Poems

Our mortal thoughts inscribe their tracings—clear As prints upon the sand; Yet thoughts from God erase these signs of fear, As tide-waves plane the strand.

Lord, at the threat of wind and wave I feel Thy hand outstretched to save; Defying error's surge and swell, I hear Thy precept, All is well. The darkness of appalling night Is lost in Thy revealing light; The floods recede, the waters part, And I am gathered to Thy heart.

Because Thou madest me, Because Thou madest me the image of Thy love, Help me to know myself as Thou dost know me, Obedient, holy, perfect in Thy sight. Willing and eager, this Thy glorious truth to prove.

Love is not in the tumult, not in the fear, The crash, the desolation, pain. The voice Of the winds that rend the nations is not The voice of Love, bringer of peace.

Dear Lord, when those in trouble come to me For help and comfort in their seeming woes, Let me at once in healing ministry See man as faultless, in the light that glows Before Thy throne of grace; so may I view The glory of Thy perfect image there. To see man as Thou seest him is true Perception; and my quickened sight must share This wonder with them, that they may behold Thy love, which they in loving may profess.

Certainly I will be with thee, No matter how stormy the way; The fiery pillar shall guide by night, The cloudy pillar by day. Though the Red Sea lie before thee, And Pharaoh's hosts behind, Look up, go forward trusting — Thy guide, eternal Mind.

Rejoice in Love alway, Forget thy foolish fears; Love's presence, day by day, Will wipe away all tears. Rejoice, I say again, Lift up thy thought in praise; Love banishes all pain, Enriches all thy days.

He who in truly humble reverence Holds on the course the faithful Master trod, Finds priceless waymarks, plentiful, complete, To guide in selfless service to our God. And if in honest, consecrated work His light shines out, is seen of other men, They, too, may glorify our Father, God, Their hearts with love and joy be stirred again.

Help us to make this house which we have built, Not just a senseless pile of wood or stone, But, through Thy presence felt and understood, An altar worthy to be called Thine own. Could Jesus stand within these walls today, Who would press in to him—an eager throng? The maimed, the blind, the sick, the sorrowing, The sinner struggling to be freed from wrong.

Our God requireth it: The voice divine that gave the stern command To Egypt's king to "let my people go," Still rings above the tumult and the strife Of mortal sense to set all people free From error's thrall; to break the dream of days That were; to lift the burden of past years, And human history with all its trail Of fears and woes and darkling memories, And vain regrets or yearnings o'er lost hopes All these must fade from thought and come to seem As though they ne'er had even claimed to be, For God requireth it. And so the weight of yesterdays falls off, The shadow of past errors fades from sight, Stilled are the whisperings of discontent, Restored the years that were the locust's spoil.