Questions & Answers
It is over: The long race is run, And the dream I dreamed is done; Still through misty trails of dreamland You are faring homeward, O beloved one! Up the hillside, Over thorn and stone On you fare—but not alone. There is but one upward pathway, And that pathway is the patient Father's own.
He who dwells in light above, God, most high and holy, Sends the angel-thoughts of Love To the meek and lowly; Thoughts of purity and peace Constantly descending, Bidding pain and sorrow cease, Help and comfort lending; Bringing courage, strength, and hope When the storm clouds gather, Light when they in darkness grope, Blessings from the Father. So the contrite see His face, For the High and Holy Maketh thus His dwelling place, With the meek and lowly.
Does the day seem dark, and the way seem long? Be still, and know. Does there seem to be less of right than wrong? Be still, and know.
Awake , O earth, awake to hear the singing Of angel hosts that throng thy midnight hour. Lift up your eyes and see the radiant glory That marks the coming of the Christ in power! With justice and with judgment, e'en forever, The Christ will reign and tyranny shall cease! Lift up your hearts, ye nations, greet his coming, The King Eternal and the Prince of Peace.
It is a wondrous thing that thou and I On a new world are gazing, on the verge Of that vast ocean of eternity Whose hymn the prophets heard, whose rhythmic surge Fore-sounded through the centuries, and doth urge The doom of the oppressor: thus we gaze As when from Pisgah's height, upon the marge Of Palestine, athwart the encircling haze Of yore one looked, and longed in wonder and amaze. Like as an eagle, as the tale is told, Renews its youth upon the mountain's crest, Bathing in amber light of liquid gold, And gazing on the sun with fearless quest, So doth the world with all her sins confessed, Her myriad sins, her wars, her woes, her sighs— She that has given her bravest and her best— Pass through the flame, renew her life, and rise From out her own dead self into the radiant skies.
Where there is no vision, the people perish. —Proverbs.
As come the raindrops to a withered flower, So to the heart in an oppressive hour There come these tender words with healing power,— "My peace I leave with you. " Then, weary one, rest in the promise made, At this thy testing time be unafraid,— Let all thy thoughts upon the Christ be stayed, And prove his promise true!
The lamp burned low. 'Gainst Mary's throbbing breast The babe had nestled for the night.
Soft twilight comes, the hour of rest; A crescent moon shines in the west, Yet on the roof and window-pane. I hear the welcome sound of rain— Soft summer shower, whose music falls On listening ears! The heart it calls To peace and joy and gratitude, Telling to all that God is good.
A FAITHFULL student read one night The Holy Scriptures,—his Scriptures,—his delight, His guide, his stay, his daily bread,— And these words stopped him as he read: "Thou shalt increase my greatness. " Yea, But what is greatness, who may say? Can it be wealth or power or fame, Or anything which men acclaim? Is it that greatness hedged with caste, Rank, pomp, precedence? Surely, passed Are all these childish vanities; And God increaseth none of these.