Poems

True Love is that which comes from God alone, And Perfect that which Christ for man hath shown— Jesus, who triumphed over Sin and Death, Jesus, who pardoned with his dying breath. God is Supreme! the one omniscient Mind Through whom the Way, the Truth, the Life, we find.

It may have been a dream—but beautiful at first: I found myself upon a breezy eminence At sunrise; and the hill was one great flashing opal In the bright morning sun, blushing resplendently Beneath his passionate June kisses; and the oaks That crowned the hill stretched out their glist'ning, pleading arms For more—and more—and more. Their quivering foliage Was full of bird-songs, and of airy whisperings From Heaven and other far-off tributary hills.

Jesus loves you, so do we, Little children though we be. Little hearts that Mother-love In your bosom broods above; Little feet that you have led, In the paths of love to tread; Little ones whom you have taught, How the deeds of Christ were wrought; Little eyes that beamed with bliss, When dear Mother sent us this— Sweetest poem ever read.

Infinite Mind my Shepherd is, And want I cannot see; The fragrant pastures all are His, And here He leadeth me Beside the streams of thought divine, And showeth me that all is mine. True sense of Life He doth restore To me in error's dream; Right thinking opens wide the door Wherein the glorious gleam Of Truth and Love falls on my heart, And Him I understand—in part.

Jesus loves you! so does Mother:      Glad thy Easter–tide: Loving God and one another,      You in Him abide. Ours through Him who gave you to us,      Gentle as the dove, Fondling e'en the lion furious,      Leading kine with love.

" Tis Resurrection Day; The stone is rolled away That hid from us the sense of Life and Love; All clad in Heaven's hue, And on God's image true, Descends the holy vision of the dove. Peace to each hoping heart; Balm for the arrow's dart; Mankind is risen from the sleep of death! Love burst the prison bars, And, with the morning hours, On this fair earth we draw a freer breath.

Rondeau. Hold Thou my hands a little while in thine— Thy gentle, restful hands—O Life divine! Cast out dark seeming and unquietness, As mothers do their children's restlessness, With unseen hand, which love and rest combine! And when these inconsistent hands of mine, To wayward selfishness and deeds incline, With Thy all-might and tender-lovingness, Hold Thou my hands! And when I face the dark, and must resign Love's tender, human touch; must disentwine Its dear, detaining clasp; when fears depress,— Those mortal fears I cannot quite repress, For all my faith and trust,—O Love divine, Hold Thou my hands!

Samaria ! thy winding ways And shady paths are dear to me, And all the shadow-haunted aisles That skirt sweet Galilee. The Man of Sorrows knew thee well— He left His footprints everywhere— And one may walk those paths to-day And feel His Presence there.

Going —the great round Sun, Dragging the captive Day Over behind the frowning hill. Over beyond the bay— Dying: Coming—the dusky Night, Silently stealing in, Wrapping himself in the soft, warm couch Where the golden-haired Day had been Lying.

Jesus , Saviour, how I love Thee! Love Thee more than tongue can tell, For the peace which Thou hast brought me,— Peace which in my heart doth dwell. Holy rapture, heavenly comfort, Perfect rest from sin and woe,— Jesus, Saviour, how I love Thee! Only Thou and I do know.