The Sweet-Brier Rose and Other Poems (1926)
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The Sweet-Brier Rose and Other Poems
B3 Gertrude Woodcock Seibert The
Sweet
Brier
Rose
and
Other Poems
--The Sweet-Brier Rose and Other Poems
B)
Gertrude Woodcock Seibert
THE HKPTV PRESS
MIAMI, FLORIDA
AS A THANK OFFERING TO JEHOVAH GOD, THROUGH WHOSE TENDER PROVIDENCES THE VERSES HEREIN CONTAINED WERE MADE POSSIBLE.
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
Copyrighted 1926 by GERTRUDE WOODCOCK SEIBERT THE SWEET-BRIER ROSE
Beside my cottage door it grows,
The loveliest, daintiest flower that blows,
A sweet-brier rose.
At dewy morn or twilight's close,
The rarest perfume from it flows,—
This strange, wild rose.
But when the raindrops on it beat. Ah, then its odors grow more sweet About my feet!
Ofttimes with loving tenderness Its soft green leaves I gently press In sweet caress,—
A still more wondrous fragrance flows, The more my fingers firmly close, And crush the rose!
Dear Lord, Oh, let my life be so,— Its perfume when the tempests blow, The sweeter flow! And should it be Thy blessed will With crushing grief my soul to fill, Press harder still, And while its dying fragrance flows, I'll whisper low, "He loves and knows His crushed brier-rose."
January 26,1909
KEEP SWEET
Soul, let nothing make thee fretful,
Nothing bitter or regretful.
Heart, keep sweet, keep sweet!
And all day long
E'en from the moment of thy waking,
Let a song
Keep welling from a heart that's breaking,
Soul, keep sweet, keep sweet!
February 10, 1915 THE HIDDEN CROSS
The multitude saw but the cross of olive-wood
The Man of Sorrows bore, nor knew how underneath,
Close-pressed upon His heart, a hidden cross He wore.—
A dark and bleeding weight of sin and human woe, Made heavier with the sentence of God's broken law,
And crowned with thorns of scornful and malicious hate.—
A cross the world's Redeemer found on Jordan's brink.
Nor laid it down until He came to Calvary.
Offtimes it seemed He almost craved some human aid.
Some sympathizing heart to share that cruel cross. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, hadst thou but known
What time that cross bore heaviest on the yearning heart
Of Him, thy King!—And yet, O, slow of faith and hard
Of heart, "Ye would not,"—and the King passed on His way:
And of the people, there was none with Him, He trod Alone the winepress of this dark world's shame and woe!
O, chosen three, had ye but watched with Him "one hour."
That awful night in dark Gethsemane, ye might
Have lightened some the cruel weight of that dread cross.
Have known and shared with Him that agonizing woe,—
Alas! Alas! Your eyes were heavy, and ye slept.
So now, "sleep on and take your rest," ye weary ones, A holy angel's wing hath eased the hidden cross,—
Your Master, strengthened, waits that other cross to bear!
Which cross bore heavier on the way to Calvary, The cross the cruel Roman soldiers laid upon
That Blessed One? Ah! no, it was the unseen cross
That crushed Him to the earth, that wrung from those pale lips The agonizing cry, "My God, My God, Oh, why
Hast Thou forsaken me?" In grief Earth rent her breast.
The sun grew dark. 'Tis finished, and the price is paid,—
The hidden cross had pierced that loving, tender heart!
"Take up thy cross and follow Me", the Master said. Ah, yes, His faithful Bride must also bear a cross, The hidden cross, made not of life's vicissitudes Alone, its ills and pain, its loss and poverty, The outward signs the multitude behold;
Ah! no, we follow in His steps, who went before Us in the narrow way. We, too, must bear the woe, Be touched with feeling of the world's infirmity,— Its weary weight of sin and curse of broken law. Let us, therefore, go forth to Him, "without the gate," Lay down our lives in sacrifice, spend and be spent, And, while we clasp this cross more closely to our breast.
Press on toward Calvary, for there our Bridegroom waits
To take the cross of woe, and give the Crown of Joy! March, 1902
"INSTANT IN SEASON"
If while I walk the busy mart, I find there one whose fainting heart By some kind, sympathetic word To new life might be stirred Lord, help me say it now!
Or, if upon the thorny road I meet another 'neath a load Of sorrow, which my tears might share, And thus the burden bear, Lord, help me shed them now!
If any ointment, rare and sweet,
I long to pour upon "His feet,"
To rest and soothe them by the way
My hand let nothing stay,
Lord. help me bring it now!
Lord, help me bring it now!
December, 1905 "BE OF GOOD CHEER"
Matt. 14:27
When tempest-tossed on life's wild sea, And fair skies disappear, Above the storm He calls to thee, "Tis I, be of good cheer!"
Though Satan's darts be fiercely hurled, Beloved, help is near, Trust Him who overcame the world, And be thou of good cheer.
In tribulation's darkest hour, Yield not to doubt or fear, But calmly rest in His all-power, Who saith, "Be of good cheer."
Press on, beloved, in the race,
The goal is very near,
Faint not, thou soon shalt see His face,—
Then, be thou of good cheer!
CONSOLATION
When thy pathway straitened lies, beloved,
Call on Me;
Ever fix on Me thine eyes, beloved,
Follow Me;
I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,
Lean on Me!
When with trials sore beset, beloved,
Come to Me;
Calvary's hour do not forget, beloved,
Think on Me;
I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,
Trust in Me!
When the dark night darker grows, beloved. Cry to Me:
When the cold stream colder flows, beloved. Cling to Me:
I will never leave thee, but will take thee Home with Me!
IN THE WILDERNESS
Be still, and murmur not, poor heart,
When God shall lead thee to a "desert place,"
And bid thee dwell apart;
If ravens in the wilderness
Did feed the servant of the Lord, will He
For thee, His child, do less?
Nor fear, sad heart, its loneliness,—
Hath He not said, "I never will forsake
Nor leave thee comfortless?"
Have faith, thy Master may design
To fit thee thus for Kingdom work and bliss,—
And wilt thou then repine?
Be patient, let His will be done;
Be calm, be strong, that He may finish there
The work He hath begun.
"A little while," He soon will come,
And say to thee, "It is enough, my child,
My faithful one, come home!"
March 12, 1905
SWEET DAY OF REST
I know some day my Lord will come, And stand within my humble home, His glorious presence in the room Will make it like a rose in bloom.
His voice, like music on mine ear, Will banish every thought of fear, He'll fold me closely to His breast And there in peace I'll sweetly rest.
And, Oh, my Lord, on that sweet day I know the words that Thou wilt say, "It is enough my child, come home, Thy work is done, beloved, come."
Then I'll arise and go with Thee Across the shining, crystal sea, Until we reach that blissful shore Where we shall dwell for evermore.
THE FIELD OF BATTLE
To hear the Captain's cry. to see the flash of answering eyes.
To feel the throbbing hearts of battling comrades in the ranks.
That rapturous inspiration know, of warring for the Right.
The holy joy of following Him who points and leads the way!
Ah! yes, 'tis glorious thus to fight the goodly fight, and yet,
Methinks, beyond the firing line, beneath those snowy tents,
A fiercer conflict rages night and day, where trembling hands,
Wan lips and fever-lighted eyes do battle with a host
Of deadly foes,—grim giants, Doubt and Disappointment, fierce
Despair,—before whose fiery darts the bravest well might quail!
They also hear the call, and hoarsely cry, "Lord here am I!"
They strive to reach their swords, to struggle to their feet, but back
In helpless agony of weakness on their pallets fall,
With brain afire, and reason tottering on its throne, their tears
Of anguish flow! Sometimes the noise of battle sweeps beyond
The range of those poor, straining ears, and then the spectre Fear
Stalks through the room, and lays an icy hand upon each heart:
The awful thought, Our Captain hath forsaken and forgot,
Our comrades forge ahead, they leave us here alone to die!
To grasp the two-edged sword, and forward rush upon the foe,
But no! the Lord of Battles is most merciful, He sends A swift-winged messenger: "Yea, though a mother may forget
Her sucking child, yet will I not forget!" Then like the calm
That cometh after storm, sweet peace and quiet reign within
Those troubled breasts, and so He giveth His beloved sleep.
Ah, then, true-hearted comrades in the forefront of the fight.
Remember that the wounded to God's army still belong.
And send betimes to them a white-winged messenger of cheer.
Oh, give Love's roses now, nor keep them for the coffin's lid.
(A single flower is sweeter far than thousands by and by);
Take time to speak a tender word, to shed a pitying tear.
Or breathe, at least, a prayer throughout the watches of the night,
And thus prove more than conquerors through the power of deathless love!
Janunry 25,1909
EVENING PRAYER
Father, now the day is over. Weary, worn, myself I bring;
My defenseless head, Oh, cover With the shadow of Thy wing.
Pardon all the day's transgressing, Cleanse from every stain of sin; Lord, I come, my need confessing, Make and keep me pure within.
Wipe away my tears of sorrow, Take me to Thy loving breast, Make me stronger for the morrow Give me peace and holy rest.
'Twas midnight, and the Man of Sorrows took His chosen three.
And sought with weary step the shelter of Gethsemane
To pray, His soul exceeding sorrowful, e'en unto death.
And heavy laden with the sin and woe of all the world.
In agony of bloody sweat He fell upon His face,
And cried, with tears, "My God, My Father, if it be Thy will,
Oh, let this cup of shame and numbering with transgressors pass.—
If it be possible! Yet not My will, but Thine be done!"
And then His thoughts turned to the sacrifice,—a fear bore down
With agonizing weight upon His heart, lest to comply
With every jot and tittle of the Law, He might have failed!
He saw the priestly type, He knew eternal death awaited.
Should He seek to pass the second veil unworthily.
Eternal death! Oh, anguish inexpressible, to see
No more His Father's face! He sought His wellbeloved three.
Perchance they might refresh His fainting heart with some sure word
Of prophecy. Alas! Their eyes were heavy and they slept.
Three times He sought them, and three times in vain! Yet He was heard
In that He feared. The Father sent a heavenly comforter
To touch with tender, strengthening hand that dear, devoted head.
And whisper, "I, the LORD, in righteousness have called Thee. I
Will hold Thine hand, and keep Thee.' Neither shalt Thou 'fail nor be Discouraged.'
Lo, Thou art 'a Priest forever, and a King
Upon Thy throne, like to Melchizedec.' And Thou shalt see
The travail of Thy soul, and shalt be satisfied." His heart
Revived, He knew His Father's faithful Word could never fail;
He knew it would accomplish that whereunto it was sent.
He rose, and from that hour went forth to trial and to death,
In peace,—a calmness born of perfect confidence in God.
How oft, throughout the many-centuried "night" of this dark Age,
The Father's "little ones" have knelt in sad Gethsemane
To pray! E'en now the Garden's shade re-echoes with the cry
Of God's elect, "How long, Oh, Lord, how long until we see
The travail of our soul? How long until Thou shalt avenge
Thine own elect, who cry to Thee, with tears, both night and day?"
Dear Lord, Oh, use me as the Angel in Gethsemane! Oh, fill me with Thy holy Spirit of Divinest love!
Oh, make me sympathetic, wise, that every anguished heart
May come, nor seek in vain for consolation from Thy Word,
And strengthened, comforted, go forth to prison or to death,
To suffer patiently the cruel mockings of the tongue;
To bear the cross unto the bitter end, then calmly say,
"Tis finished," and with faith unwavering pass beneath "the veil!"
May 6.1906 NEARING THE GOAL
With eyes aflame, with panting breath, they come,— The runners,every nerve and muscle tense, Urged forward by a thousand deafening cries, On, on, they rush, when one, close to the goal, For but one moment glances back in pride To note how far he hath outrun the rest. Alas! tripped by a pebble on the course, He stumbles, falls, arises, but too late, Another sweeps ahead with blood-flecked lips And bursting heart! One final, awful strain, With superhuman effort, grand, supreme, He leaps into the air,and falls in death Across the line,a victor,but at what A fearful cost!he gave his life,his all!
I ponder o'er this tragedy of days When Greece was mistress of the world, and say, "Hast not thou also entered on a race, My soul, in contest for a 'Crown of Life,' A prize thou canst not win except thine all Thou givest! Then, be wise, and watch and pray, Turn not thine eyes one instant from 'the mark,' For fear thou dash thy foot against some small, Well-rounded truth, which in thy pride thou hast O'erlooked, and thus thou stumble, fall, and though Thou shouldst arise, 'twould be too late to win!"
"Ah, then, consider thy 'forerunner,' Christ, Yea, call to mind the 'cloud of witnesses' Around,—those noble, faithful ones of old,— And strip thyself, my soul, of every weight; Gird up thy loins, make straight paths for thy feet; Breathe deeply of the Spirit's conquering power, And run with patient, meek, enduring zeal! Almost thou hast attained, my soul, my soul! Shall angels, principalities, or powers, Or height, or depth, or other creature, draw Thee from the goal so near? Ah! yes, so near, The glory-light streams through the parting veil; Have faith, press on, one effort, grand, supreme,— And thou hast won in death Love's blood bought crown!"
THE ROSE
Within my hand I gently hold the Garden's Queen, a rose,—
The softly-sighing summer wind about it faintly blows,
And wafts its wondrous fragrance out upon the evening air.
And as I gaze upon the rose, so perfect and so fair,
And as I gaze upon the rose, so perfect and so fair, In memory's halls there wakes, the while, a legend, quaint and old,
How once upon a time, one day, a sage picked up, we're told,
A lump of common clay, so redolent with perfume rare.
He marveled, and the question wondering asked,
"Whence dost thou bear
Such fragrance, O, thou lump of clay?" In tones of deep repose
There came the sweet reply, "I have been dwelling with the rose."
The while the legend stirs my soul, within my hand still lie
The petals of the rose, and from my heart of hearts I cry,
"Thou lovely Rose of Sharon, may I ever dwell with Thee,
So closely that the fragrance of Thy love shall cling to me.
Oh, fill me with the spirit of Thy sweet humility,
Then all shall see and know, dear Lord, that I have learned of Thee;
And let mine earthly pilgrimage, until its blessed close,
Each day and hour bear witness, I've been dwelling with the Rose."
OUR HEAVENLY HOME
To little children "home" is that dear place where mother is.
Where every wound doth ever find the healing kiss of love,
And little sobbing hearts are soothed to rest upon her breast.
In later years that dear word "home" awakes the precious thought
Of loving wife and happy little ones, and peace and rest.—
A refuge sweet where outside cares and worries cannot come.
And when the sun of life is sinking in the west we dream
Of "home" as that blest gathering place where often through the year
Our children, and their children, come with wealth of grateful love,
That makes our hearts forget the pain and toil of former years.
But to the Christian, though the earthly loves be near and dear.
The thought of "home" belongs to that most heavenly place where God.
And Christ, and all the holy angels are, where sorrow finds
No place, and every longing heart is fully satisfied;
Where we shall love and serve Him perfectly, and meet again.
Nor ever part from fellow-pilgrims on "the narrow way;"
Where we shall sit with Christ upon His throne, and bless with peace
And joy the whole creation, groaning now in pain and tears!
And year by year the golden chain grows longer, that doth draw
Us closer to our heavenly home, as one by one, "the priests"
In silence pass beneath "the veil"—each one an added link.
Ah! then, to gain an entrance to that blest abode shall we
Not count the present things but "loss and dross," and lightly touch
Each object that might hold our heart's affections to this earth.—
For where our treasure is, e'en there our hearts will also be!
October 26,1906
SOMETIMES I ALMOST WONDER
Sometimes I almost wonder if my Lord doth really know
About the many, many things that wound my poor heart so!
I can but wonder if He knows the anguish of my soul.
When tempests beat upon my head, and surging billows roll;
I wonder if He hears at night my weary, longing sighs.
I wonder if He sees the tears that tremble in mine eyes!
I wonder if my burdens weigh upon His tender heart,
And in my many sorrows, if His great love shares a part!
Ah! no, I will not wonder, I will silence every fear,
Ai! no, I will not wonder, I will silence every tear, I've read that "in His bottle He doth treasure up each tear;"
I know that He who heeds the smallest sparrow when it falls.
Will surely, surely hearken when His own child feebly calls;
I know that He who stilled the waves on Galilee's dark sea,
Will bid the storms of life, "Be still," that rudely threaten me.
Ah! no, I do not wonder, I am sure my Lord doth know
About the many, many things that wound my poor heart so!
February 27,1908 "SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD"
The Feast was spread at Simon's house, and as they sat at meat,
A woman came and silent stood within the open door—
Close pressed against her throbbing heart an alabaster box
Of purest spikenard, costly, rare, she held. With modest fear,
She dreaded to attract the curious gaze of those within.
And yet her well-beloved Friend was there, her Master, Lord.
With wondrous intuition she divined that this might be
Her last, her only opportunity to show her love;
She thought of all that He had done for her, the holy hours
She spent enraptured at His feet, unmindful of all else.
If only she might hear those words of Truth, those words of Life.
She thought of that dark hour when Lazarus lay within the tomb
And how He turned her night to day, her weeping into joy.
Her fair face flushed, with deepening gratitude her pure eyes shone;
With swift, light step she crossed the crowded room. She bravely met
Those questioning eyes (for Love will find its way through paths where lions
Fear to tread); with trembling hands she broke the seal and poured
The precious contents of the box upon her Savior's feet.
And all the house was filled with fragrance wonderful and sweet.
She could not speak, her heart's devotion was too deep, her tears
Fell softly, while she took her chiefest ornament, her long
And silken hair and wiped His sacred feet—when suddenly A rude voice broke the golden silence with, "What waste!
this might
Have sold for much, to feed the poor!" She lower bent her head—
To her it seemed so mean a gift for love so great to make!
Again a voice re-echoed through the room, her blessed Lord's.
(He half arose and gently laid His hand upon her hair)—
And how it thrilled her fainting heart to hear Him sweetly say,
"Rebuke her not, for she hath wrought a good work, what she could;
Aforehand, to anoint Me for my burying, she hath come.
And this her deed of love throughout the ages shall be told!"
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How oft since first I read the story of this saint of old.
My own poor heart hath burned with fervent, long ing, deep desire.
That I might thus have ministered unto my Lord and King—
"The chiefest of ten thousand, altogether lovely One."
And now to learn—Oh! precious thought, 'tis not too late, I still
May pour Love's priceless ointment on "the members" of His Feet!
Dear Lord, I pray, Oh! help me break with sacrificial hand
The seal of Self, and pour the pent-up odors of my heart
Upon Thy "Feet!" Oh! let me spend my days and nights in toil.
That I, perchance, may save from needless wandering, and help
To keep them in the narrow way that leads to light and life.
Oh! let me lay within their trembling hands a rose of love.
A lily's pure and holy inspiration on their breast!
Dear Master, let me kneel with them in dark Gethsemane;
Oh! help me boldly stand and meekly bear the scoffs and jeers
Of cruel, mocking tongues! Oh! may I count no cost, e'en life
Itself, too great to serve, to bless, to comfort Thy dear "Feet."
And when the last drop of my heart's devotion hath been shed,
Oh, may I hear Thy sweet voice say, "She hath done what she could!"
April 30,1908
JESUS
The gentle sighing of the wind among the pines, The joyous singing of the lark at break of day,
The rippling of the water-brooks through cooling shade.
The patter of the softly falling rain at night,
Are sounds less sweet by far than His most precious name.
No Art can show a form so gracious and so fair,
No Art can show a form so gracious and so fair, No Master's hand hath drawn a smile so wondrous sweet,
Nor could depict the majesty of that pure brow;
No canvas ever glowed with such a holy light
As shines from His most radiant image in my heart.
The dearest earthly friend may fail in time of need, The sweetest and the loveliest grow cold at heart, The nearest may not heed the throbbing heart's sad cry,
The gayest throng may hold the loneliest solitude, But Jesus, Jesus never fails my call to hear.
Oh, may the music of Thy name more clearly fall Upon my ears attuned to catch that sweetest sound! Oh, may Thine image in my heart so bright become That I by gazing may be changed into the same; Oh, blessed Jesus, let Thy presence ne'er depart, Oh, come and reign forevermore within my heart!
December 22,1905 In Thy due time, our Heavenly Father, shall be known
Thy gracious plan, which now is hid,
Except unto Thy saints alone.
O, glorious day, when Thine all-wisdom, justice, power and love,
The whole creation shall approve!
In His due time, O, blessed Jesus, Thou shalt see The travail of Thy soul, and shalt
Be satisfied eternally;
Thine agony on Calvary—the price that Thou didst give, Shall cause the dead again to live!
In God's due time, O, pilgrim on the "narrow way,"
Thy painful journey ended, darkest
Night shall turn to brightest day;
Thine every trial, then, thine every tear, shall prove a gem
To beautify thy diadem!
In His due time, O, weary, groaning, sin-cursed Earth.
The Lord will wipe away thy tears,
And bring the promised "second birth;"
And there shall be no pain, nor any death in that blest day
When sin and sorrow flee away!
In His due time, angelic choirs shall sing again
In grander strain that heavenly message,
"Peace on earth, good will toward men!"
And every knee shall bow, and every loving heart confess
The Christ who comes to reign and bless!
January 25,1906 THE NARROW WAY
"Dear Lord, the way seems very dark,
I cannot see."
"Yes, child, I know, but I will be thy Light—
Come, follow Me!"
"Dear Lord, so lonely is this way Where are my friends?" "My child, dost thou forget how far from Me Their pathway tends?"
"Dear Master, I am growing weak,
I scarce can stand."
"O, foolish child, trust not in thine own strength,
Come, take My hand;
"For I have trod this way before, So dark to thee. "I know each step, its weariness and pain, Wilt trust in Me?"
"Yea, Lord, though friendless, lonely, dark This way may be I will be strong, Beloved Guide, lead on, I follow Thee!"
HE KNOWS
He knows the way I take,— What matter then if dark it be, Or rough, or hedged about, His staff shall comfort me.
And should His love withhold What seems so near, so dear, so sweet, I'll humbly take this thing And lay it at His feet.
How sweet to know He knows,
And cares, and holds me by the hand,- Will safely guide until I reach the Heavenly Land!
WAITING
"They also serve who only stand and wait." Behold me here,
Dear Lord! With eager, watchful eye and quick attentive ear.
I stand, and if a message Thou wouldst send o'er land or sea—
But, if in Thine all-wisdom, Thou shouldst choose another one.
My heart in swift submission shall respond, Thy will be done!
Let me learn well the lesson that Thy blessed Word doth teach.
For what appears my service, with an over-confident zeal.
But watch and pray until Thy will for me Thou shalt reveal;
Thus patient, waiting ever, keeping very close to Thee.
Perhaps, dear Lord, some wondrous day Thou wilt have need of me!
September 21, 1909
O, SOUL OF MINE
O, soul of mine, be calm, be still Submit thyself to God,
In all thy ways yield to His will, Nor faint beneath the rod.
O, soul of mine, like potter's clay Within the Master's hand.
O. let Him mould thee day by day, Till faultless thou shalt stand.
O, soul of mine, have faith, believe Nor count the cost of strife,
Fight on, faint not, thou shalt receive At last the Crown of Life!
Last night I dreamed the Master came to me and gently said,
"Beloved, lay thy cross aside, and come with me awhile.
For I would have thee rest within the garden of the Lord."
And then He took my trembling hand and led me through the gloom
Until we came to where a massive gateway barred our path.—
The gates were closed, but opened at the Master's sweet command.
We entered, and the shadows fled before His radiant smile.—
Oh, vision rapturous, can words be found to tell how fair!
Ten thousand roses beckoned with Love's crimson hue, and round
About our feet the violets nestled in their purple grief;
A passion-flower, sad symbol of His dying agony,
Entwined itself with orchids rare, frail children of the air;
While velvet pansies, clothed in royalty, together grew
With lovely, clinging, pink and white sweet peas, and close beside.
The lilies of the valley bent in sweet humility,—
And everywhere, the tender grass, a carpet soft and cool.
And often as we passed, the Master's hand with loving touch
Did rest upon some drooping flower, and lo! at once it seemed
Refreshed. At last we came to where a stately lily stood.
Its snowy crown uplifted like a chime of silvery bells,
Whose swaying filled the garden with a fragrance sweet and rare.
We closer drew, and then I saw, alas! how here and there A petal fair was torn and brown, as though by some rude wind
Or scorching heat. I wondered greatly at the sight, then turned,
The question on my lips,—when suddenly there rose a storm
So fierce that every flower in the garden bent its head;
And then a shower of flaming arrows, hurled by shadowy forms
Outside the garden's ivy-covered walls, rained down upon
The lilies, while I clung in terror to my Heavenly Guide.
A moment only did the storm prevail, and then I heard
The Master's "Peace, be still!" The tempest ceased, and there was calm.
The wondrous light grew dim, the garden vanished, and I woke.
The Master had not spoken thus, and yet I seemed to know
The fair dream-garden was a picture of His "little ones,"
(He neither sleeps nor slumbers in His watch-care over these).
And then the thought,—if in this garden I might choose my place,
Would I be like the rose? Ah! no, lest in my passionate zeal
To show by works my heart of love, I should forget the thorns.
Dear Lord, and wound Thy loving hand! Ah! then, perhaps I would
The lily be, and sound Thy blessed Truth o'er land and sea
In clear-toned eloquence. Ah! no, I might not bear the storms
That beat upon the one whose head Thou hast uplifted far
Above his fellows,—and a shining mark for Satan's darts!
And thus I thought on each and all that garden's lovely ones, Then cried, "My blessed Lord, if I might choose, Oh, let me be
The tender grass, that I may rest and soothe Thy weariness,—
A lowly place, safe-sheltered from the wind and fiery dart.—
What rapture this,—to lay down life itself beneath Thy feet!"
September 30,1905
PATIENCE
The purple grape must be crushed To make the sweet, red wine,
And furnace fires must fiercely burn,
The drossy gold to refine;
The wheel must cruelly grind,
Else where the jewel's light?
And the steel submit to the polishing,
Or how would the sword grow bright?
How then, my soul, wilt thou The Spirit's fruits possess,
Except thou lovingly yield thyself To the Hand that wounds to bless?
Then patiently let the fire Consume all earthly dross—
Thou canst not hope to wear the Crown,
If thou refuse the Cross!
"THREE GATES OF GOLD"
Let every thought thy lips would utter pass three gates of gold,—
But, if through these it fails to pass, then let it not be told;
And o'er each gate in silver letters written thou wilt find.
Above the first one, "Is it true?" the second, "Is it kind?"
And "Is it necessary?" o'er the third one and the last.
Then guard thy thoughts, let none escape, save those these gates have passed! 1911 LORD, HERE I BRING MYSELF
'Tis all I have to give,
My heart's desire is wholly thi.,
Henceforth for Thee to live;
To own no will but Thine, To suffer loss or shame, All things to bear, if only I May glorify Thy name;
Henceforth mine every power Each day for Thee to use, My hands, my feet, my lips, mine all. As Thou, my Lord, shalt choose.
Dear Lord, my constant prayer Is for increase of grace, That I by faith may walk with Thee, Till I behold Thy face.
IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING X
If we could always feel each little thing We do, each hour we spend Within the sacred presence of the King, What dignity 'twould lend!
If we could realize our every thought Is known to Him, our King, With how great carefulness would it be fraught And what a blessing bring!
If, when some sharp word leaves a cruel sting, Our faith could know and feel 'Twas heard within the presence of the King, How soon the wound would heal!
Oh, when the song of life seems hard to sing,
And darker grows the way—
Draw nearer to the presence of the King,
And night shall turn to day!
July, 1907 THE ONE LOAF
I Cor. 10:17
The twilight hour, when all the world doth dream, I stand amid
The ripening grain, that ripples, like the bosom of a lake
Beneath the evening breeze. I pluck, and idly hold within
My hand, one golden ear, the while in swift succession pass
Strange visions of the olden time: I see a threshing floor—
The wheat by wooden flail bereft of chaff and shining husk.
The scene is changed; I see a woman grinding at a mill—
Between the upper and the nether stones the grain is crushed
Until no semblance of its former state remains, but each
Is merged into one common whole—a coarse and homely meal.
Another picture—mixed with water and with salt a loaf.
Or flattened cake, is formed and laid upon the glowing coals.
And as I gaze, my thoughts are lifted to a higher plane;
I see "the members of His body," like the golden grain,
Denuded of their glittering robes of earthly pride and fame;
The upper and the nether stones of life's vicissitudes
Are slowly, surely, grinding rich and poor, the high, the low.
Into one common-union-heart and mind, and zeal and love;
With purifying salt, life-giving water of the Word. The mass is being drawn and held and moulded in "one loaf."
Ah, then, beloved, when we drink of that memorial cup.
And eat the symbol of His flesh, let us partake with joy.
Nor marvel if we need that strange, transforming power of fire,
Ere we are counted worthy to be like our Lord and Head.
And "broken" that a hungry, fainting, dying world be fed!
February 25,1908
"COME UNTO ME"
Matt. 11:28,30
Come to Me, all ye that labor,
Come, and I will give you rest.
Come to Me, ye heavy laden,
Come, and lean upon My breast!
Take Mine easy yoke upon you, For My burden, it is light, And My heart is meek and lowly, Ever pleasing in His sight.
Come to Me, ye broken-hearted,
Let Me all your sorrows bear,
Faithful be till life is ended,
Then My glory ye shall share.
1900 \textcircled{* }
THIS TOO WILL PASS
Poor heart, break not, though cruel be thy wound, This too will pass!
The weariest day will end in sunset light, And dawn must follow e'en the darkest night!
Nor drink too deeply of joy's honeyed cup, This too will pass!
Caressing hands will lose their loving touch, And words mean nothing, that once meant so much.
Ah, then, whate'er thy state, seek thou content. This will not pass!
Thy rest in God, He only knows and cares His heart of love thine every sorrow shares!
May 15, 1916 I may not understand just why the clouds obscure the sun.
But I can trust Him still, and feebly say, "Thy will be done."
I know not why each door of service He sees fit to close.
But I rejoice to find my will would ne'er His way oppose.
I can but wonder why it seemeth to my Father best,
To loosen from its resting place upon my throbbing breast
The priceless jewel fastened there by His own hand —but then.
I joy to feel the mother-heart can still respond, Amen!
I do not always clearly see the lesson I should learn.
But hour by hour I'll strive to let the hallowed incense burn.
I know not why the sweet must turn to bitter in the cup.
But still I press it to my lips, and through my tears look up
To Him who is "too wise to err, too good to be unkind."
Assured that, when the cup is drained, a blessing there I'll find.
Press hard, then, Master Workman, and refrain not, if I weep—
The marble's fairest beauty grows beneath the chise ling deep—
Yea, Lord, let skies be overcast, as seemeth best to Thee.
Take from my arms the dearest thing Thy love hath given me;
Let sweet or bitter fill my cup, according to Thy will,
I'll closer clasp Thy hand in mine and in the flame hold still.
And thus, although Thou slay me, I will praise Thee night and day.
I'll lay each burden at Thy feet, and bear a song away!
August 2, 1908 "YOUR FATHER KNOWETH WHAT THINGS YE HAVE NEED OF"
Matt. 6:8
Our Father knows what things we need Each step along the way, His eye of love doth never sleep He watches night and day.
He knows sometimes, like ripening grain, We need the sunshine bright Again He sends the peace that comes With shadows of the night.
Sometimes our pride would fain unfurl Ambition's flaunting sail— Ah! then He knows we need to walk Humiliation's vale.
Sometimes He takes our eager hands And folds them on our breast. He gently lays our work aside He knows we need to rest.
Sometimes we need companionship, Sometimes, "the wilderness," How sweet to feel He'll know and give The state that most will bless!
Then let us leave it all with Him, Assured that, come what may. Our Father knows just what we need Upon our pilgrim-way.
COME NOT, DEAR HEART
Come not, dear heart, when I am dead,
To weave thy garlands round my head,
But while I live send me a rose.
Or e'en the humblest flower that blows,
"Twill serve to tell me of thy love.
Pure love that comes from Heaven above.
April, 1917 THE WORD OF TRUTH
The Word of Truth is like a stained-glass window rare,
We stand outside and gaze, but see no beauty there,
No fair design, naught but confusion we behold;
'Tis only from within the glory will unfold,
And he who would drink in the rapture of the view
Must climb the winding stair, the portal enter through.
The sacred door of Truth's cathedral is most low,
And all who fain would enter there the knee must bow
In deep humility. But once inside, the light
Of day streams through and makes each color heavenly bright,
The Master's great design we see, our hands we raise
In reverent ecstasy of wonder, love and praise!
January 30, 1906
NOT NOW, MY CHILD
"Father, I long to spread Thy blessed Truth o'er land and sea!"
I listen, and there comes to me
His answer, tender, loving, mild,
"Not now, My child."
"Father, my heart is sad, I fain would leave this wilderness,
Go forth, earth's groaning ones to bless!"
I hear again His answer mild,
"Not now. My child."
"Father, I yearn to break these fleshly fetters and be free,
As pants the hart, I pant for Thee!"
His voice, how sweet, how tender, mild,
"Not now, My child."
"Father, Thy will be done, I humbly leave it all with Thee,
Thou knowest what is best for me!"
I hear His voice, so low, so mild,
"Come now, My child."
THIS IS MY WILL FOR THEE
Just to hear my dear Master say,
"This is my will for thee;"
Then to whisper the dark night through,
"This is His will for me."
Just to keep in the narrow way,
Painful howe'er it be,
Just to follow Him day by day—
All shall be well with me.
Just to joyfully bear the pain,
All that He sendeth me,
Just to suffer the scorn and shame—
Trust where I cannot see.
Just to hear, when the day seems long,
"This is My will for thee;"
Then shall my faith and love grow strong,
Knowing His will for me.
Oh, to hear, when the work is done,
"This is My will for thee—
Faith and Patience and love have won—
Sit in My throne with Me!"
October 12, 1910
THE SOLITARY WAY
Alas! how few may know the grace it takes To tread the solitary way! Alone! Ah, yes, alone! No other human heart Can understand the nameless sorrows there The nights in weeping spent, and yet, when dawns The day, to greet the world with radiant smile, And scatter sunshine while you whisper low To your poor heart, "Canst bear a little more?"
Alone! Poor heart, and dost thou question, Why? Dost think it strange that thou must walk this way? Ah, no! Thou dost but follow in His steps Who went before, and of the people there Was none with Him! Alone? Yet not alone— Hath not thy blessed Lord and Master said, "My presence shall go with thee?" Ah, my soul, No longer, then, a solitary way!
December 24,1913 "IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS"
We thank Thee, Lord, for raiment, and we thank Thee for our food.
We thank Thee for our shelter, O, Thou Giver of All Good;
We thank Thee for the day on which our eyes first saw the light.
We give Thee thanks for every sense, for hearing and for sight.
We thank Thee for the sunshine, and we thank Thee for the rain.
We thank Thee for the pleasure and we thank Thee for the pain.
We thank Thee for the friends we've won, and for the friends we've lost.
We thank Thee for the heart-aches which these separations cost.
We thank Thee for the tender love which makes us clearly see
That every severed heart-string hath but drawn us nearer Thee.
We thank Thee for forgiveness when we fail in word or deed,
We praise Thee for sufficient grace in every time of need.
We thank Thee, blessed Father, for the gift of Thy dear Son.
We thank Thee and we praise Thee for the victory He won.
We thank Thee for His righteousness, His robe so pure and white.
We praise Thee that, when clothed in it, we're blameless in Thy sight.
We thank Thee, Oh, we praise Thee for Thy good and precious Word.
We bless Thee for the wondrous faith its promises have stirred.
We thank Thee for the glorious Hope of Immortality—
Our hearts are longing, Lord, with Thee to dwell eternally!
We thank Thee for "That Servant," for the love of each dear Saint,
We bless Thee for their fellowship when heart and strength grow faint.
And thus we give Thee thanks, dear Lord, for each and every thing.
And pray that Thou wilt keep us safe beneath Thy sheltering wing!
October, 1914
GETHSEMANE
Gethsemane! The Garden's lonely shade the world's Redeemer sought that night. He went alone to pray For grace and strength to drink the last drop in His Cup.
Great souls crave solitude in sorrow's hour. Not e'en His well-beloved three might share the sacredness
Of that deep woe—He bade them tarry, while He went
A little farther on, and fell upon His face.
Gethsemane! A solitary place, apart,
No mortal feet may press in sympathy that dark, Encrimsoned earth. No human hand the fevered brow
May cool, no other heart can share its agony,
No voice but God's may break the solemn silence there—
A place where every soul must drink alone the Cup The Father's hand hath poured, and given to His child.
Gethsemane! A desert place, alone, apart?
Ah, no! The anguished heart doth never cry in vain To Him who marks the smallest sparrow when it falls.
For He shall send His Angel with the message, "Fear Thou not, for I am with thee! I will ne'er forsake
Nor let thee fail! My right hand shall uphold, My love.
My power shall keep thee, even to the bitter end!"
February 8,1913
A PRAYER
Heavenly Father, Holy One,
May Thy will in us be done;
Make our hearts submissive, meek,
Let us ne'er our own way seek.
Loving Savior, we would be
Ever more and more like Thee,
Free from pride and self-desire,
Fervent with a holy fire.
Jesus, Master, we would bear In Thy sufferings a share; Help us, Lord, to follow Thee, Heavy though the cross may be. Fill us with Divinest love, With Thy spirit from above, May we patiently endure, Trusting in Thy promise sure.
Blessed Lord, Thy saints defend,
Watching o'er them to the end;
Day by day their faith increase,
Keep them in Thy perfect peace;
Comfort, strengthen, guide and bless
Lead them through the wilderness,
And when Thy due time shall come,
Gather all Thy loved ones home.
"IF"
If I can warm with Love some lonely heart, Hope's lustre to some listless eye impart; If I can make a straight path for the lame, Or fan some smoldering Faith to fervent flame; If I may help some faltering foot to keep The painful, narrow way, though rough and steep; If Thou, dear Lord, wilt use me, even me, To draw some trembling soul more close to Thee; If, when the end of all things is at hand, My feeble efforts may help one to stand; If I may live to make Truth's message plain, Ah! then, 'twill ne'er be said, my life was vain.
"THINK IT NOT STRANGE"
I Pet. 4:12
Think it not strange, beloved,
When fiercely burns the fiery flame!
Think it not strange, but praise His name,
Who counts thee worthy to partake
Of painful sufferings for His sake.
Nor think it strange
When loved ones scornful from thee turn,
The Truth reject, the message spurn;
Consider Him who thus endured,
And Immortality secured!
Think it not strange, beloved,
If sometimes every door seem closed,
And all thine efforts be opposed,
But calmly wait in patience till
The Master shall reveal His will.
Nor think it strange
When darker grows the "narrow way"—
Press on, thy Master soon shall say,
"Enough, My child, thou hast well done,
Come, enter in, the Prize is won!"
IF WE COULD BUT KNOW
Would tasks ever seem too hard,
If we knew that tomorrow's sun
Would arise upon hands that were folded at rest
With their life-work forever done?
Dost think we would ever wear
An impatient look on the face,
If we knew that our loved ones ere close of the day
Would lie clasped in death's cold embrace?
Ah me! would we ever fear
Or grow faint in the darkening way,
If we only could know how short that blest while
Till the night should be turned to day?
Ah then! let our faith be strong!
Hour by hour live as though we knew,
Let us fight the good fight, let us love to the end,
Should our days be many or few!
May, 1915 ALMOST HOME
My frail barque rudely tosses on the sea, In terror, Lord, I feebly cry to Thee, "Increase my faith, as darker grows the night, Oh, make me strong in Thee and in Thy might!" He hears my prayer, He answers, with a smile, "We're almost home, have faith a little while!"
Nor sun nor moon nor any star is seen,
Not e'en the faintest rift of blue between;
The chilling waters deeper, darker flow,
The storm-clouds lower, the winds more wildly blow—
Yet hark! Above the strife His voice, so mild,
"Be brave, be strong, we're almost home, My child!"
Do eager hands lie folded on thy breast,
And hath the Lord of Harvest bid thee rest?
Dost see the happy laborers go by,
Nor canst refrain a tear or longing sigh?
Be calm, poor heart, and sink into His will—
"We're almost home, dear child, lean harder still!"
April 19. 1914
A LITTLE WHILE
How long, O, Lord, till I am meet To hold with Thee communion sweet? How long until Thine eyes shall see The Spirit's fruits complete in me? When shall I come to Thee, my Lord, As promised in Thy blessed Word? When shall I see Thee as Thou art, And satisfy my longing heart? Ah, then, how mean will seem these toys, These transitory, earthly joys! How short appear this dreary way, When night hath turned to endless day! Then, peace, my soul, be strong, my heart, And bravely strive to do thy part, "A little while," He soon shall come, And say, "Enough, my child, come home!"
PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING
If He the holy, harmless, sinless One,
Must needs be perfected through suffering,
Wouldst thou then seek to tread a path less steep
To reach Heaven's goal and win thy Father's smile?
Ah, no! My soul, when pain and sorrow cross
Thy threshold, be thou swift to welcome them,
Then whisper low within thy heart of hearts,
"Another opportunity to show
My King how much I love, what I can bear
For Him!" And as the weary days go by,
Cling closer to the hand that wounds thee so,
Lean harder on the breast of Him who loves
Thee, even as He loved His only Son;
And pray, "Lord, spare me not, burn out all dross,
Let nothing but the purest gold remain,
And help me in the hottest fire hold still.
Do Thou, great Lapidist, grind on, that I
May perfectly reflect the glorious light
Of Love Divine! Oh, fit me for some place
Within Thy royal diadem to shine!"
January 28, 1918
GONE HOME
(In Memory of My Beloved Pastor)
Gone home! To be forever with the Lord, White-robed and clothed with Immortality, Beholding face to face Jehovah God. Gone home! All sorrow, tears and anguish left Behind. "Tis finished, all the sacrifice, And, faithful unto death, he hears, "Well done, Come, enter thou into the promised joy!"
What message would "our shepherd" send to us, To us who wait this side the parting vail? "Be brave, be strong, weep not, have faith in God, The fields are white to harvest, go ye forth, And, even as our Master said, 'Lo, I Am with you always, even to the end,' So shall my loving presence go with you, Until ye too shall hear His sweet 'Well done!' Then there shall be one Shepherd and one flock, And all rejoice together with the Lord."
November 1, 1916 MY PRAYER
Almighty God, the Lord of being throned afar, the Source
And Center of each sphere, hear Thou in Heaven, Thy dwelling place.
A humble suppliant's prayer! Oh, bless and keep and guard and guide
The "man in linen with the writer's inkhorn by his side;"
Oh, hold him closely to Thy heart, beneath Thy sheltering wing.
And set him, Heavenly Father, as a seal upon Thine arm!
Oh, cleanse from secret faults, from sins presumptuous keep back,
And make his heart as pure as that sweet flower of Eastertide.
Oh, keep him meek and lowly, humbly lying at Thy feet.
A broken and emptied vessel, for the Master's use made meet.
Oh, touch his lips with coal of fire from off Thine altar, Lord.
As he shall seek Thy Truth to speak and honor Thy dear name.
O, blessed Jesus, stretch in wondrous love Thy pitying hand.
And gently lead the "man that is Thy fellow" in the way
Thine own dear feet have trod. Oh, make him more and more like Thee.
Thou chiefest of ten thousand, altogether lovely One!
Fulfil to him Thy promise, if he suffer, he shall reign.
And when his course is finished, may he hear Thy sweet "Well Done!"
As yearns the mother's heart to shield from every ill her child,
So fain would I, but I am weak, my Father, do Thou keep His eyes from tears, his feet from falling and his soul from death!
Be Thou to him a Sun and Shield in Satan's darkest hour.
Let angel hosts encamp about his going out and in, By day, by night, today, tomorrow and forevermore, In Jesus' name Amen!
In Jesus' name. Amen!
May, 1907
"HOW LONG, OH, LORD, HOW LONG?"
How long, Oh, Lord, how long Shall weakness serve the strong? How long shall Might make Right. And darkness hate the light?
How long, Oh, Lord, how long Till Truth shall crush the wrong, Till darkness turn to day, And sorrow flee away?
How long till wars shall cease, This turmoil end in peace? How long the sin-cursed Earth Await her second birth?
How long, Lord, must I feel The proud oppressor's heel I'm weary of the night. I long for morning light!
I long to see Thy face, I long for Thine embrace How long, Lord, till I come To my long-promised home?
Not long, my child, not long. Be brave, be true, be strong! The Day-star doth appear. The Kingdom draweth near!
Look up, my child, look up,
The last drop's in thy Cup!
Trust where thou canst not see—
I soon will call for thee!
January 19, 1913 "O, THOU OF LITTLE FAITH!"
O, thou of little faith, why dost thou fear?
The tempest hath no power when I am near;
Will not the angry waves be still at My command?
Step out, I'll hold thy hand,
Then, wherefore dost thou fear?
O, thou of little faith, why dost thou doubt? Doth not Mine Angel compass thee about? Are not My Father's promises as sure to thee As they have proved to Me? Then, wherefore dost thou doubt?
O, thou of little faith, what dost thou dread?
Are not the lilies clothed, the sparrows fed?
Heed not the world, nor marvel that it hateth thee,
O, thou of little faith, why dost thou shrink?
Why dost thou tremble at the river's brink?
Oh, hark! Above its tumult sweetly sounds my "Come,
Then, wherefore wouldst thou shrink?" January 20,1906
REST
The rest of faith! How wondrous sweet, Each trial and each grief to meet, Upheld by that sufficient grace, That trusts Him where it cannot trace.
The rest of peace! With mind so stayed,
That as the sea-birds, unafraid,
Upon the stormy deep do sleep,
My soul an inmost calm doth keep.
The rest of love! What holy bliss,
That He is mine, and I am His!
It sweetens every bitter cup,
It bids my tear-dimmed eyes look up;
It satisfies my hungry heart, And makes this life of Heaven a part. Oh! blessed rest of faith and peace, Oh! rest of love that ne'er shall cease.
"ARE YE ABLE?"
Are ye able to walk in the narrow, strait way,
With no friend by your side, and no arm for your stay?
Can ye bravely go on through the darkening night? Can ye patiently wait till the Lord sends the Light?
Are ye able to crush your soul's longing for Love,
Will ye seek for no friendship save that from above?
Can ye pass through this world, lone, unnoticed, unknown.
While your faith faintly whispers, "He knoweth His own?"
Where the feet of the Blessed One stood, can ye stand?
Can ye follow His steps to a wilderness land?
Are ye able to cast aside pleasure and fame?
Can ye live but to glorify His precious name?
Can ye smile as His dear voice says tenderly "No,"
When "the field is so white," and your heart yearns to go?
Can ye rest then in silence, contented and still,
Till your Lord, the Chief Reaper, revealeth His will?
Are ye able to lay on the Altar's pure flame
That most treasured possession, your priceless good name?
Can ye ask of your Father a blessing for those,
Who see naught in your life but to scorn and oppose?
When the conflict twixt Error and Truth fiercer grows.
Can ye yield the strong "Sword" against unnumbered foes?
Can ye lift up the "Standard" e'en higher and higher, While His praises ye sing in the midst of the fire?
When ye see the Lord's cause going down to defeat,
Will your faith keep you steadfast, though heart and flesh fail
As the New Creature passes beneath the last "Veil?" Ah, if thus ye can drink of the Cup He shall pour. And if never the Banner of Truth ye would lower, His Beloved ye are, and His crown ye shall wear, In His Thone ye shall sit, and His Glory shall share! February 5,1912 "THERE WAS ALSO A STRIFE AMONG THEM"
Luke 23:24
Alas! that in His last, sad sacred hours on earth. There should be strife among the Master's chosen twelve,
A strife to be the greatest, seeking selfish ends, Ignoring their sweet privilege to minister Unto their Lord, in this, His time of saddest need. Ah, me! that He, the Alpha and Omega, First And Last, in lowliness must wash their dust-stained feet.
To show that he who serveth most is chief of all!
Ah, then! shall we not daily watch and humbly pray That no defiling "root of bitterness" spring up! Shall we seek selfish honours here, or rather wait Until we reach the other side, where He, our King, Shall seat us in His throne, exalt His lowly Bride! Dear Lord, Oh, make us gentle, merciful and wise, Help us in honour each the other to prefer, Fulfilling thus the law of Christ, the law of Love! August 8, 1917
THY WILL BE DONE
My Lord, Thy will not mine be done; Whatever path Thy love shall choose for me, Through desert sands, or if beside the sea,— Thy will be done!
Oh, may Thy will in me be done: Should "harvest" labor be for me Thy will, Or if I may but suffer and be still,—
Thy will be done!
My Father, let Thy will be done:
If sweet the cup Thou pourest for me to drink,
I'll praise Thee, but if bitter, I'll not shrink,—
Thy will be done!
Forever may Thy will be done:
I would not choose, I leave it all with Thee,—
The pilgrimage, if short or long it be,—
Thy will be done!
No time to linger by the way,
No time for ease, no time for play;
No time for earthly loves or joys,
No time for worldly cares or toys,
The time, my soul, is short!
No time to murmur or complain,
No time to heed the heart's dull pain;
No time for tears or mournful song,
No time to ask, How far? How long?—
The time, my soul, is short!
Ah, yes, 'tis short—just time enough To run thy course, so steep and rough. Just time to reap "the fields," so white Before the coming of the "night." Just time, my soul, just time!
Just time to make thy heart more pure, Just time to make thy "calling" sure. Just time to enter through "the door." To reign with Christ for evermore— Just time, my soul, just time! October 28,1912
THE GOLDEN AGE
The Golden Age of Prophecy, by holy men foretold, When Right shall triumph o'er the Wrong of centuries grown old;
When in the desert springs break forth, wastes blossom as the rose,
And health and happiness are borne on every breeze that blows;
When Sin and Death shall pass away and every human heart
Be filled with Love until this Earth shall seem of Heaven a part.
Ah! then, poor World, come dry your tears and banish every fear.
Lift up your heads, rejoice and sing—the Golden Age is here!
September 7,1919 "BE THOU FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH"
Faithful when with tears thine eyes are dim, Faithful when Joy's cup o'erflows its brim; Faithful when God seems to veil His face, Faithful when He crowns thy work with grace. Faithful, though thy loved ones turn aside, Lips that praised thee once, in harshness chide; Faithful, though success enwreathe thy brow, Faithful, should the world before thee bow. Faithful till hath fled life's fleeting breath, Eager hands lie folded still in death.
"Faithful unto death!" Lord, day by day, Help me thus to keep the narrow way! Strengthen me to bear the scorn and shame Portion of all those who take Thy name. "Faithful unto death!" When all is done, Cross is changed to Crown, the victory won, Let me hear Thee say, O, blessed Lord, Child, come enter into thy reward! Faithful thou hast been, come share with Me Glory, Honor, Immortality!"
October 10, 1912
FAITH
To follow where an unseen Captain leads,
To heed commands unheard by mortal ear,
To battle with a known, yet unseen foe—
Ah! This is faith.
To choose the right when others think you wrong,
To stand for Truth while Error laughs in scorn,
To tread the lonely way unto the end—
Yes! This takes faith.
To wear a smile where you receive but frowns,
To kiss the hand that wounds your poor heart so.
And pray for those who fain your life would take—
Ah! This is faith.
To fix your eyes on that within the veil,
Your heart's devotion set on things above,
To wait with patience till God calls you home--
Faith's victory won!
May 1, 1917 "LIKE AS A FATHER PITIETH"
The night is so dark, and the way seems so long,
As we sadly and wearily struggle along,
So often we stumble, so frequently fall.
And the fear oft assails, "Shall we fail, after all?"
Poor hearts! we forget that the Master above Ever watcheth each step in His infinite love, And like as a father doth pity, the Lord Ever pities all those who do trust in His Word.
No tear ever falls, when the heart's wound is sore, But the Lord's tender heart keenly suffered the more; No cup His hand pours, which He fills to the brim, But His own loving lips were pressed first to its rim.
No night can be darker than that which He knew, And no waters be deeper than those He passed through.
Ah! then, when thy cross seems too heavy to bear, Gh, remember thy Lord doth know, pity and care!
October 23,1914
TO ARMS!
To arms! To arms! The enemy approaches!
To arms! To arms! Our wily foe is near.
To arms! Not ignorant of his devices,
To arms! To arms! Advance without a fear!
To arms! To arms! But not with carnal weapons!
To arms! Take up the Spirit's Two-edged Sword!
To arms! Put on the Helmet of Salvation,
To arms! To fight for Truth and for the Lord!
To arms! To arms! Take every piece of armor! To arms! To arms! Lay every weight aside! To arms! To arms! Our Captain goes before us, We'll follow Him, whatever may betide!
To arms! To arms! Ten thousand round thee falling! To arms! Have faith in God, and watch and pray! To arms! To arms! To him that overcometh, A Crown of Life that fadeth not away!
August 24,1915 THE HEAVENLY BRIDEGROOM
That He is mine and I am His, Oh! wondrous thought.
I am so poor, so weak, so lowly, can there aught
Of worthiness in me be found that He should love
And seek me for His Bride? I hear His voice, "My Dove.
Thou art all fair, My Spouse, there is no spot in thee;
Thy speech is comely, better is thy love to Me
Than wine. Thine eyes as Heshbon's fish-pools, and like flocks
Upon Mount Gilead are thy spiced and flower-decked locks.
The winter's past, My Dove, come, come with Me away!
Far spent the night, make ready for thy nuptial day!"
My heart responds, "Throughout the many-centuried night
I've longed for Thee, I've waited for the dawning light;
And I have laid Thee like sweet myrrh upon my breast.
Thine arm beneath my weary head hath brought me rest.
Thou whom my soul doth love, Thy countenance is fair
To see within the secret places of the stair;
Thy head is like fine gold, how beautiful Thy feet!
Thine eyes as doves' eyes, and Thy lips with honey sweet.
I rise, my Lord, I leave my father's house, behold My robe of righteousness, my raiment of wrought gold!
Oh! wealth of love Divine, that claims me for Thine own.
Oh! miracle of grace, to seat me on Thy throne.
Oh, glorious future hopes, Oh! bliss beyond compare,
Through all eternity Thy love and work to share!"
June 25,1917 "WHAT SHALL I RENDER UNTO THE LORD?"
Psa. 116:12-14
What shall I render, Lord, to Thee,
For all Thy benefits toward me?
For life and every earthly good,
For raiment, shelter, daily food;
For light and truth, for peace and love,
For heavenly wisdom from above?
How great Thy bounties unto me!
What have I that is not from Thee?
For all these benefits toward me, What shall I render, Lord, to Thee? The Cup Thy hand of love hath poured, I'll humbly take, most gracious Lord, And call upon Thy holy name To help me Thy great Plan proclaim; I'll spend my days in ceaseless praise, And tell abroad Thy wondrous ways!
"Salvation's Cup"—of suffering, too Of suffering with God's chosen few, Dear Lord, I'll drink of this, Thy Cup, And smiling through my tears, look up A mingled Cup of grief and joy, Of blessedness without alloy, Of love and fellowship divine, A foretaste of the Kingdom-wine.
That all, dear Lord, may know and see Thy countless benefits toward me, Before Thy congregation, now, I'll pay my consecration Vow; And in Thy strength, supplied each day. I'll strive to walk the narrow way That leads to rest and God and Thee, And blissful immortality!
THE SANDAL-WOOD
How strange the story of the Sandal-wood, That grows in distant lands, beyond the Sea! 'Tis said this curious tree perfumes the axe That lays it low, and from its riven heart There flows a wondrous fragrance, sweet and rare; Offtimes to incense ground, and powdered fine, Its burning fills with languorous scent the room. And yet, for centuries the tree might stand, But yield no perfume on the tropic air; It needs must fall, its very heart be crushed, The sweetness of its odours to reveal.
Dear Lord, Oh! make me like the Sandal-wood, Oh! may I pour Love's fragrance on the hand That wounds me so, and help me realize Without a bruised and humbled heart I'd be Unfitted for the Master Workman's use! As Sandal-wood oft cools the fevered brow, Let me refresh and soothe the anguished mind; When fires burn fiercest, may my presence be Like sweetest incense on the evening breeze, Or like God's angel in Gethsemane, To comfort, strengthen, calm, inspire and bless!
July 7,1917
"MY PRESENCE SHALL GO WITH THEE AND I SHALL GIVE THEE REST"
Almighty God, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, O, Thou, the Source and Center of each sphere, The Lord of Being, throned afar, Whose hand Upholds the weight of worlds, yet, wondrous thought! Nor day nor night too occupied to note E'en when a sparrow falls to earth, Whose eyes A watch-care keep o'er every child of Thine; Whose guardian angels daily shape the course Of those who love Thee more than life itself; Whose chastening rod doth guide them in the way That leads to endless life!—how sweet to feel Thy presence ever near, to know that Thou Dost never sleep nor slumber while Thy child In time of need doth feebly cry to Thee.
O, Thou, in Whom no shade of turning lies, Thou changeless and unvariable One! Though all unfaithful prove, yea, though the earth And heavens depart, by faith we clasp Thy hand. We calmly rest our weary hearts on Thee, Assured that Thou will ne'er forsake, that we Shall be forever precious in Thy sight! October 19, 1914
"I'VE DONE MY BIT"
'Twas but a "Red Cross" card of blue-I found it in my path-
So very small it was, I fain had passed it by, yet stooped
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