Poems

Father, hast Thou not a message, To be borne in melody, To the hearts of suffering thousands, Unsustained by hope in Thee? Gladly would I bear the message. If a humble one might be Worthy to receive it, might not Seraphs whisper it to me? Low down in each heart are longings, That to song responsive spring; Songs of Heaven, I long to sing them, That they may with gladness ring.

"Give a word for the hope that is in us," Each loving disciple will ask, "For therein lies the faith that will win us, And aid us each day in our task. " It is well that thy words are our pillows, While here on this troublesome main, For as we sail over the billows, Black doubt comes again and again.

Teach me Thy way oh Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies. P salm xxvii.

Man longs, through life's dark day of pain, For one "far-off divine event. " The poet sings with soft lament, And dreams he makes God's purpose plain.

Build a little fence of trust Around today. Fill the space with loving work, And therein stay.

God is Love, and Love is sunshine; And all sunshine, in the home, Is but faint divine reflection, Source from whence all sunbeams come. Did we but the closer follow Copy for us God doth set, In His ways of wondrous kindness, We should never scold or fret.

Doing our duty we find peace and rest; Doing for His sake, is doing our best; Doing or not, whatever is done, Deeds are the outgrowth of victories won. Earth is no dwelling-place.

Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers! Coming in the springtime, To tell of sunny hours; While the trees are leafless, While the fields are bare, Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there. Welcome, yellow buttercups! Welcome, daisies white! Ye are, to my spirit, Beautiful and bright,— Coming in the springtime, Of sunny hours to tell, Speaking to our hearts of Him Who doeth all things well.

See him coming! See them gather At his feet; As the image of his Father, Him they greet With their branches and their plaudits, As is meet. Here a blind one, there a cripple, Hither led; By the constant human ripple, Kindly sped.

Comes our June None too soon, With its laughter and play; All too soon Will our June Slip in sadness away.