Poems

It matters not, What be thy lot, So Love doth guide; For storm or shine— Pure peace is thine— Whate'er betide. And of these stones; Or tyrant's thrones, God able is, To raise up seed— In thought and deed— To faithful His.

Sweet friendship, joy of hearts made white, Pure prelude of the Life divine, Thy sacred hallways we would tread, And in Thy Tabernacle of Love Would dwell in that security Which trust and faith alone can give, And giving, make the life we live At once divine, and sanctified.

Do you know that your thoughts rule your life, Be they pure or impure in the strife? As you think, so you are; And you make, or you mar Your success in the world, By your thoughts. Are your thoughts just and true every hour? Then your life will attest with great power.

The demon-haunted man, when Christ passed by, Cried with a piteous voice, "What can there be Of kinship, Son of God, for me and thee,— I the most low, and thou from the Most High?" Then by his lips the legion lusts made cry, "Before the time art come to torment me?" Then Jesus spake; and, from delusions free, In his right mind the man, redeemed, drew nigh. To-day's outcries proclaim the demon fears Lest Truth's flame touch the unfinished warp of lies Where malice hastes to weave in ill surmise: "Leave us alone! our malice-work of years If touched by Truth would pass to smoke wind-blown, And nothing leave for hate to call its own.

Teach us to reflect thy Love, Oh Saviour of the world; To grow in Truth and Righteousness, Thy banner to unfurl. We would be rid of mortal fear, And cleansed of sick belief; We would arise and follow Thee Who bringeth sweet relief.

THE FIRST AND LAST Before the darkness and our pain, Before an agony had birth, Eternal Love was heaven and earth, Forever thus 'twill be again. FIRST DAY.

How beautiful upon The mountains are the feet Of them that tidings bring Of Love,—God's own heartbeat! Upon the mountain tops The soul steps from the sod Of earthly thoughts upon A nearer path to God; And finds His perfectness, As from each summit gained There stretch forth heights beyond,— Ideals to be attained. What though they be obscured By mists of earth's desire ! Above the clouds their peaks Eternally aspire.

O, who shall roll the stone away? This is the cry of anguished hearts, Whose hopes are buried in the clay, Whose human faith no light imparts. The olden cry—'tis ages long; We do not see, and seeing find; We question; doubt; hear not the song The angels sing for all mankind.

When above the mists we rise, And we meet Him, face to face, Then we all shall realize Heaven is not some far-off place. "We shall know each other better," We shall see all as they are; There will be no sin to fetter Us, nor pain, our bliss to mar.

O, the weary time of longing, When my heart with hopes all spent, Fought the storms so thickly thronging, Sought the isle of heart's content. Doubt, despair, and dread assailed it, And the storms were raging high; Not a beacon light of hope lit Up the grief cloud-burdened sky.