Poems

Poor Hagar, banished to the wilderness, Had not one human friend to help or save; The precious water in the bottle spent— How could her burdened mother-heart be brave? The little lad, less able to endure, Already felt the desert's parching breath; She laid him down, and then withdrew a space— She could not see her loved one suffer death. But, as she wept, an angel voice awoke New reassurance with the calm command, "Arise, lift up the lad.

"Evil is a negation: it never started with time, and it cannot keep pace with eternity. "—Miscellaneous Writings, by Mary Baker Eddy, page 107.

Why should we sorrow when God made no sorrow, Shed piteous tears when there's no truth in weeping, Holding false fears for an unknown tomorrow, When All is now— and time but mortal sleeping? Let us rejoice that sorrow cannot bind us, Nor dim the eyes that shine with faith and peace— We who have proved our Father's love will find us And lead the Christ-given way of sure release! Let us like David, that great Psalmist-king, Join fervent hearts and voices in glad singing, Making the Almighty's grateful praises ring In every land, a gospel tribute bringing; For loving words of praise, hymned with true feeling, Pleasant are to God, and pleasing Him is healing.

So long, it seems, I've waited, Lord, So wearily the days pass by, And still my demonstration lags— Wilt Thou not hear and heed my cry? All day I read Thy promises, All night I lift my prayer to Thee, Yet error's claim seems unrelieved, And still no answer comes to me. I know Thy truth is ever near, And is omnipotent, supreme; What is the needful thing I lack To break this erring mortal dream? "Poor suffering one, why struggle so? Mine is the battle; thine the peace That victory brings.

Heart of care and fret and worry, Eyes that strain and feet that hurry, Rest in Love! Anxiety Never was true piety. Naught can bar His holy purpose— Let the truth unfold! Are material sources waning? See, a well of deep sustaining! In your thought, if love abide, Nothing can His fullness hide.

Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria! for he would recover him of his leprosy. — II Kings 5:3.

The Christ has opened wide my eyes To see the beauty of the skies; The trees, the flowers that once seemed wondrous fair, Have now an added glory, and the rare, Sweet, drifting perfume of fresh-budding things Lifts up my heart, until on joy-filled wings I soar above the dreams of mortal sense And find, in understanding, recompense.

When mists obscure the earth, we do not see The glory of the rising sun Nor glimpse the majesty of mountain height, Nor starlit sky when day is done. When fear enshrouds the thought, we cannot know The peace that is our heritage; We cannot vision that which God has done, Nor all His wondrous blessings gauge.

Oh , blessed, blessed joy, when we can trace The pattern of God's purpose in our lives! The healing of some sorrow clears a space, Some rout of sickness farther vision gives, And through each triumph over sin we see Line linking up all purposeful with line, Till, where we deemed heart-breaking chance to be, Our dazzled eyes glimpse part of a design, More grand and lovely than we could have dreamed! Oh, gladly then we work at our small part, Knowing such parts in one great whole are seamed— God's perfect plan of Science and of art!

"In my Father's house are many mansions. "— John 14:2.