Triumph and Other Poems

by Max Dunaway


A number of these poems are copyrighted and used by permission.


Copyright 1963 Max Dunaway
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
E. D. Abbott Company
181 Massachusetts Avenue
Boston, Massachusetts



Dedicated to God
who is the author
of whatever is good in these verses
and to whose praise I would have them sing.



Table of Contents




Triumph

You say that you have failed? You found you could not bring Into this unbelieving world your bit of good?
Your friends have gone, your words abused, The gift you longed to give, refused,
And all the work you lived to do, misunderstood?

Well, let me tell you of another man who failed—Or so it seemed: he died a malefactor’s death.
He suffered more for what he thought Than any other who has brought
Some good to earth. His name was Jesus of Nazareth.

He was a carpenter a while, and then he turned
To a new work, preaching the gospel, or good news. It was said man never spoke before
As this man spoke upon the shore
Of Galilee or from the hillside’s higher views.

His words were powerful, beyond all contradiction, And when he spoke he proved the truth of what he said, For blinded eyes received their sight;
Sin-darkened lives knew God’s pure light;
He fed the hungry, healed the sick, and raised the dead.

He talked to simple folk and talked of simple things: Of birds and flowers, little children, sheep that roam. He spoke of farmers planting seeds
And of their trouble with the weeds.
He told about a boy that left his father’s home.

He spoke of landlords, of capitalists and laborers; Of building houses on the rock and on the sand; He talked of love and life and light,
Of how to pray to God aright—
Not just to say the words, but more, to understand.

He was compassionate with both the sick and sinful, But his rebuke could tear a masquerade to bits.
Self-righteous scribes and Pharisees Felt his reproof. He likened these
To sepulchres and called them fools and hypocrites.

His words infuriated them; so did his deeds—Driving the profit seekers from their temple den, Breaking traditions, going his way,
Healing upon the sabbath day.
Keeping God’s law of love, he broke the rules of men.

This stirred the people up; he grew unpopular
With those teachers who thought that men should not be stirred. They thought it more expedient
To have him die than to consent
To what might happen if other men believed his word.

He had his friends, of course, a dozen very close,
And loved them more than anyone else had ever done. But when his fortunes went amiss
One friend betrayed him with a kiss.
The rest deserted or denied him, every one.

His enemies conspired to have him put away;
And held a trial for him, a mocking, trumped-up thing. Only false witnesses would speak,
But it satisfied the ruling clique,
And so they led away the man who was their King.

A King of men indeed; but what king met such fate? His scepter was a spear thrust in his bleeding side. The only crown that his head wore
Was one of thorns, piercing and sore;
His throne, a cross on which the man was crucified.

And there he hung, this King, rejected and despised,
While men passed by and wagged their heads at him in scorn. His mission scoffed, disciples fled,
And he about to join the dead—
Oh, how could any good from such an hour be born?

The very heavens felt the tragedy beneath,
And day grew dark at noontime; then the temple veil Was torn apart in a sudden quake.
Even the rocks began to break,
And graves were opened, as though earth itself should wail.

Later, the body was taken from the cross and placed Within a rock-bound tomb, this with a great stone sealed. But in three days God’s power was shown—
An angel rolled away the stone,
And he stepped forth whose love could not be made to yield.

Seen by his friends, he chided them for unbelief,
Broke bread with them, and then departed from their sight. Later he came to bring them gain,
When they had fished all night in vain,
And talked with them in the dawn of a new and radiant light.

What that light was we cannot say till we ourselves
Have glimpsed of its effulgence, but this much we know: It filled those men with such a zeal
That they went forth with power to heal
The sick and weary people of their weight of woe.

Their Master’s work became their own; his purpose theirs; They followed in the path that he himself had trod.
Their prayers healed lame and palsied men And raised the dead to life again,
And thousands heard them preach and gave their hearts to God.

Such works as these only the Master had performed. Surely the light which they had seen that morning hour Was that which shed on him its glow.
Had he not said that they should know,
If they believed on him, this wonder-working power?

Oh, those were happy, happy days for them, indeed, But Satan and his cohorts had not given up,
For stony hatred and the sword Awaited these who served their Lord.
As they had eaten his bread, so they must drink his cup.

Thus, malice took its toll of them, and they were driven From place to place, until their lives became their loss. Of those first twelve, not one was spared
Except, perhaps, one who had cared
Enough to stay nearby his Lord upon the cross.

And yet with all the persecution and the death
Of those brave men, the truth they taught was so profound That just as soon as one had gone
Others rose up to carry on.
By all this world’s hate God’s word could not be downed.

And so it is today that men in every land
Have heard the gospel message those first Christians knew. Its truth is taught as far and near
As there are those with hearts to hear—
And now all that remains is that we prove it true.

And this will likewise come, as surely as the rest, By that same healing power a loving God imparts. He who has put within men’s ears
This gospel that outlives the years
Will put it just as certainly within their hearts.

******

Well, you have heard the story, friend. What brought it up? Oh, I remember now: you said that you had failed.
And I related this to show
You that the truth can never go.
Through all these storm-filled centuries it has prevailed.

Yesterday, one lonely man upon a cross;
Today, the truth he taught retold throughout the earth; Tomorrow, that same truth shall be
Lived in men’s lives for all to see.
The truth can know no death, because it knows no birth.

Oh, have the faith of him who said, “Heaven and earth Shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.” You cannot fail, if you be true.
And now return to what you do
And live and love and wait and watch and work and pray.



Thoughts

Not what we do or say, but what we think Determines what we are.
Within the realm of high and noble thought Soars mankind’s highest star.

There is no deed of valor, might, or right Without the thought behind.
No work of love was ever wrought or taught But started in the mind.

No king, dictator, or president defines What thoughts we choose to think.
No prison bars can hold or stay the thought
That is with God a link.

Would you rule over all that life can bring, Be joyous, strong, and free?
Guard, then, the thoughts of every hour, for these Are life and destiny.



Demonstration

“Lord, Lord,” I cried, and wondered why I was not healed. Had I not asked in faith and to God’s love appealed?
Yet my petition seemed denied.
For all my little world was troubled and oppressed;
While thought, halfway resentful, found no moment’s rest From all the cares it magnified.

And then I prayed again, not for the healing sign, But for an honest heart, made clean by Love divine; For sacrifice of willful ways;
For purer, deeper love, faithful and undefiled; For true simplicity that crowns a little child With life of gratitude and praise.

Tense thought relaxed, and then I saw how vastly more Of good there was than ever I had known before,
And I was still in reverence.
The sun of Truth broke through the clouds of my distress And showed creation bathed in love and holiness Without a taint of mortal sense.

I turned once more to my own lot with thought renewed. Where bitterness had been, now there was gratitude, And humbleness for grieving pride.
My woes had been so tightly bound about my eyes I had seen nothing else, failing to recognize
God’s blessings at my very side.

Dear Father, I would still be healed, and let it be Of self-pity, ingratitude, and doubt of Thee.
And let me face my human task
With loving thought that keeps me selfless, kind, and meek. This, Lord, this is the demonstration that I seek—
This is the healing that I ask.



“Freely Give”

Dear God, I cannot doubt. I watched the red sun set In a blue blanket flung beneath pillows of white, And all the heaven turned to billowed roseate,
Like an inverted ocean of gold-dispersing light.

How beautiful it was! And yet, withal, I knew
The light that shot the heavens so their glory shone Came from a far-off sun, that to my earthly view
Was but of little size. Yet leagues of light were thrown.

Then stars at night! In number infinite indeed,
Yet each precisely placed. (No more shall I debate, Dear God, if You can meet my little human need: Behold these endless worlds of worlds You regulate!)

And yet, for all their vastness and their magnitude. The eye would never notice them except they shine; Through years of stellar time their rays go unsubdued. Until some eye perceives their radiant design.

The universe, it seems to me, sings this one theme: That giving is the purpose, yes, the act of life—
The plant-producing earth, the freely flowing stream, The crickets’ song, the hay that keeps sweet odors rife.

And men and women, too, of every clime and time
Who gave of what they had that mankind’s chains might fall, Revealers of God’s love, who made their lives sublime
By emulating him who gave his heavenly all.

Then why should I, resisting life’s great pattern, live
For some poor, selfish purpose that acquires and hoards? Lord, let me learn in everything I do to give;
And giving, gain the gift that Love alone affords.



The Lion

Proverbs 22:13

“There is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets.” And the slothful man wept, as in terror one meets Some foe from whom he cannot hide.
“I cannot defeat him—this I know. Always I have had to yield to this foe.
O Lord, take the lion from my path,” he cried.

But the lion he dreaded did not depart,
And the man was tormented by the fear in his heart, Until at last he silently prayed.
Then peace came to him like a soothing, cool hand
On a fever-parched brow, and he heard this command: “Have faith in God, and be not afraid.”

He listened to this and heard the voice say:
“Does not God mean as much as a lion in the way? The foe which you fear, it is well you should face. So, rise and resist. You are not alone;
The Father Himself takes care of His own
And gives them the strength of truth and of grace.

Now forget all your fears, and go forth like a man; With God’s help you can do all you think you can. Have faith in His love; be led by His voice.
And the foe which you saw you will see disappear; It was not a lion; it was nothing but fear.
Truth is the lion; trust Truth and rejoice.”

Then the man who had listened to this healing word Breathed a prayer of thanks for what he had heard
And smiled as one smiles who cares not what he meets. No more the despairing and fear-beaten one,
But conscious of power as God’s perfect son, Unmolested and joyous he walked through the streets.



Farmin’

Sure, I know; there’s lots of weeds in this here plot. And I could just forget about it, like as not,
And let the wind blow weed seed into other fields
And mess up what is growin’ there and spoil their yields. But I’ve got a bucket of seed that might get wet and spoil; And rather than let it rot, I’ll put it in the soil
And hope that it will grow and choke out every weed—And if it don’t, I ain’t lost nothin’ but my seed.

Sure, I know; there’s plenty I can see that’s wrong. And I could just give up and never sing a song
And scowl and growl because the sky ain’t always blue; And everyone who heard would be unhappy too.
But I’ve got a bucket of gladness here that I can’t hide, And I’m a-goin’ to sow it just as far and wide
As it will reach. And then, if there’s no crop by fall And I get nothin’ back, I ain’t lost nothin’ at all.



Day Beauty

As beautiful as day, dear God, So let me live a life of light.
As clear and certain as the dawn, Growing in strength, let me go on
Till Truth and Love outshine the night.

As joyous as the singing birds; Dwelling in You, my great strong tree, May I, like them, pour forth my voice, And with the breaking light rejoice
In praise of all the good I see.

As glowing as the eastern sky Just as the sun comes into view, Let my love rise above the hill Of selfishness and sense until
Its rays burst forth, direct and true.

Then as the full, rich warmth of noon Brings life and strength to everything, May I express vitality,
Your power animating me,
Till others feel the peace You bring.

As busy as the buzzing bees, Let me be active in my work Of serving You, nor stop to ask Why mine is not a better task.
The one You give, let me not shirk.

As restful as the evening cool When every care has gone away, Let me be wrapped in peace of Soul Until my life is pure and whole,
As beautiful, dear God, as day.



The Ants

Proverbs 6:6

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; Consider her ways and be wise.”
These were the words that came to mind When I had tried in vain to find
Some means by which to rise.

So to the ants I went
For their secret of success,
And from God’s tiny creatures learned Proficiency, for which I yearned—
A way of fruitfulness.

I saw these things: First, each Had a purpose, none was without.
And each of them addressed its work Expectantly and did not shirk
In idleness or doubt.

I noted their courage. One seized An object twice its size,
And though I thought that it must fail, It struggled on, refusing to quail,
Till it had gained its prize.

They traveled a straight course; Seldom did they deviate.
An obstacle upon the way
Did not deter them; rather, they Went over and on straight.

I marvelled that they never stopped; Not one relaxed its toil,
But, one task done, without a rest It met the next with force and zest That nothing seemed to spoil.

Activity, it was clear, Underlay their success.
When one had done its moment’s deed It hastened to its fellow’s need
And helped that one progress.

Dear Lord, the way of the ants Has helped to set me free From inactivity and doubt
And brought new hope by casting out A selfish apathy.

To think I failed to see Your purpose for each one!
Or let myself believe that You Would give a work I could not do Or could want to leave undone!

Give me the courage of the ant To face my task aright,
Never to recognize defeat
Nor cease my work until complete. Let joy make all tasks light.

Let my course be as straight As theirs; let me not seek
Some easy path that goes around All obstacles, but gains no ground Because it is oblique.

Let not fatigue destroy The ardor of work begun;
But let my task, whatever it be, Be met enthusiastically
And honored till it is done.

Let me, dear God, I pray, Be active spiritually.
They never fail who live in zeal To lift and love, to help and heal. Such service is liberty.

Great is the wisdom of the ant, Of true intelligence; Unflagging worker, of a mind
To put each moment’s task behind. I seek such excellence.



Go Up

Go up, doubting one; the way still extending, Forever ascends to more glorious height.
The darkness about you is not the path’s ending; For taken yet higher, the way becomes bright.

Why stand so abashed by the shadow’s deep curtain? God’s hand will sustain you, protect you, and guide. Fear not to step forth; your footsteps are certain
So long as the Father walks here at your side.

Are you slow to progress, as a worm in its creeping? Then be just as patient likewise as the worm;
And persevere onward while others are sleeping. Look straight to your goal; be steadfast and firm.

For why do you dread the steep inclination? The steeper the climb, the higher you go.
Who loves the high places seeks most elevation That he may depart from the things down below.

Consider the eagle on his strong-breasted pinion; He soars in full freedom, a speck in the blue.
Yet how would he know such a lofty dominion
If he clung to the earth and with meadowlarks flew?

Go up, doubting one. Go up in rejoicing.
The steep path before you is one that sets free. It leads you away from lies of sin’s voicing To grace and dominion. Go up and see.



Perfection

Dear God, the seasons in their row In perfect order come and go, Exemplifying what we know: Reality is Your reflection.
We see Your hand in everything,
The autumn’s fruits, the life of spring, And all the world seems to sing: “Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!”

How often in some woodland bower We see the workings of Your power Unfolded in a single flower, Recipient of Your protection.
Each lovely petal tells so much, All velveted by Your own touch, We find no words to speak of such Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!

And when the stars spread forth at night Their luminescent span of light,
So all the heavens are clear and bright, Is not this done at Your direction?
To our awed sense, the stars appear To say to us, “Your God is here;” So vast You are—and yet so near. Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!

Shall we sit here and meditate
How sin and fear and greed and hate Disrupt humanity’s estate,
And lose ourselves in sad dejection? Ah, no, dear God. The wrongs we see Must fade before reality,
And in it there can only be Perfection! Perfection! Perfection!



To a Gold Star Mother

Count not that lost which you did give That other mothers’ sons might live. Like Mary, of her child bereft,
You too have made your mother’s gift.



Testimony

It is so little, Lord, the widow’s mite,
This faltering word of thanks that I would speak. So faint it seems, some may not hear
My gratitude above my fear,
In trembling voice, uneloquent and weak.

Yet of the widow did the Master say That she had given more than all the rest. And he did not disdain the heart
That ventured to bestow its part
And, in a humble way, its gratitude expressed.

Then let my thanks to God be testified; If He accept it, then I ask no more.
And hearts that yearn as mine may yearn For messages of Love will learn
That faithful lives can worship and adore.



The Master’s Daily Life

Thank you, dear God, for lessons I am learning In words and acts of him who showed the way From earth to heaven. His teaching and example, Unfailing then, are just as sure today.

I see him coming forth from his baptism, The Spirit descending on him like a dove, And listen to a voice from heaven saying
That this is God’s own Son, the loved of Love.

Then in the wilderness, where he is driven By strong necessity to prove the sum
Of Satan’s claims untrue, I see him standing Against temptation till his angels come.

I note him touch the hand of Peter’s mother In Christly reassurance of God’s care,
And she who has been burning with a fever Rises at once to be of service there.

I watch him praying through the night till morning Upon some lofty height, that he may gain
A clearer view of God, and then, with dawning, Return to heal men of their woe and pain.

I marvel at his courage and compassion,
As when he stretches forth his hand to touch A leper or, rebuking in the temple
The Pharisees, heals those who suffered much.

I watch him stoop down on the ground in writing While sinner and condemners stand before,
And then, with each convicted by his conscience, Show heaven’s pardon: “Go, and sin no more.”

I hear him weeping softly with his loved ones, Touched by the grief that others cannot quell, Then startle suddenly the mournful gathering With loud command that breaks death’s gloomy spell.

I see him in his hour of earthly triumph,
When men spread garments where he soon must pass, Yet he goes through their welcoming hosannas
Meek and lowly, sitting on an ass.

Again, I see him in his hour of sorrow Within the Garden of Gethsemane.
How perfectly he yields to God, the Father, Surrendering his all to Love’s decree!

I watch him stand in uncondemning silence While Pilate marvels, wondering what is true. I hear him say in time of anguish, “Father,
Forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

I see him on his resurrection morning, Comforting another, banishing her tears; And in the evening, seeking his disciples, To reassure them and dispel their fears.

And with his followers I climb that mountain Where he will bless them all and then ascend, First bidding them to teach all nations, saying That he is with them till the world’s end.

Dear God, I thank You for his love and patience That evermore will bless the lives of men.
I learn the healing lessons that he teaches And see the living Christ appear again.



Man of Wealth

He does not lack for wealth, that man Who finds his good in nature’s plan, For he can have and widely share The riches he sees everywhere.

Each morning finds him looking on The wealth of panoramic dawn;
Each noon pours forth its opulence In unashamed extravagance.

Bright flowers spread before his feet A priceless carpet, dainty, sweet;
And laid therein such color schemes As dilettantes find in dreams.

His treasure grows too large to spend Each time he sees the sun descend And scatter gold so recklessly
The sky becomes a gilded sea.

Then darkness folds a velvet gown Richer than any beneath a crown, And diamonds glitter in the sky Beyond the best that kings can buy.

Yes, nature gives her treasure store
To him who knows what wealth is for—Not to be grasped and hid again,
But to enjoy with God and men.



Easter Day

“Easter Day,” said I, “should be observed With reverent thanks for life renewed.” At church I heard the holy Word
And sang glad hymns of gratitude, Then meditated on love too great For lips to speak or words to say. “It is good,” said I, “to glorify
The Master thus on Easter Day.”

But when the day had turned to night, Somehow I felt an unnamed gloom.
I tossed and turned and strangely yearned To learn the lesson of a tomb—
An empty tomb, within whose walls The crucified no longer lay.
What holy prayer was uttered there To bring about an Easter Day?

There Life shone through the dark of death And its false promise of relief;
The wonder of that faultless love That would not yield to hate or grief! Ah, well indeed that men should raise
Their hymns of gladness and should pray; But, oh, my heart, have you had part
With Truth and known Christ’s Easter Day?

Rise from your self-made sepulcher And know the glory of Spirit’s might.
From every grave Love’s power can save And bring mankind into the light.
And, oh, what peace unspeakable The resurrection will convey!
In that glad morn of joy newborn Walk forth with Christ on Easter Day.



Mother America

Yes, we have loved you, motherland of ours, Loved you because we thought in you we found A standard raised aloft, a lamp held high Within a world where few such lamps abound.

And now you send your sons upon far seas And farther lands, there to defend your light, And we go willingly because we trust
Our motherland and think her cause is right.

Yes, Mother, we go forth as loyal sons, Willing to give whatever you demand, So it be used in justice and in truth
For everyone and throughout every land.

But, O our Mother, be as true to us As you expect your sons to be to you.
And use not that which we may win at length As license for yourself to be untrue.

You, who have called us from our much-loved homes And sent us forth in freedom’s sacred name,
Make of our sacrifice no mockery;
Dim not the torch with mankind’s hope aflame.

If you in others will not tolerate Oppression, tyranny, and racial strife, Let not these evils be an inner rot, Corrupting and defiling your own life.

Let not your boundaries be the limits of Compassion in humanity’s distress,
Nor choose the course of cheap expediency Above the rugged way of righteousness.

Oh, be a mother we are proud to serve Because of virtue, faithfulness, and worth. What son will not for such a mother go To the remote extremities of earth!

For you are more than home and native land, More than the place for which we daily long. Justice, honor, truth—all these you are;
The qualities that will not yield to wrong.

Yes, you are all that we hold good and great, A lamp to light the world once again.
Be not unfaithful to your holy trust,
Nor to your sons, America, mother of men.



Daniel

How can it be, my God, how can it be That I, who have served Thee continually. Am thrown condemned into a lions’ den Because I worshiped Thee instead of men?

Even the king, to whom I did no hurt, By his own law his subject must desert.
‘The God thou servest continually,” said he Before he left, “He will deliver thee.’

The God I serve continually—but then, How can I serve Thee in a lions’ den? And yet “continually”—that must imply That even here Thy name I glorify.

And, O my God, I could not love Thee more Were I at home, my knees upon the floor, Worshiping Thee in freedom once again, Than I do here within this lions’ den.

And even these Thy lions mean no harm To him who rests on Thy sustaining arm.
Are not all things on earth, in heaven and sea, Controlled alike by Thy all-wise decree?

Behold, the light is streaming from above! The night is spent; the day has dawned in love. And now the king’s lamenting voice I hear.
He need not weep; there is no cause for fear.

My God has sent to me an angel thought
To shut the lions’ mouths, and it has brought Me forth unhurt. My God delivered me—The God, O king, I serve continually.



Thanksgiving

There are so many things, dear Lord, For which we thank You that the word Cannot declare our gratitude:
For daily blessings You have sent Of Your abundance, never spent, Found both in seen and unseen food.

For Your own presence, near and dear, For perfect Love that casts out fear, For power that brings humility, Security, and peace of mind.
For happy hours we daily find, For boundless opportunity.

For trials we sometimes suffer long
That we may grow more pure and strong, That we may free our lives from blame; For chastening, that we may leave greed And turn to see our brother’s need
Then quickly help supply the same.

For wondrous works that You perform Of ills disproved and man reborn,
For triumph over every wrong; For quick relief from pain and sin,
And lives made sweet by Love within, For joy, for trust, for strength, for song.

Indeed, Your gifts are so increased With use that each one brings a feast Of others, with itself renewed.
There are so many things, dear Lord, For which we thank You that the word Cannot declare our gratitude.



Salute to My Brother

“He is dead,” they said; “your brother’s plane was found between His transport base in Assam, India, where he last was seen,
And Kunming, China, toward which he flew a Liberator load Of gas over the Hump. (The Nips had cut the Burma Road.)

“He had his flying time all in with a furlough nearly due, But China needed gas, and pilots there were all too few. So he took up the load, and, well, now he’s gone, poor lad. Such a manly, brilliant chap he was. It seems too bad.”

“Too bad, too bad,” the words reverberated in my ears.
My heart, indignant in protest, eyes filled with burning tears, I beat my mental fists against the callousness of life
And called upon my God to know why He allowed such strife.

Then spent with weeping, I lay still at last, and suddenly I felt as though in consciousness I sensed eternity,
And wondering—it was the strangest thing, I will admit—I heard faint strains of music, as from out the infinite.

An anthem—not a dirge—as angel choruses might raise In joyous hallelujah, filled with gratitude and praise,
As though some great deed done on earth had made its way to heaven,
And there, in tribute to its worth, celestial praise was given.

“Why do you weep?” I heard a voice, but heard it not with ears. “The angels sing at thought of him. Why, then, are you in tears? Do deeds of selfless love, of courage, and of high ascent
That win the Father’s praise deserve no more than your lament?

“He whom you mourn, he lived life to the full and had but sneers For those who measure life by nothing more than passing years. The future will not ask the past, ‘How long did this man live?’ But rather will its query be, ‘How much did this man give?’

“And who has given more than he who freely gave his all, Who did not shirk when he had heard humanity’s sick call?
He was no fool about such things; he knew he dealt with death, But counted mankind’s liberty more dear than mortal breath.

“Now he has finished with his work and gone to his reward And heard the words, ‘Well done, my son,’ said to him by his
Lord.
And you who lie in selfish tears, in sorrow's heartless clutch, You may live twice as long as he, yet live not half as much.”

The voice had ceased its speaking, but the music would remain, More glorious than ever with its glad and golden strain.
I rose and stood erect—my lips, though trembling still, were mute—
And looking up, I raised my hand in proud and high salute.



Pirouette

Jubilant toddler of two fleeting summers, Dancing in ecstasy that mocks my concern, Having acquired a vertical balance,
You hazard it now with each dizzy turn.

What do you find in this querulous world Conducive to spirits of such endless zest, That you who are weak can scarcely be quiet, While I who am stronger sigh only for rest?

Are you who are young so much wiser than I am? Do you know the secret that I have not found?
In living have I lost much of life’s buoyance,
While you at life’s threshold with gladness abound?

Ah, you will not answer; you are too much enraptured, Delighted in dancing, in wheeling and whirls;
And all of my questions you flout with one answer: A bewildering shake of your sun-snaring curls.



Peter

Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church.” Master, did you call me a rock? I, who have had to search And pray for strength to still the wavering within my heart, As when I walked upon the waves, then felt my faith depart; Or when, denying you, I heard the cock begin to crow,
And wept the tears of deep remorse, of bitter shame and woe. The only rock that I knew then was just the heavy stone That lay across my heart to think that I left you alone.

So many times I did things wrong, holding fast to creeds, Suggesting tabernacles made of stones instead of deeds, Taking you to task for being faithful to your Lord, Unsheathing in an unpropitious hour my erring sword.
It would have seemed not strange at all if you had wondered why
You had been led to choose so indiscreet a one as I.
And yet I know you must have looked through all these faults to see,
Deeper than all of my mistakes, the man I longed to be.

And unwise though I often was, sometimes I felt the power That animated you, and proved it in a holy hour,
As when three thousand heard my word and turned from scorn to praise,
Or when I healed the mendicant and felt his grateful gaze, Or lifted up the kindly one, who all declared had died,
Or when through prison doors I walked, an angel for my guide.

“Thou art Peter”—oh, may I be a living rock indeed,
Unshakable in Truth, matched to the time’s astounding need.



Light

‘Lord, I am weary and afraid, And evil seeks to dominate.”
So murmured one who thought himself Submerged in care and desolate.
Failing to see the light that glowed, A purging fire to every doubt,
He overlooked the simple truth That would have shut all error out.

“Lord, that I might with Thee see life
And so know that which meets Thy sight." This prayer came from the heart that yearned; And with the prayer a ray of light,
A glimpse of truth that pierced the mist Of fear and mental weariness
And brought a silent, healing peace That stilled earth’s clamor of distress.

“Why, Lord, then I must see myself, And all the universe, in Thee.
If that be so, where are the fear
And evil thoughts that harassed me? Gone! Gone with the mist that passed When I beheld my life in Thee.
Since God is good, there is none else, And I am Thine, refreshed and free!”



Jesus’ Prayers

Jesus’ prayers were affirmation. Strong with truthful declaration. Hear his steadfast, sure insistence Claiming man’s divine existence: “I and my Father are one.”
“The Father loveth the Son.” “Father, I thank thee,” ran his praise.
“I knew that thou hearest me always.” Urgent was his protestation,
Earnest in asseveration.

Jesus’ prayers were expectation, Serene in their anticipation, Certain of the perfect healing Sure to follow God’s revealing.
“Arise!” to one who could not stand.
To stricken one, “Stretch forth thine hand.” “Weep not,” to her whose son was dead.
Both grief and death at his word fled. Always he brought men consolation With calm and holy realization.

Jesus’ prayers were demonstration, Mighty with Truth’s animation.
Well he knew that all perfection Belongs to man as God’s reflection. “Man, thy sins are forgiven thee.” “Behold, thou art made whole,” said he. “Lazarus, come forth," he cried
And proved that man had never died. He perceived the true creation, God’s own perfect manifestation.

Jesus’ prayers were glorification, Lofty in their exaltation,
God, the Father, glorifying, Mortal self and sense denying.
“The Son can of himself do nought.”
“The Father . . . doeth the works,” he taught. “Father, glorify Thy name.”
Such meekness must God’s might proclaim. Never greater consecration
Than his in every situation.

Wondrous prayers—words made living, Fruitful prayers—rich with giving, Healing prayers—freedom bearing, Loving prayers—goodness sharing.
Jesus’ prayers and works were one, Not complete till deeds were done.

******

Through the truth of Love revealed All may pray, and all be healed.
In this light of revelation Mankind has its liberation.



At Thy Command

In Thy way, Father, and at Thy command Would I fulfill the purpose Thou hast planned. Oh, let my ears be open to Thy Word,
My heart prepared to do what shall be heard.

Expectant thought will presently behold
The task Thou dost with loving hands unfold. I do not need to hasten or delay;
I need but hear Thy voice and then obey.



Unfettered

God measures time for us as good unfolds, And He reveals and governs all our way. Unhurried and unworried we may go;
Not time but Mind directs our ordered day.



Prayer of the Reading Room Attendant

Father, may all who come into this haven
For Truth’s refreshment find their needful food. May they partake of that pure nourishment
The meditations of Thy Word include.

Give through Thy healing power the glad unfoldment That fills with light the thought immersed in gloom. Dear God, may every seeker find Love’s treasure; Let none go empty-hearted from this room.



Come Forth

Jesus was seen by the light of morning, But in the night came resurrection.
There in the thickness of the gloom That filled the solemn, silent tomb He proved eternal man’s perfection.

So we may find in hours of darkness The moment of our liberation.
Cast off discouragement and grief; Rise from the grave of false belief And claim the joy of demonstration.



Peter on Galilee

Fishers of men, you said; and here we fish For finned and scaly creatures of the sea. So deep my darkness now I all but wish
I had not seen the light you showed to me.

Yet life began for me, I know, that day You bade me launch my ship into the deep, And every word that I have heard you say Has held the truth for which the ages weep.

That truth I have forsaken, Master dear, When, rather, these poor nets I should forsake; And now with my companions I sit here
And empty-handed watch the morning break.

Someone calls now beneath the graying skies, “Have you any meat?” The voice is kind,
But our net is empty. Again he cries,
“Cast on the right side, then, and you shall find.”

So be it. One more cast is not amiss. (Another time a stranger bade me thus
And my net was overfilled.) Why, what is this? The net is full—who is it calls to us?

Thomas, John, what can it mean, this haul That we behold with morning’s light restored? Who is the stranger yonder we heard call?
John, what was that you said? It is the Lord?

The Lord! It is the Lord, whom I adore! And, lo, I cast myself into the sea.
No ship can take me fast enough to shore. O Master, Lord, I come again to thee.



The Cowboy Talks with God

Well, howdy, God. Somehow I always kinda knew That out here on this range I’d run into You.
I figured You must be around to make things grow And sort of tidin’ herd on wind and rain and snow. I never see the sun go climbin’ up the day,
But what I know that You are pointin’ out its way;
Or watch the stats at night a-blazin’ trails through space, But what I know Your hand is holdin’ them in place.
And then there’s other things: the way a calf knows how To stay hid in the brush, all still, until the cow
Comes back again to find it there. Or how my horse Can take me home when I have lost my way. Of course,
There’s lots of folks that say, "That’s just their nature, son.” And maybe-so it is, but what makes nature run?
I’ve been a-thinkin’ of these things, and come across Just one conclusion, God: You must be the Boss.
And so it’s mighty fine to talk with You this way. It sort of makes me feel it ain’t too hard to pray. Well, so-long now, I got to ride. But I can tell
That You and me are goin’ to get along—real well.



Adventure

Adventures, lad? Yes, I have known a few. They now seem far away; but I recall
They thrilled me with a tingling turbulence Which gave a zest to youthful fervency.

There was the time another and myself, Like savage beasts within our cage of rope,
Beating at flesh, feinted and slashed and slugged Before a crowd roaring for blood to spill.
My leather-cushioned fists had beaten back The other till he slumped against the ropes, Hands hanging helplessly, a stare of pain Within his eyes. I knew the time had come To finish him. Yet as I took his mark Something forbade me, and I drew away Till he could cover and regain his stance
And hold his balance till the bell brought rest. Another round and I lay prone, and so
The fight was his. Yet somehow it was mine.

Another time with my platoon I crouched Within the steel sides of our landing tank, Ears deafened by the din of heavy fire,
Sickened and pale with fear none would admit.
We crunched to shore, then raced across white sands That sucked upon our feet until we fell
Exhausted by its pull and our own dread, Then lay upon the beach and thought of death. Two of us could have remained on ship,
Had we not asked to come; and of these two Soon there was only one. A bullet from
A sniper’s rifle killed my friend, while I, Struck by mortar fragments, lay abed
For months. And yet I knew both he and I
Had won some better thing than war’s black curse.

But these adventures were but children’s play Beside adventure I have found in life, Seeking to follow one whose simple way
Causes hell’s gates to gape while heaven’s wait.

You cannot know—you cannot understand Till you yourself have tried to walk as he. A mariner of life, you find yourself
Swept in the flood of sin’s propelling force. Grasping the slender strand of faith, you cling In yearning hope and agonized despair,
Down-washed, up-surged, far-tossed, submerged, you rise To fall again, praying to be saved.
And then the calm, the Christ upon the sea,
His succor from the weight that bore you down; The sudden peace, the worshipping in awe
Of Him who raised you from engulfing deeps; The marvel of His love, the glad behest
To walk with hand in His, in perfect peace.

Ay, lad. There is adventure at its best.
And what some scorn as scarcely worth their thought, I claim with all my heart. So am I blest
By God’s demand, and by His love possessed.



Ephphatha

"Ephphatha!" Be opened,
Said Jesus, looking up to heaven.
And he who had been deaf, with speech impeded. Now heard the Master, and his mandate heeded. And straightway perfect speech was given.

“Ephphatha!” Be opened,
O thought, to heavenly consciousness. Reject all man-made verdicts and opinion;
Claim in God’s name the freedom and dominion Which as His likeness you possess.



Plaudits

Sweet was the wine with which they toasted me; Sumptuous the feast before me spread.
And from their table I arose at last—Famished and begging for bread!



Decision

“I’m through, I tell you, I am through," he said. “Don’t talk to me of trying to achieve
What lies beyond my grasp. Say I am dead To all I lived for, all I still believe.’

He walked away in bitterness of soul,
A man who found life’s battles much too grim. Let others fight to make the sick world whole. No more vain hopes and bursting heart for him.

And then a blind man called, “Will someone guide Me down this street?” He did; then down another. Tears burned his cheeks. “I’ll never quit,” he sighed, “While I can lift one hand to help my brother.”



For This I Pray

Wisdom enough to seek God’s will, Perception enough to discern it, Meekness enough to accept it, Courage enough to obey it.



Elijah

Hiding in a cave I was that day, hiding in a hole made in the earth.
I, who had once restored the dead to life, been fed by fowls, tasted unfailing food, .
overthrown false prophets, and rebuked a king—now I was hiding in a cave. My zeal
had stirred the wrath of men. I did not know the world would rise against me as a foe.
And then God called me to the mount. I heard the raging of a fierce, tumultuous wind,
like men’s fierce threats—yet empty, without God.
I saw the earth convulse in fury, which was devoid of God and therefore impotent.
I felt the searing heat of conflagration,
consuming only itself, for God sustained it not, and the indestructible remained.
These fearful things I heard, I saw, I felt. Then all was still, silence wrapped in silence.
And in that moment’s holiness I saw where power lies. I heard the resonance and felt the boundless potency within the mighty thunder of a still small voice.
Destruction is not power, however wrought: Transcendent power moves in God-sent thought.



The Law of Harmony

The maestro brought his bow to answering strings. And sound born there swept forth in strains so sweet That all who heard were hushed in ecstasy
To hear earth’s harmony and heaven’s meet.

What made the music? Was it he who played? He did no more than touch the proper strings That brought vibrations into harmony
And sent it forth on song’s melodic wings.

Or was it then the violin, a group
Of taut strings mounted on a wooden shell? Without some law by which it must be played Mere wood and strings could never sing so well.

There lived a Master many years ago
Who touched the strings of men’s sad hearts until They felt God’s love; then song swelled up from them In symphony before his matchless skill.

He taught the tender melodies of life;
Kindness, compassion, grace—these were his arts. He healed the sick, impure, and maimed; then proved There is no death—this maestro of men’s hearts.

What gave such power? The Master said that it Was not his own. Was it the sufferers’ then?
They did no more than see the light that shone Into their night and made them free again.

An all-inclusive law, whose harmony Eliminated discord, fear, and wrong,
Was what the Master used, that he might bring Afflicted mortals from lament to song;

A law of Life, of Truth, of Love—of God—So pure, so love-filled, that its holy strains Re-echo in the hearts of men until
No dissonance of fear or sin remains.

How sweet can be the chorus of mankind, With heartstrings by the great musician stirred, When we obey God’s law of harmony
And let the music of His love be heard.



Orbits

The sun withdraws in regal majesty. Yielding a while the rule of its domain To the ascending moon and galaxies
Of stars that share in its nocturnal reign.

This law-directed order has not changed Its primal harmony; the heavens rehearse
Their wonders now as through unnumbered years. It is an orbit-ordered universe.

And what of man? What order does he share? Is he a thing of fluctuating chance
That swings outside the orbit of God’s care And so becomes the dupe of circumstance?

Oh, have more faith; the Mind that fashioned man Could not have left its work so far undone
As to forsake him, turn him from its plan, And leave him with an aimless course to run.

At night, we say, the sun goes down. But no; Our turning sphere has robbed us of its light. If we could stay within its constant glow, Then we should never need to know the night.

The moon may wane until it is not seen,
And men will say, “There is no moon tonight.” Yet it remains where it has always been, Though we do not behold its borrowed light.

And stars may not appear where once they dwelt, Their splendor hid by clouds; but back of these No gem has fallen from Orion’s belt,
No force removed the shining Pleiades.

Nor has man’s orbit changed; he does not fall From the eternal circle of his source.
He moves throughout the harmony of all, As perfect as the God that sets his course.



The Dove

When Noah sent you forth across the waters faring, Was it your bird heart, sadly yearning,
That brought you back again, returning
Before you saw the land, until with larger daring You tried once more, then came, your green-glad
greeting bearing?



Psalm 37

Fret not thyself because of evil men, Nor envy workers of iniquity,
For like the grass shall they be laid to waste And withered as the herb upon the lea.

Trust in the Lord; do good; delight in Him; And He shall give thee all thy heart’s desire. Commit thy way to Him, and He shall bring To pass whatever things thou shalt require.

A good man’s steps are ordered by the Lord; By Him is he upheld and blessed and fed.
Once young, I now am old, but have not seen The children of the righteous begging bread.



You Who Sing Christmas

You who sing Christmas:
you do not sing a day
but a life—a life right-lived;
of billions lived, one well lived.

And you sing even more than this: you sing yourselves,
your own heart’s seeking for the good, your inmost aspirations, unvoiced except in song or prayer,
because they looked impossible until this wonder lit your life,

And now you sing Christmas.



Humility

Learn the peace of lowly living; Touch Truth’s garment at the hem. Perfumed petals draw their sweetness From the flower’s roots and stem.

Laud and plaudits of the millions Vanish into vacant air.
Centuries later men remember Power that lay within a prayer.



“Comfort Ye My People”

If gentle rain makes flowers grow,
How much of tears should mortals know?

Too little rain will parch a flower; Too much will flood it in its bower.

Too little pity will parch the soul. Too much submerge beyond control.

Flowers need rain, falling with moderation. Men need compassion, not commiseration.



Prelude to Peace

The vexing conflicts that perplex our day, The rankling strife that sets men so apart, The monumental problems holding sway, Can be resolved—beginning in the heart. This mighty drama we see acted here,
With armies braced and nations much afraid, Is but a shifting background atmosphere
In which the plot of human life is played. A simple role is ours on this vast stage; Our lines are few; our cue is from above. But all our acts climactically presage
The grand conclusion of triumphant love. Our part well played, the ages will applaud—
And mankind will have caught a glimpse of God.



New Calf

You wobbly little whiteface critter, you; jugglin’ yourself on them four shaky legs; it’s just about the most that you can do
to keep yourself from failin’ off your pegs.

Your Ma sure keeps you lookin’ fresh and clean, lickin’ your coat with that caressin’ tongue.
What do you reckon she thinks of in between
them licks, that makes her that way ’bout her young?

One day that pretty hide of yours will know the brandin’ iron and burnin’ misery.
And if your Ma is there to see the show,
She’ll make more noise than you do; wait and see.

And later on, when weanin’ time comes roun’ and you are penned up somewhere from her sight, then she will bawl, and bust some fences down, and keep the countryside awake all night.

What makes Mas act so funny that-a-way?
I’ve seen two-legged ones do much the same—forget all else and spend their every day
a-givin’ all they got for them they claim.

It’s things like that I just can’t see clear through; it’s funny in a way, yet I can’t laugh.
—But why should I palaver here with you? Shucks, you ain’t nothin’ but a little calf.



Fulfillment

Long years I searched, looking far off For what I believed life’s richest prize, Until a voice said: Look where you are; Take of the good that near you lies.

Not Truth’s reward, but Truth itself Is the greater substance. Do not plead With Love for a field of larger gain, When Love itself is your only need.

You turn to God as the source of good; Then let Him be not part but the whole. God is the inevitable starting point; God is the full and final goal.



Attic Room, Lynn

Not much that earth could give was there Within those walls: a table, a chair,
A Bible with its holy leaven,
A woman writing—and a light from heaven.



Prayer

Dear God, that I might prove Of some worth to You.



Elisha

How jerky-slow the rhythm of my life behind the plowing oxen, till that day Elijah cast his mantle over me!
Then the beat was quickened. I felt the throb of God’s glad music pulsing in my life.

Its strains grew faster when I walked with him his final mile. They would not be subdued when he bade me remain behind at Bethel
and Jericho. The measures rose and fell when I beheld his thwacking mantle tear
the current of Jordan’s flow apart. We walked dry-shod across its suddenly arid bed.

His glance approved me briefly. “Ask what I shall do for thee,” he said. The music leaped within my heart to bright expectancy.
“I pray thee,” I replied, “let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me.”

“If thou see me ... it shall be so,” he said. Celestial, vibrant, thunderous strains burst forth. Through fire and whirling wind I saw the man of God ascending, and cried out, my heart aflame with song, “My father, the chariot
of Israel, and the horsemen thereof!”



Neophyte

When first the dawn burst on his sight he felt his being filled with light.
He looked at all before him spread
and vowed that he would raise the dead, wrench gates of hell from off their bars and laugh and fling them at the stars.

The years passed by; no dead were raised. No mighty wonders, man-appraised, rewarded him. Hell’s gates remained, unshaken by hopes once entertained.
The light still shown, but with less fire than flamed his ardent first desire.

His thoughts turned to the little deeds, the common tasks of meeting needs.
He lifted up a fallen child
and wiped her tears until she smiled. He helped a tired and burdened crone, Someone whom he had never known.

He sat beside a dying friend
and gave him courage till the end, then sought to soothe the aching heart
of her who felt grief’s sting and smart—to say a word, put forth a hand,
or just be still and understand.

And years of living to be kind
brought greater love and peace of mind. He learned to serve within his place, Growing in gentleness and grace.
And, being forgotten, the gates of hell in their own weakness toppled and fell.



The Jewels

Here are the treasured jewels of Spirit’s giving: See how this bright one sparkles in the light.
Does not its splendor woo you from your sadness As would a child dancing in delight?
Strangely enough, men sometimes fail to see it Until, when great adversities destroy
Their fondest dreams, they look from earth to heaven And find this holy prize. Its name is joy.
Here is another gem, a priceless wonder, A treasure in itself; behold its glow.
There is somehow a quality about it
That gives a strength no ill can overthrow. A precious thing indeed, you say, and truly; Yet often it is picked from out the dust.
When human hopes beneath men’s feet have crumbled. They pray to God, and there is shining trust.

Here is one perhaps you had not noticed, Shaped like a heart, most marvelously wrought. The master jeweler’s name is there, engraven In tribute to the holy skill he taught.
Well might a man give all he has of riches For that fair gem. And yet one may possess It freely just by living to bless others
With what God gives. Men call it Christliness.

That one you are admiring so intently Has luster pure as heaven itself projects; Immaculate in its supernal beauty,
Its richness is the light that it reflects.
Do you not feel its clear and warm effulgence, As radiant as the sunshine from above?
Of all these precious things it is the greatest, For it illumines all. Its name is love.

And there are others too of equal beauty And of unreckoned worth. If one should care To learn of them, he will sometime discover
That, priceless though they are, they are not rare; For he who treasures them beholds them shining In every place where he himself is led.
Creation, brightened by their holy luster, Becomes new-made within the light they shed.



Sequence

Fear,
that racketeer,
whose weapons are its lies, knows
its power goes
when hope and faith arise.

Why,
then, not defy
the thief that would maraud?
Fear
will disappear
when thought is touched by God.



Bemused

Where does die poet’s inspiration dwell? He, least of anyone, perhaps, can tell.
It seizes him sometimes in mist and flame And buffets him with force he cannot name, Till he is tossed halfway to heaven’s gate And left to plunge to earth—and meditate.
Then, grasping still some all-but-vanished trace Of what he touched while in ethereal space,
He takes his mundane tools—the page and pen—And tries to strike celestial fire again.



Thanksgiving Feast

(Hokku)

Every day I keep
in banquet hall of my heart a thanksgiving feast.



Yule Song

Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee. This is the time for joy and gladness.
Cheerful and buoyant and happy are we, Giving no room to gloom and to sadness. Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee; Riddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee.

Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee. Glad is the hour, and here is the reason: Earth is singing with sweet charity, Singing the songs of Christmas season. Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee; Riddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee.

Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee. What does it matter how the weather? Bright is the night with harmony: Heaven and earth are singing together. Riddle-dee, diddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee; Riddle-dee, diddle-dee-dee.



Freedom

Across the span of history’s night I watched the army of mankind. With but a single star for light
Its varied columns intertwined.

Sometimes the army halted long, Confused and doubtful of the way; Sometimes swept forward with a song, Knowing it marched toward rising day:

At Athens and Thermopylae,
The grim Bastille and Bunker Hill; On Sinai and on Calvary—Wherever men climbed upward still.

The long, slow night brought victories gained, Until the army glimpsed the dawn
From peaks of present heights attained
—And still the burning star leads on.



"The Stone Was Rolled Away”

'Who shall roll us away the stone from tire door
of the sepulchre?” the women asked, not knowing how they might bear sweet spices to outpour
their tender reverence in last bestowing.
But when they looked by radiant light of day, no longer was the tomb a hopeless prison.
They saw the stone already rolled away
and learned that he whom they had sought was risen.

“Who shall roll us away our stone?” we grieve, entombed within old fears and dull dejection, until our dawn-enlightened eyes perceive
that we may walk forth now in resurrection. The doubt and darkness we have made our own dissolve in light. There is no other stone.



Thanks Be to God

Thanks be to God for morning’s cheering light which touches earth with gold and ends the night. And thanks be too that Truth beheld in thought transforms with love and heals a life distraught.

Thanks be to God that gladdening warmth of day causes earth to bloom with colors rich and gay. And thanks that men by Love’s glad law renewed bring forth good works with joy and gratitude.

Thanks be to God that earth responds to sun, reflects its light, and shows what it has done. And thanks that man and everything that lives respond to God and prove the good He gives.



Wind-wise

Father, help me trim my sail
to Your winds—not reef it in
When it should catch the heavenly breeze, nor spread it for the storms of sin.
But always under your serene control
let it be set to match the winds of Soul.



Garden

Break, if you must, my aching heart; and in the cracks thereof
I’ll plant roses of humility
to bear bright blooms of Love.



Wish and Thanks

Would God I were
ten times better than I am!
Thank God, I am not even five times as bad!



Treasures

I said to my heart, “Go out and find the richest treasures of the mind.”
It answered me, “You have them there: a joyous song, a humble prayer.”



In Awe

What a power is here! What a realm is this! What a word of might! What a God of all—Love.



The Way

How good, I thought, had Christianity Swept across the page of history’s hour With never one reverse, one evil moment; Unchallenged, uncontested in its power!

But it did not do so. It slowly plod;
It limped and stumbled and sometimes all but fell. Men had to lift it up within themselves
Or it would have no message now to tell.



Homo Sapiens

Homo sapiens is capable of
such depths of depravity, such heights of glory that none dare say of fellow man,
His life will be an uneventful story.



Poet

For an instant of eternity,
He plucked the strings of an angel’s harp.



Christmas Eve

It would have been at such a time
the tender Christ-child came to earth, when lovely stillness robed the world,
expectant of a holy birth.

Laughing spring would not have done, nor busy summer, nor fall afar.
It needed soft tranquillity,
earth’s silence, and a shining star.



God’s Care

(I Samuel 7:12)

“Hitherto hath the Lord helped us,” and henceforth too He will.
He who ordains the way for us, His purpose will fulfill.

And who will keep us from the good He has in love prepared,
Or overrule the harmony
that should by men be shared?

Therefore will not we doubt the care that guards our pathway still. “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us,”
and henceforth too He will.



Apologia

Did Jesus think he should apologize
to those who watched him there upon the cross?
Would it have made him better in their eyes or helped them understand his bitter loss?

I wonder if he thought he should explain
to them, who mocked in voices coarse and gruff, just how it came about. Would they refrain—or would the resurrection be enough?



Passover Feast

Is this the feast, my Lord, these bitter herbs Of duty’s sharp demands? Their taste disturbs My worldly ease, but promises a gain
Beyond all dreams of pleasure or of pain.

Is this the feast, this plain unleavened bread? It lacks sense satisfaction, and instead
Is food that pleases not the carnal tooth: Unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.”

Is this the cup, my Lord, this lifted cross? Does inspiration’s joy come from the loss Of earth’s brief ecstasies? I did not know
That wine from such a cup as this would flow.

And, ah, this Paschal Lamb, is it the meat Of sacrifice? I must do more than eat
The flesh and then forget the good thereof. This is my commandment, That ye love.”

These bitter herbs, unleavened bread, and wine, This Lamb of sacrifice—let them be mine
To pass from sense to Soul and so afford
Deeds worth Thy love. This is the feast, my Lord.



Softly the Moon

Softly the moon ascends the ladder of the night, spilling its silver treasure on the world below, and never wonders whether it may lose its height
nor fears its streams of light may sometime fail to flow.

It does not find it hard to glow in simple beauty and knows no struggle for another’s higher place, but effortless proceeds on its nocturnal duty, content to send its beams from its appointed place.

Softly the moon ascends and lets its beauty shine, Serene in its own place, as I would be in mine.



Response

I love him for the man he is, Not what he seems to be.
I love him for the good that’s his, Not what he thinks of me.

What matter if he thinks me odd? I know that he is not.
I know that he is loved of God And has no unkind thought.

I love him for his true selfhood, Noble and perfect and true.
I know that he thinks only good And know he knows it too.



Street Scene

It was a mad thing to do. I knew that. Jairus was a ruler of the synagogue and, frantic with worry for his child, hastened the Master on;
while I, a penniless incurable, unclean by Jewish law, though I had suffered as long as his child had lived, should not have dared approach the Master then.

Yet when I saw him pass, some wild hope
gave me greater strength than I had known for years; and I fought my way through the jostling crowd
till I was just behind him.
I prayed that no one would see me
as I barely touched his garment’s hem.
What happened then, I cannot say
except that suddenly I knew—I say, I knew—that I was healed.

The Master stopped.
Jairus’ urging voice grew still. The Master looked about and said, “Who touched me?”

I knew that I had been discovered, and fear engulfed me. Would he condemn me for the rash thing I had done?
I fell at his feet, sobbing my story out,
and waited for the judgment that must come. “Daughter, be of good comfort;
thy faith hath made thee whole,” he said.

The multitude pressed him on again, and I was left alone.

Later I heard that Jairus’ daughter had been restored to life-



Serenity

I cried long hours, but all my tears, Like raindrops on a windowpane, Distorted vision, blurred my sight, And failed to make perfection plain.

I smiled and, looking up, perceived Bright bits of gladness come to view, Touching the clouds and softening Their somberness with brighter hue.

I sang, and then my skies were clear, Filled with God’s rich and golden rays. The key that opened heaven’s gate Was loving trust and joyous praise.



Direction

Not for our own unyielding course we pray, But just for Love to have its lovely way.
When self is silent and opinion still,
A gentle voice reveals the Father’s will.



Paul at Melita

I wonder that we got that far.
For days the sea had been tossing waves house-high. When we sailed from Crete, I knew the ship was doomed, in the way a man knows
when he has listened for a voice and has heard.
Then when the crew was hopeless and confused, I heard the voice again,
assuring me all would be saved.
Later I told the men, and they believed and grew calm and ate.

Even when the ship was dashed apart, and we were plunged into the sea,
I felt at peace.
And when we came to land, and the natives there made us as comfortable as shipwrecked men could be,
I knew that something other than these people was caring for us.

We shivered in the rain around a fire; and while putting on some sticks
I felt a viper touch my hand. The frightened creature struck, hung on my hand a moment, and fell into the fire.

Still that quiet assurance filled my thought.
I think if the earth had opened to swallow us, I would yet have known that all was well.

Afterward I healed some of the islanders.



The Heart That Loves

This is the heart that waits on God, Reverent, listening, still;
Seeking to know what it may do To work the Father’s will.

This is the heart that stands for Truth, Faithful, wherever its post;
That puts God first when all is well Or when it needs Him most.

Unselfed and seeking holy things, Ready when God appoints,
This is the heart that serves Him best, The heart that God anoints.



The Grace of God

It is the kindness of Your care, Dear Father, that means so much;
That something more than mere supply
Of what is needed to satisfy.
Deeper than this, we feel Your gracious touch.

That added sense that all is well Now and for all our days,
The happy, restful consciousness
That You will never cease to bless—It is for this we give You grateful praise.



Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit

Clothe me in Your spirit, Lord; my own is worn and thin.
Its fabric lacks substantialness, and I am cold within.

It glistened when I wore it first, a gay and flashing thing.
But it has lost its showiness, and I am shivering.

I seek a better garment now of more enduring stuff.
Clothe me in Your spirit, Lord; it will be warm enough.



Inspiration

I listened for God’s thoughts: none came. Vainly I pleaded, called upon His name, Promised to obey whatever I should hear
And let His message guide me, but none fell upon my ear.

So, turning to a task at hand,
I did it well; then suddenly a band
Of angel thoughts swept in with heart-uplifting call And whispered holy things till I could scarcely count
them all.

Unhindered, inspiration flows
From doing faithfully the good one knows. Fidelity will open wide the golden door
Through which God’s holy messages of love and light must pour.



Nehemiah

There in the Judean night he looked upon the city, Beheld the broken walls, the gates consumed by fire, And rode his beast around the stone that lay in rubble. Few knew what he had done, to what he might aspire.

We in our caution might have asked, Did he do well To leave the luxury of Artaxerxes’ halls,
Request his generous aid, and bring his substance here, Seeking the restoration of these broken walls?

Resistance there would be and scorn and cries of treason And fearful threats and subtle guile and men’s dismay. The builder would be warrior; the burden bearer called To stand long watch by night, do toilsome work by day.

Would it be worth the cost to build walls for this city Wherein to worship God, the perfect and the pure, Establish once again His rule of righteous living,
Be governed by His law, and therefore be secure?

Will it be worth the cost, we ask ourselves the question, to strengthen our defenses, building stone on stone
A wall of righteousness, assuring our protection
From those aggressive evils which we all have known?

We feel the hand of God, and it is good upon us.
We know what we must say when Truth’s demand has filled Our thought: “The God of heaven, he will prosper us; Therefore we his servants will arise and build.”



My Margie

Marvel of patience is my Margie, Marvel of patience, devotion, and care,
Unfaltering, steadfast in tender compassion, The healing compassion that rises from prayer.

Hers are the eyes of an inner perception That gaze in the depths of reality.
Hers is the faith that claims its fulfillment, Conscious of what it knows now to be.

Kindness is hers and shared with a measure
That is filled to the point where it quenches the need. Courage and strength and trustful persistence
— These she calls forth to perform the right deed.

Others may sing of the face and the figure, The sensuous beauty of those they call fair. Marvel of patience is my Margie,
Marvel of patience, devotion, and care.



Thank You, Father

Thank You, Father. Thank You now. Fear’s outcry would disallow Gratitude till pains abate.
But thank You now; I cannot wait.

Thank You, Father. You are here Just where darkest clouds appear; Love and Life and heaven’s bliss, All of good—thank You for this.

Thank You, Father. Yes, I will. Sense may scream in anguish still. But its shrill, complaining cry
I wholeheartedly deny.

Thank You, Father, joyously;
Thank You that Your truth makes free. Thank You that fear has no part
In a happy, grateful heart.

Thank You, thank You, thank You, then; Thank You now and yet again.
Pain and anguish have withdrawn, And night has turned to golden dawn.



Persuaded

He said, “I have found Truth.” And his friends asked him: “Where is it then? In the Word?’
And he answered them: “Yes. In the silence of prayer I have heard. I have heard.”

“But how can you know you heard Truth or, instead, idle words in a dream?”
“I can tell by the works I have witnessed,” he said. “I have seen. I have seen.”

“But to hear and to see may not be to know.
Have you proof it is real?”
“The peace that I have in my heart tells me so; I can feel. I can feel.’



Discovery

I thought I had a heavy cross to carry up a hill,
and counted it as worse than loss, lamenting much, until
the upward path brought gladness springing—and now I go my way with singing.



Advent

Tender as starlight, tender and mild, Resting upon their couch of hay, Here are the mother and the child.

Safe now from all things harsh or wild, Serene and beautiful are they,
Tender as starlight, tender and mild.

The shepherds see the undefiled, And Wisemen bring their gifts to lay Before the mother and the child.

Watching, they may have softly smiled At mother and babe in the dawn of a day, Tender as starlight, tender and mild.

Armies have marched and scoffers reviled, Mocking the humble who dared say,
“Here are the mother and the child.”

Yet scorners have been reconciled; And iron hate dissolves away.
Tender as starlight, tender and mild, Here are the mother and the child.



Christmas Quiet

Not in the hurried day, but in the quiet
Of night, to shepherds watching in the field, The angel of the Lord brought joyful tidings
Of him through whom God’s love should be revealed.

Not to the wily king, whose promise of devotion Failed to deceive the travelers from afar, Appeared the signal of prophecy’s fulfillment, But to the wise, who followed a silent star.

Not in the crowded inn the babe was cradled, Amid babble of voices or noise of worldly mirth, But peacefully within a simple manger,
Quiet, and close to the gentle things of earth.



Church Service

Into the house of God I went, Weary at heart, my courage spent.

Forth from the house of God I came, My heart a leaping, living flame.

Prayer and praise and Truth’s clear ring Had touched my life and made it sing.



Today’s Challenge

This earth I walked on yesterday
And thought was fit for love and laughter Cannot have changed so much since then. I’ll sing a song and see what happens after.



Song

Sing me the songs of joy and dominion; Bring me the hymns, triumphant in praise. Then will my heart rise up on faith’s pinion; Then will God’s goodness gladden my days.

Now is the time for song and rejoicing,
Now while the battle seems hard beyond measure. Fear is destroyed when glad hearts are voicing
Their trust in God’s truth, their peace in His pleasure.



Fallen Tree

I know where lies a tree, long since storm-downed, But with one root still fastened in the ground.
And every spring that fallen tree will send Out leaves and give its shade from end to end.

Then do not say that, having fallen low, Men have no opportunity to grow;
For I have seen a tree that would not die. What it can do, so too can you and I.



When the Heart Is Full

What does one do when the heart is full, Full of God’s goodness and love and care? Does he sing of a joy ineffable?
Does he pour out his love in fragrance of prayer?

All of this, yes, and more; but the heart will not rest Till it has discovered the way of release:
To take to some suffering, hopeless breast The message of freedom, of joy, and of peace.



Tall Trees

It is good to have tall trees to walk among, Strong earth beneath our feet, and overhead The clear, blue sky to set our eyes upon That we may feel God’s strength unlimited.



Affinity

I feel affinity with all glad things:
The grass that grows, the color it brings,
The seed that sprouts, the flower that springs, The hope that soars, the heart that sings.
I feel affinity with all glad things.



Meadowlark

There is a lark
whose song is not less beautiful, though he nests upon the ground, than that of other birds
whose nests are in the trees.

And if I were to moralize,
I should say that song is beautiful at any height
and that the altitude one has attained
is less important than the song he sings.



Canary

I know a dozen birds
(and there are many more) which fly wherever they will, in their own choice
of altitudes and latitudes,
yet seldom sing an avian song.

And I know another bird, kept caged continually,
who warbles, trills, and rolls sweet notes of pure delight in sheerest ecstasy.

The song is in the bird, not in the place he dwells.



Flood Tide

When through some ebbing tide of circumstance Your life seems parched and barren, like the sand, This is your assurance, if you stand,
That soon a tide of blessings will advance.
Life’s sea has depths of good beyond your knowing, Which rise and swell through Love’s unmeasured power, And what may now appear an arid hour
Is but your preparation for their showing. For surging back, the tide returns once more To heights you may have never seen before.



Apple Tree

“A good tree,” I said, tasting its fruit, the ripe, red globe of succulence.
But there was more, I knew, to the tree than just the fruit that I enjoyed.
It was roots that dug into the earth.
It was trunk that stood upright and firm.
It was branches that spread themselves aloft. It was leaves that drank in air and rain.
It was buds and blooms and patient growing.

“A good man,” I said, thinking of one whose deeds blessed others abundantly. But there was more to his life, I knew, than just the fruits of his kindly deeds.
There was prayer that deeply searched for truth, and Soul-strength to keep him upright and strong, and love that reached out to his fellow men,
and song that renewed his weary thoughts, burgeons of kindness, and fragrance of praise, and patient watching and waiting on God—all these had produced the fruit I enjoyed.



Attitude

Lord, if this peace should fail, this pleasant land Become a place where only vultures could exist, Let me be found holding my brother’s hand, Not facing him—with clenched and icy fist.



Point of Healing

Where is that point of coincidence
When human perception becomes revelation
And the too-ready fingers of fear loose their grasp As health surges back in clear demonstration?

It is just at that point where frightened belief Is stilled for a moment, forgetting its terror, While thought is illumed by idea of Truth
That floods thought with light, dispelling the error.



I Heard Love Singing

I heard Love singing in the morning, Singing a song of joy;
And I went forth with gladness, bringing Love’s zest to my employ.

I heard Love singing at the noontime. Singing a song of peace;
And I found all my fellows happy. Reflecting Love’s increase.

I heard Love singing in the evening, Singing a restful song;
And I gave Love thank offering For singing all day long.



Less and More

More of You and less of me
in all men, Father, I would see: More of Your divine reflection, Less of my own imperfection; More of Your fidelity,
Less of my inconstancy;
More of Your unfailing kindness, Less of my too frequent blindness; More of Your sweet graciousness, Less of my unloveliness.
More of You and less of me
In all men, Father, I would see.



Love

Be it! don’t just say it. Live it! don’t just pray it. Do it! don’t forget it.
Give it! don’t just get it.



As with Abraham

God will provide,” said faithful Abraham To Isaac, the lad for whom he dearly cared; Then, lifting up his eyes, beheld a ram
To meet his need. And so the child was spared.

And in our day, whether the need arise As small or great, private or world-wide, It will be met. Let us lift up our eyes, For, as with Abraham, God will provide.



Don’t Forget Your Song

Don’t forget your song.
Many tasks you have, I know; Much to do, places to go;
All of this, I grant, is so; But don’t forget your song.

Don’t forget your song, In the hurry of the day,
In the press along the way,
In your work and in your play, Don’t forget your song.

Don’t forget your song.
Song will give you greater zest; Song will keep you happy, blest; Song will bring you sweeter rest. Don’t forget your song.



Go Forward

I heard God say, “Go forward.” And I
Went forward a way, then stopped to be sure That this was the path God meant for me And whether or not I could endure.

“If this is the way,” I asked, “then why
is the path so rugged, the journey so slow?” “I did not say it would not be thus,”
He replied. “I only said to go.”

“But what shall I do when after a time
I feel that my strength is nearly gone?” "Your strength lies in your faithfulness,” He said. “Remember my word. Go on.”

“But how shall I know if I walk aright, When the way is so dark I can barely see?”
“Hold fast to my hand and the path will be plain. Go forward, My child. Go forward,” said He.



Water Lilies

The pond was jewelled with white and green where water lilies grew,
Bright chalices of purest white
with gold hearts gleaming through.

Such loveliness!” I said. “I’ll take Some of these lilies home,
Where I can enjoy them all day long and not just when I roam.’

So I pulled the long-stemmed lilies up and took them home with me
And placed them in a pretty bowl for other eyes to see.

They held their beauty for a while, then tightly closed each bud.
My bowl was not as kind to them as the Ely pond’s soft mud.

The water lilies belonged to the pond, not to the sitting room.
When will I learn to leave with God how men and flowers bloom?



Fallen Cardinal

Beside my path in the woods a cardinal lay Lifeless and still, the scarlet breast upturned That once had flashed in brilliant vividness Bright glory for whatever eye discerned.

Why was this beauty lost?" I asked myself, But could not answer till I, silent, heard This thought: “Beauty is never lost; it lives In memory, whether of man or bird.”



Wealth

Wealthy is he who is honestly himself And does not need to imitate some other;
None is so rich as he who has found himself, And none so poor as he who begs from another.



Heart in Stone

On the hill was a rock; in the rock was a cleft. Weathered to form the shape of a heart.
High on that hill, unnoticed, apart, This was the mark nature had left.

If my way appears hard or rugged or lone And the world of cold and cynical touch, I shall remember that Love can do much. There was a heart cut deep in a stone.



Loose Tongue

Loose tongue, too much you waggle forth and back, Too much pour out large talk before you weigh it. Wait first on God, before you click and clack;
Let Him show what to say and when to say it.



Earth Heaven

Dear God, Your O so lovely universe is at its best today.
Its form and color leap with light in shrubs along the way.

Your trees have on their autumn best; their beauty sings Your art.
Sometimes I find it hard to tell Your heaven and earth apart.



David

The gentle hand that plucked the harp slew both the lion and bear.
The lad that stilled Goliath’s boast sang psalms beyond compare.



Victory

If I am asked, as asked I may be: “Where is your triumph, your victory? Evil still rages on every hand.”
Then I shall reply only this: “I stand.”



Snow Lesson

The snow in which I sank up to my knees, When yesterday I tried to walk upon it,
Has undergone since then a cold night’s freeze. And I can walk upon it now with ease.

Much that I found impossible before
I now perform without a second thought,
And much that now appears beyond my power Will be performed in some approaching hour.



The Master

The meanest wretch that ever lived Could stand before Him and feel loved.



Life-encompassed

I Samuel 25:29

“Bound in the bundle of life with . . . God,” So is the life of man;
Encompassed by all-encircling good In God’s unending plan.

Hid in the heart of Love divine, Where human sense finds rest,
So is the Father’s perfect son, Safe and beloved and blest.



Easter Song

Hear the hymns of Easter ringing, Joyous hope to mankind bringing. How the happy hearts are singing Of our Lord’s release!

See the signs of earth now vernal, Proving Life supreme, eternal, Lifting thought to things supernal, Promising the reign of peace.

Let earth’s bitterness and badness, All its sorrow and its sadness, Yield to Love’s eternal gladness, And all fears forever cease.



Heaven Now

So many blessings God has sent me, so much of love has given,
I have no reason to believe
that earth cannot be heaven.



High and Low

I have not attained,
When pride took me high. More Christliness, gained With my head in the sky.

No more have I found, When forced to be lowly, Things close to the ground Are any less holy.



Finding God

I thought of God as way up high, Some far-off presence in the sky. But I am wiser now; I know
That I must find Him here below.



Sorrow’s Cure

Sorrow is selfish, but Love will make The burdened breast forget its woe. Remember, dear, the heart will not break. If it is allowed to overflow.



After You Have Suffered

“The God of all grace,. . the Apostle said (with a gentle smile, perhaps, who can say?), “After that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.”
But I have been appalled at what I first must do.

After I have suffered? Is there no other way
to be perfect, stablished, strengthened, settled, Lord, I pray? I do not seek the way of suffering but of ease,
the pleasant path which will avoid inharmonies.

But it is after we have suffered we are blest, after we have learned that earth affords no rest, after we have turned away from sense to Soul,
then will we be perfect, strengthened, settled, whole.



Birth

When I am being intensely tried, Tested almost beyond endurance, Then I know that I am being prepared For some unreckoned good.
And soon I feel the power of God So strongly that I think myself Only a transparency
For some immortal purpose.

It is as though a birth were occurring, Preceded by all the sharp exertion
Of mighty laboring, and then—Deliverance from myself.
And in that sudden, wonderful hour
A new and better creature comes forth To perform some task appointed him, Not of man, but of God.



Always the Victors

Always the victors, never the vanquished; Always triumphant, never cast down; Always rejoicing are they who go gladly
To carry their cross while claiming their crown.



Choice

Let whoever will disapproval express, Call me foolish, call me mad, call me odd. The stormy outbursts of men I fear less Than the uncomfortable silence of God.



Pelelieu

I still remember that night on Pelelieu,
With rifles crackling, machine guns chattering, And grenades bursting suddenly in the darkness. My foxhole, a depression in the coral,
Had sharp rocks in its bottom, where I lay Wondering if tomorrow would find me still living.

It was strange: my thoughts kept roving far away. Thousands of miles from that spot in the Pacific Back to my home in the States, back to the days
When I was in high school and college and afterward.

What could I say, I asked myself the question,
That I had accomplished in my score and a half of years? What had I really achieved that was worth the doing?
Well, I remembered awards I had won in school: Outstanding scholarship, three times class president, Commendation of teachers—but all of that was nothing.
I remembered the roar of the crowd as I made a touchdown Or sparked the basketball team to victory
Or slugged it out with my opponent in the ring—The roar that had sounded then like so much thunder Was hollow now in my ears, like mocking laughter.

And I remembered the money I had in the bank And the sense of superiority it gave me.
Now it was dust—less than the coral I lay on And just as comfortless. Where was some value,
Something which I had done that was worth the doing? I could think of nothing.

Then I remembered That one cold winter I had stoked a furnace
For a woman who was a widow, not strong enough For the heavy work she had taken as custodian
Of a church—so I had helped her with the work And charged her nothing for it. Now it loomed large
In my thought and brought me such a feeling of comfort That even the pointed coral hurt me less,
And the hell and savagery of the battle about me Seemed less important than that deed of kindness.

The next morning these words were singing to me: Well done.” And I knew that life was worth the living.



Moses

“Who am I,” I asked, “that I should go Unto Pharaoh, and that I should bring . . . Israel out of Egypt?” Now to Your words, “Certainly I will be with thee,” I cling.

And when I asked You how to answer them When they should question me of whom I came, in these few words, “I AM THAT I AM,”
You gave an everlasting, certain name.

And when I doubted still, you showed the power That turns a rod to serpent, serpent to rod,
That I should fear to handle neither one. And then I knew the certainty of God.

What though I argued inability,
Declared my tongue uneloquent and slow? God speaks. He certainly will be with me; And in that certainty of God I go.



Bright Bush

In New England in the fall,
I feel like Moses, high on Horeb’s ancient height, Except I see a hundred bushes burning bright And hear God speaking from them all.



Autumn Beauty

White birch, green pine, scarlet maple—how shall I classify
This autumn revelry of color, darting out to meet the eye?

Bronze beech, red oak, golden aspen, sparkle-dancing in the sun.
How can I apportion beauty,
when God made beauty one?



Christmas Love

“Christmas is love,” I told my heart. But my heart was not satisfied.
“What is love? Where is love?” it wanted to know.
But I turned its questions aside.

Then I thought of God’s love in sending His Christ, Giving the world His Son.
And I thought of the Saviour, who loved enough To let God’s will be done.

And I thought of the love of man for man, By divine Love multiplied.
"Christmas,” I said, “is God’s love in our lives.” And my heart was satisfied.



Continuity

So happy am I in this world, O my God, I cannot fear another,
Assured that there as here You still will be My loving Father-Mother.



Nature Talk

Nature says more to me, I find, than many humans do.
It tells me in its quiet way things that are always true. It does not contradict itself between effect and cause, But carries out its purposes according to its laws.

The stillness of a lake says more to me without a word Than many an interminable conversation I have heard.
And I have gained more wisdom beside a gently flowing brook Than I have found in some philosophies within a book.

Let each approach the source of wisdom, then, as he deems best. Give me the simple verities that bring Love’s peace and rest.



Chastening

Many years ago, when I was but a lad, I well remember, my father had
A razor strap, which he applied to me When I deserved some form of penalty.

And now, remembering it and how it led Me to avoid those ways with peril ahead, I shall not murmur if Life’s protecting rod
Chastens me now in the hand of my Father, God.



Humiliation

So devastated was my pride
That never again will it be whole. “How terrible!” sense cried.
“How wonderful!” said Soul.



Thy Way

Exodus 33:13

“Shew me now thy way,” dear God, For I have lost my own.
It was not very good at best, And I want Yours alone.

My own too often led me far From what I know was right
And left me in the darkness, when My heart cried out for light.

“Shew me now thy way,” dear God, And let me start anew.
I need unfailing guidance, Lord; So let me walk with You.



Paul

He must have preferred his Roman name, For it meant “little,” and little was he
To some, his speech contemptible, His body weak with infirmity.

Yet he was a chosen vessel to bear God’s name before both men and kings, Chosen to speak undying words, Chosen to suffer for God great things.

Apostle to the world he was;
And when he wrote, his pen became A living torch that even now
Still glows with sin-consuming flame.



The Risk

Boasting Peter, quick to pledge his love, Was likewise quick to lose his fealty, Yet somehow quick again to stand beside
His Master on the shore of Galilee. Better the heart which makes its offering Than that which never hazards anything.



The Call

The heard word, gone unobeyed,
Becomes the blind reminder of victory lost; Unhappy memory of what had been,
Save for unwillingness to pay the cost

The call to all is equally given.
Some hear, yet fear to answer it aright. And some fling fear away and rise
By humble, patient steps to radiant light



Offerings

Psalm 51:17

“Here are my gifts, dear God,” one said. “I am talented, cultured, and well-bred, With ability in no small measure.
I give You of my hard-won treasure.”

But there was no answer to his offer. Nothing was taken that he could proffer. Then he remembered the better part:
“A broken and a contrite heart.”



Beloved Leader

A woman, called of God, has led A multitude of those once dead In sin and pain and false belief
Out of the depths of fear and grief.

A woman, led of God, has brought New life through resurrected thought And torn away the matter-veil
To show the light that cannot fail.

A woman, true to God and man,
Has shown us Love’s harmonious plan, Which we would follow, as did she, With step-by-step fidelity.



The Way of the Lamb

The way of the Lamb is the way of meekness, The way of devotion, of sacrifice.
Innocent, pure, selfless, and sacred, The way of the Lamb is holiness.
Follow the course of the Lamb in the Book, From the beginning follow its way.
See how it brings men closer to God, Lifting their lives to trust and obey.

Isaac, taken by Abraham,
Asked, “Where is the lamb for a sacrifice?” Abraham, faithful, obedient to God,
Said, “God will provide himself a lamb.” Isaac, trusting in Abraham;
Abraham, trusting his child to God; God in His wisdom, knowing the need, Sending a ram to serve as a lamb.

The way of the Lamb is purity.
“Your lamb shall be without blemish,” we read. Its blood shall be the passover sign, Protecting, delivering from evil’s design.
The lamb shall be offered for redemption; The lamb shall be offered for atonement, too. Morning and evening and day by day,
The lamb must be offered, sanctifying our way.

The way of the Lamb shall gentle the wolf, And they both shall be led by a little child. “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb,” Knowing the peace of the strong and the mild.
Yet in silence the lamb shall be brought to be slain. (Always the lamb is for sacrifice;
Always his blood shall pay the price. For this came the Lamb of God to men.)

The Lamb is the hero of heaven. He takes From the hand of Him who sits on the throne The book that is written, which the Lamb alone Is worthy to loose from its seals and to open.
Then all the creatures of heaven and earth Rejoice and give praise to God and the Lamb, For he who was slain is forever alive,
And his blood has redeemed the children of men.

Observe as the Lamb now opens the seals: The conquering Christ is seen, then affliction;
But the earth is not hurt, for thousands and thousands Must be sealed with the seal of the living God.
And a great multiude, which no man can number; Clothed with white robes and palms in their hands, Cry with a loud voice, “Salvation to . . . God . . .
Upon the throne and unto the Lamb.”

These are the ones who have known tribulation
And have washed their robes white in the blood of the Lamb. They shall serve before God day and night in His temple, And He who sits on the throne dwells among them.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more,
For the Lamb, like a shepherd, shall feed them and guide Unto living fountains of water, and God
Shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

Behold, now, a wonder in heaven appearing: A woman clothed with the sun, the moon Under her feet, and on her head
A crown of twelve stars; and she brings forth a child. Before her there stands a great dragon, ready
To devour her child, who is caught up to God, And in heavenly warfare the dragon is thrown. By the blood of the Lamb is he overcome.

The way of the Lamb is always victorious: From out of the sea there rises a beast Which all of the world worships in wonder,
Save those whose names are in the Lamb’s book of life. With the Lamb on Mount Zion, these followers stand, Having the Father’s name in their foreheads.
They sing a new song and follow the Lamb
Wherever he goes, God’s redeemed and His firstfruits.

And those who still worship and follow the beast
Shall make war on the Lamb, but the Lamb shall overcome, “For he is Lord of lords, and King of kings, and they
That are with him are called, and chosen, and faithful.” Then there sound forth alleluias of praise,
Giving glory and honor and power to God,
For the marriage of the Lamb now is come, and blessed Are they who are called to the marriage feast.

The bride of the Lamb is the completeness of man In the city of God, the city foursquare.
The temple therein is God and the Lamb, And they are the light and the glory there. All who are saved shall walk by this light;
Here nations and kings their honors shall leave. Its gates shall be open, for there is no night, And nothing shall enter that defiles or deceives.

The pure river of life flows forth from the throne Of God and the Lamb to water life’s tree,
Whose leaves for the healing of the nations shall be, And no more curse shall ever be known;
For the throne of God and the Lamb shall remain, And the servants of God shall look on His face; Forever and ever with Him shall they reign.
The way of the Lamb leads to this holy place.


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Love is the liberator.