Poems

O fair white sisters of the field and fell, With your sweet-honey lips thus laid on mine, In world-forgetfulness I fain would tell Of Him, my Father-Mother God and thine, And breathe the while a word of praise and prayer divine Have you. as I, a consciousness of Him Who is the center and circumference Of earth and heaven? and is He clear or dim To your white lids of sainted innocence, Who is our Soul and source, creator and defence? Each flower a secret hath, beyond the ken Of earth's philosophers; the gifts of God Are multifold, and have their origin Beyond the cloistered darkness of the sod In Wisdom's secret cell by mortal feet untrod.

I know a garden, green and sweet, Where thrush and skylark sing; A garden far from mart and street. From dust and heat and clamoring.

Within a little world of sombre light I sit with self, whose unrelenting reign Since time unknown has swayed this small domain, Where brisk ambition elbows toward pride's height, Where darkling doubt and fear and envy blight, Where even death itself has dared to gain Outrageous entrance. Can I here remain, Fore'er content with naught but husks and night? I will arise and to the Father go, For He is Life—eternal life He gives; For He is Truth—the infinite, all-wise; For He is Love—His joy, love to bestow; On all His children.

Pierced with heart-famine to behold The storied prophet who of old Gave life again unto the dead, I went afar to find his way; To follow him, as even they Of self-bound hands and holden eyes Who, drawing nigh him in the press, Were healed of searing sin's duress. I crossed a fretted Galilee Of tidal fear—a self-pent sea; I searched the blue Judaean hills, The Temple's wreck and waste of stone.

The things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. —2 Corinthians, 5: 18.

Rise from thy couch, O drowsy mortal, rise, And lose not thus, in sleep, the wonder of A golden dawn-of-day! Yon roseate cliffs Encircle the still bay; and tenderly The sun doth gently touch a slumb'ring world. Hark! Ev'ry bird awakens with a song, And fragrant praise springs from each silent flower.

O ye rudderless wrecks that are tossing about On the sea in the wind and the wave. There's a light that is shining to banish your doubt, And to bid you take heart and be brave.

Within the shadow of the years Christ comes to me. He lifts my burdens, dries my tears Within the shadow of the years.

Giver of all good gifts, I thee implore: Open the eyes that still are closed and blind, Enlarge our hearts to know thee more and more The Soul and source of all,—eternal Mind,— The Father, Mother, God of all mankind. O Love divine, that holdest in thine hand This orbed earth, the countless stars of light, How can I hope to come and take my stand Immaculate and sinless in thy sight! 'Tis Love alone can wash my garment white.

Each heart has had its own Gethsemane, Where agony and gloom and darkness be; Its Pilate Hall, where justice seemed denied; Its Calvary Hill, where self was crucified; Its tomb, where that we deemed most precious had been laid In winding-sheet of memories which made The dead hope seem a thing of death the more, And a great stone was rolled against the door. But lo, the Angel of His Presence whispers, "Rise, Put on thy beauteous garments.