Questions & Answers

The eagle rests. His prowess through the sky— Long-tested, battling winds that twist and throw, With unseen force, the treacherous undertow— Returns him to his nest.

God is unerring in His ways, A perfect guide to me; The perfect Principle, my God, The all-wise Deity— The God who is, and ever was, And evermore shall be! He lifts me as on eagle's wings To see creation's plan, God's beauty, yea, God's loveliness, In His reflection, man— The brightness of God's glory, when God's handiwork I scan.

Here —where I stand today—is holy ground; It matters not just where that place may be. In busy market place, in field, in town, God's love and care do still encompass me.

Teach me to live unselfishly, Not my own will to seek; That I may not reluctantly Obey, when Thou dost speak. Teach me to see as Thou dost see, Discern Thy image true, Behold in man Thy purity, Thus daily to renew That inspiration all divine, The gift which Thou hast given To those who pray, "Thy will, not mine," Whose hearts from sin are shriven.

The shepherd walks—his flock about his knees, Guarding, guiding, comforting those forlorn. With him they issue forth when first the morn Sends level sunbeams through the wakened trees.

I know not what today will bring; I only know that I shall sing My praises unto Thee. I know not what my hands must do; I only know they will be true To every task from Thee.

Mary pondered in her heart The angels' glorious lay; The Saviour of the world they said Had come with joy that day— Glory to God in the highest, Good will to men And on earth peace, rejoicingly They caroled then. The shepherds spread abroad The angels' joyous song; They sang the Saviour's praises; To all did he belong.

Let us behold the dwelling place of God, This high, this holy, and this undefiled Home of true Spirit, by no mortal trod, Guarded by flaming sword! Here to the mild, The truly meek, the clear-eyed angel throng, Its portals open wide—though knock in vain The proud, the fearful thoughts allied to wrong . When subtler errors would a meekness feign, No entrance can they find, and in the light So radiant and so healing from within, They vanish with the shadows of the night.

Let me, dear God, more patient be, For patient work expresseth Thee. Each trial, each tear, each humble task Is progress' proof.

"Their soul shall be as a watered garden; and they shall not sorrow any more at all. "— Jeremiah 31:12.