Poems

I am fed up with all this depression, I am bored to tears with hopelessness, I am thoroughly sick of the world telling me The world's in a hideous, awful, miserable mess. For see how the good, the lovely, still abide, The sure, sound, spiritual virtues still endure: Trite as they seem, the benefactions stand Safe in God's grace to comfort and to cure.

When we withdraw to a quieter shore, we have not abandoned the sinful, sick, and poor to time or fate. Our Christ-compelled choice: that moment to wait on God.

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Wilt thou, he asked, "Wilt thou be made whole?" Response utterly devoid of recognition of him who queried, preoccupied with material remedy, with personal aid. The master Christian— undeterred— saw receptivity, purity, perfection.

baptism—and a dove—commitment! (wait!   and think and ponder now—commitment.

Trust in Him— or Her, if you prefer. CAROLYN E.

What is patience but extended love .

Will He thunder? Shake my muse with blazoned streaks While I cower closeted From fierce onslaught? No, this time His Word falls softly, Drizzles on the windows of my will, Distills His counsel lightly thought by thought by thought. EVELYNNE B.

The Bible was, to me, Like a door without a key, Until a "little book" Unlocked it, easily. Now its treasuries hold Precious pearls and gold— Healing truths That continually unfold.

The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein. His work is honourable and glorious: and his righteousness endureth for ever.