Poems

Behold the charm of Nature's touch On bush and shrub and tree; Bending 'neath their icy coats As if they would be free. They stand transformed in garments white As lovely as a bride; They sparkle all with myriad hues In beauty undenied.

Earth may bloom fair on Easter Day, The sun's resplendent glory Above the mists of night in strength arising, Their terrors all despising, May tell anew From skies of blue The resurrection story. But dreary clouds may cover o'er The cheerful sky, and rain Cold and forlorn, On this dear morn, May hearts depress and spirits lower That joyous should remain.

Hugging my staff in my blindness I begged of the passer-by, As sat blind Bartimæus Till the Master heard his cry. I heard the shouts of the people And I knew that the Lord was near, But I hugged my staff the closer And shrank as if in fear.

The glance that doth thy neighbor doubt, Turn thou. O man, within, And see if it will not bring out Some unsuspected sin.

No room at the inn for the Lord of Life, No place for the baby head, And the child of Love in his swaddling clothes Was laid in a manger-bed. No room,—and I ponder the story old Of that peaceful Christmas night, Of the crowded inn, and the sleepers there Who saw not the blessed light; Who heard not the song that the angels sang Of the Christ child's holy birth, And only the watching shepherds knew Of the love that had come to earth.

One by one pure thoughts and holy Lift us out of self and sin; One by one bright gleams of glory Show the goal we all would win. One by one our trusts are strengthened, As our lives to thee we give; One by one our days are lengthened, As in love we move and live.

I clasp in faith the hand of God, And trust His loving care. I know no plan or creed that leads So near His throne as prayer.

Immeasurable eons of time respond! Respond thou to my soul; Answer the questions I shall ask! Backward, ye ages, roll. Nay, come not nigh, thou Fear, Thou phantom of my brain.

Thy children, camels, everything thou hast, Have crossed the brook before the failing light; And all alone, through the long, awful night, Thou wrestledst with a message from the vast Spirit of Truth and Love that comes at last The sinew of thine error's strength to smite; And till the dawn of daylight meets thy sight, The angel still thou boldest firm and fast. And now, behold, he crieth, "Let me go! For lo, the morning breaketh!" Keep thy hold Upon the glorious one, till he bestow His blessing on thee; and when night has rolled Back from thy sense, on thee, like him of old, At Peniel the risen sun will glow.

'Tis not my task to feed the fowls of heaven; Nor clothe the lilies in their robes of white; Nor paint the rainbow in the clouds at ev'en; Nor deck the meadows with their blossoms bright. 'Tis not my task to criticise my brother, And watch his progress with a jealous eye; Nor envy the possessions of another, And let my flowers of promise droop and die.