Poems

Truth looks into my eyes And all the inner shadows flee. Truth looks into my eyes And deepest longing satisfies; With strength of the unfathomed sea And peace of morning purity, Truth looks into my eyes.

O Life of love, of peace, of prayer! That soothes all pain, removes all care Gives strength and gladness, makes men free Guards, guides, and leads the way to Thee. O Life of love, my joy complete! My fount of bliss O draught so sweet! I live in Thee, for Thou art mine Thou art the body, bread, and wine.

A splendor wakes upon the world once more— Hark to those elfin violet bells! For Spring has come, and cast her spells, And every bank becomes a palace floor. From meadows fair, illumed by rising sun, A song of melody divine— Of larks unnumbered—mounts with mine: The daylight dawns, behold the night is done! O white May-morning of this hour of grace! O life, awakening from the sod! To know ourselves, and know our God, Know and reflect the glories of His face: To know there is no sin, no selfishness In earth or heaven, His wide domain; There is no consciousness of pain, No parting pangs, no tidings of distress.

In springtime came a joyous, sunlit day; I would go out, but too long lingered o'er The poet's page, till clouds had changed to gray The glad, bright world. With disappointment sore My heart was filled, my books gave joy no more, 'Twas gone like flowers before the breath of north; When lo! another gleam of sunshine drew me forth.

If I could have the kindest thoughts for all The work life gives to me to do each day, I then would hear God's voice in duty's call, And know no other wish but to obey. There is a sermon in each task done well, With consecrated, loving hands,—indeed, A sermon glowing words could never tell: Each task, well finished, is life's highest creed.

If we knew how oft the pathway Seems obstructed; and the night Giveth not a star of promise, Daylight dawning, nor the light; If we knew the inward struggle, Faith that knows nor doubt, nor loss , Would we stop to judge a brother While he's clinging to the cross? If we knew how oft the weary In their thirst stood at "the well" Like our Master, would we listen, Then of "living waters" tell? We would pray for light and wisdom, Love that gives the healing touch, Ceasing e'er to judge a brother. Learning thus to love him much.

Strong tides of early sunlight sweep Across the quiet hills, Awaking grass and ferns from sleep, The trees, and lyric rills; White clouds, like sea-mews, skim the sky; Low purls the fragrant breeze; And robins from the pine-boughs nigh Make matin-melodies. 'Tis Easter morning, calm and clear, In spirit solitude; Hushed are the sounds of strife and fear, Hushed sorrow's carking brood.

Father , did'st not Thou the dark wave treading Lift from despair the straggler with the sea? And heedest Thou not the scalding tear man's shedding, And knowest Thou not the pathway glad and free? This weight of anguish which they blindly bind On earth, this bitter searing to the core of love; This crushing out of health and peace, mankind— Thou all, Thou infinite, dost doom above. Oft mortal sense is darkened unto death, (The Stygian shadow of a world of glee) The old foundations of an early faith Sunk from beneath man, whither shall he flee? To Love divine—whose kindling mighty rays Brighten the horoscope of crumbling creeds, Dawn truth delightful, crowned with endless days,— And Science ripe in prayer, in word, and deeds.

Lo! this thou art. The only one Who e'er hath borne thy special grace Who with thy peers life's course doth run With thine own blessing for thy race.

Victory! Oh loving Father— God on high, Thou hast healed me, heard my cry! My enemy of pain has fled; The battle's won— I lift my head In triumph, and exulting shout: "The living Truth is error's rout!" Oh for the tongue of an angel to cry My paeans of joy aloud to the sky! Victory! Victory! But hush, my heart, thy song restrain; Oh bow before thy God again! Here kneel, and silence every sound; For lo! this place is holy ground.