the resurrection day.

Grieve not, nor stoop to look within The gloom where sorrow's wraith is laid. This mortal dream of sense and sin Before the risen Christ shall fade.

With ripe conviction Peter wrote to those Waiting in Asia Minor for some word That would bring courage to their fainting hearts And cause the fires of holy zeal to burn With glowing warmth Within their little band. Peter had been with him; Had seen great wonders, Traveled the same paths Along whose rugged way The Master walked.

Can we picture the scene? The quietness of evening, Gentleness of the setting sun, Fading colors in the sky, The sleepy chirp of nesting birds, Shadows—and a hush upon the land? Slowly they came, Multitudes seeking the Master, Coming from near and far, Brought by a faith in his power to heal, Weary, troubled, bowed down by fear, Young and old alike Came with open hearts and minds, Yearning humbly for understanding, love. He healed them.

Heaven is not a place in space apart, But joy and heavenly grace within the heart; He who is slow to wrath, who loves, forgives, Walks in a lighted path; in heaven he lives!