Poems

'Tis mine to sow the seed, Though I may never know Whether the tender rootlets find Good soil in which to grow. 'Tis mine to sow the seed At morn, or noon, or night, Or even at the midnight hour, For Love will furnish light.

Truth leads us to that Fountain, pure and sweet, Where songs of deathless harmony arise, Where Beauty's being greets our spirit-eyes, And soul's desire and heaven's fulfilment meet. There find we Love enthroned in Mercy's seat, The golden glory of diviner skies Enfolding her with light that never dies— All these we find, if Truth but guide our feet.

I dwell not here; this sense of life With all its fret, and jar, and strife Is not true living, 'Tis slavery. I live above, Where time is joy, where life is love, Its freedom giving.

Ancient of days, my simple father's God, Of substance—All; My mother's Hope,—the stars obey thy nod: Thou that dost call Orion forth from out the chambered east! Thou that dost seal The firmament! Who art an endless feast To them that feel For thee one constant, evergrowing need:— Sufficient thou For ev'ry day and hour. Thy love my creed.

Seek not in this world for its gold, Seek not for its houses and lands; But seek to unfetter the hold Of anger, and tyranny's bands. Seek not for the power of might, But seek that your efforts ne'er cease To live for the good and the right; Seek this, and you shall find peace.

My heart looks out toward Judah's hill, But duty bids me "Peace, be still!" While throngs pass by, And songs of jubilee ascend, And faith, and hope, and beauty blend To make the day of sweet accord, In which we greet our coming Lord— Amen. Sense whispers to my waiting heart, "You'll miss the sweet, the better part, By absence from the feast;" But Love, omnipotent, supreme, Dispels the shadow of my dream, Reveals Communion ever here, Dependent not on place nor year, What then? Small matter where my body is, If I but love and worship His Eternal will, And, loving thus, some duty do To prove my love and motive true, Whilst sweet Communion whispers, still, No time, no space, no self, no will, But His.

Not in dumb resignation We lift our hands on high; Not like the nerveless fatalist Content to trust and die. Our faith springs like the eagle Who soars to meet the sun, And cries exulting unto Thee O Lord, Thy will be done! Thy will! It bids the weak be strong, It bids the strong be just; No lip to fawn, no hand to beg, No brow to seek to dust.

To-day my heart was strangely stirred, I caught a deeper thought that gave New meaning to the written Word, New love to him who came to save. "One thing thou lackest!" how it thrilled My wakened conscience, e'en to pain, My heart with questionings was filled, Of heavenly loss, of earthly gain.

No mortal sense can hinder The flight of secret prayer, That ceaseless, voiceless heart-desire Which seeks God everywhere. The spoken sign, or symbol, Time-hallowed form or phrase, May open heaven's portal For him who humbly prays.

I've watched in the azure the eagle's proud wing, His soaring majestic, and feathersome fling— Careening in liberty higher, and higher— Like genius unfolding a quenchless desire. Would a tear dim his eye, or pinions lose power To gaze on the lark in her emerald bower? When higher he soareth to compass his rest— What vision so bright as the dream in his breast! God's eye is upon him; He penciled his path, Whose omniscient notice the frail fledgling hath; Though lightnings were lurid, and earthquakes should shock, He rides on the whirlwind or rests on the rock.