Poems

Day dawns, and brings the world new light ; Fades, dies away the gloom of night. In silence comes the dawn's first golden ray; A power unseen has changed the night to day.

Our Father knows my need to-day; I do not, doubting, ask For happy hours or golden way, Or loving, helpful task; But, with all trust in Love, I pray : Our Father knows my need to-day. Our Father knows my need this hour; Where'er my steps may go, The saving light of Truth's high tower Now leads me—this I know.

Hungry , hungry, heart-hungry, While there is love enough and to spare! O pilgrim, suffer not dearth with its gloom and its thrust! For the bread and the wine of the feast are thy share— Thy meat, not scraps, with bones that are polished and bare— And with fuel thy hearthstone is heaped, not ashes and dust. Hungry, hungry, heart-hungry, While the viands of Love at thy fingertips lie! What criest thy pain— at thy Tantalus-touch they recede? Nay; to thy longing, advancing, they multiply, Imparting abundance for want, a smile for a sigh— Giving comfort and strength through the night of thy need.

So many hills arising, green and gray, On earth's large round, and that one hill to say: "I was his bearing-place!" On earth's wide breast So many maids! and she — of all most blest — Heavily mounting Bethlehem, to be His mother!—Holy maid of Galilee! Hill with the olives, and the little town! If rivers from their crystal founts flow down, If 'twas the Dawn which did Day's gold unbar, Ye were beginnings of the best we are, The most we see, the highest that we know, The lifting heavenward of man's life below. "The Light of the World.

I pause before the might of silent things, And know that earth is blest for weal of man; And when I seem most near Thy miracle, Most like Thine image, wrought in perfect plan, Hushed be the long caprice of mortal birth, The ordinance of heav'n rings o'er the earth, The seal of Spirit only maketh grand; To Thee I lift up this my helpless hand. I have not peered beyond the dim-veiled stars, I cannot tread the chast'ning boreal main; My hand cannot refine the virgin gold Of dew-laved daisy crowns that fleck the plain, Nor set the laurel chalice on its stem, Nor fill its waxen cup with spice again; Nor open wide the treasuries of hail, Nor bind the fields in winter's stainless mail; But Thou, who taketh up the isles and hills And comprehendeth them as grains of sand, Th' assembling patient stars, like folded flocks— O power of Love—are all within Thy hand.

Peace now be to thee! Far mightier walls than those of builders' clay Encompass thee, Though unperceived by blinded eyes, And keep thee safe. No mournful yesterdays sigh 'round thy dwelling; No grief-begetting dawns stand weeping at thy gate.

Love found me idling, — "Wilt thou follow Me?" "Yea, Lord," I cried, "if Thou my guide wilt be, On and forever will I follow Thee. " Then straight across the valley swift we sped.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace. — Isaiah.

Eternal Love, Almighty One, So gracious to forgive, We fix our thoughts on Thee alone, In Thee would ever live. O'ercome in us the mortal thought And make our hearts inclined To love the truth yet feebly sought And gain immortal Mind.

Master , from heav'n's open hymnal page, Pours Love's deep canticle — thy full-toned life; Above the desolate threnody And clam'ring call of strident centuries, This obligato of divinest power Is heard of men. The undulating fields Where thou hast looked and prayed would reapers come, No husbandman save thee, thy Father knew, could shield from rust and hail.