Gleams of Sunshine Part 13

And he who would true eminence attain Must heed the word of Him who came to serve, Nor from this path a single moment swerve, If he the great reward would surely gain.

This is the royal way--_to serve in love_-- Servant to servants ever aim to be Like Him who gave His life to ransom thee; Then shalt thou sit with Him on throne above.

'STABLISHED

The well-built house with walls of brick, or stone, May tremble some if struck by the cyclone; The most established saint may trials feel, As flint may turn the edge of finest steel.

Satanic hosts may rush in like a flood, Allied with foes of our own flesh and blood, The elements of earth and h.e.l.l combine, Yet tho' he trembles, stands in strength divine; He rests secure on the unyielding rock.

The top may sway, but base feels not the shock; His heart is fixed, nor earth nor h.e.l.l can move; They wrench not loose, but his allegiance prove.

Christ wept with Mary at her brother's grave; Laid down His life a rebel world to save; Tried, like ourselves, and like us too, infirm, Yet knew no sin in either root or germ; Let us be like Him while we sojourn here, Then storms and earthquakes we need never fear.

A MEROGNOSTIC

I know in part, but know not all, The part I know is known; What know I not I hope with Paul To know before the throne.

Till then where knowledge fails I trust The truth G.o.d has revealed, As known by me, forever must Be like the truth concealed.

I know G.o.d _is_, tho' hid from sight, And know He cares for me; In blessing me He takes delight, And I by faith can see His skilful hand and loving heart, In all my life's affairs, And feel content to know but part If He knows all my cares.

I know G.o.d gave His Son to die A sacrifice for man, And live all who on Him rely, And meet His claims I can, Yet I know not how in Him meet The human and divine; But G.o.d He is, and at His feet I fall, and feel Him mine.

Nor do I understand the change The spirit wrought in me; A work so great exceeds my range, But I can feel and see The inward peace, and outward trend, And hear likewise His voice, The outward with the inward blend, And answer to my choice.

I know not how mind touches mind And thoughts spring into life; Nor know the mystic bands which bind, Like husband to the wife, My loving Lord and my poor soul, But this I know full well, If I submit to His control I cannot sink to h.e.l.l.

I know the world shakes to its base, And man still wars with man, The bane of sin rests on our race, And Satan leads the van; But hope exults within my breast Tho 'darkness shrouds the sky; G.o.d is the friend of the oppressed, The good will never die.

I know not why my plans should fail When I have plan'd for G.o.d, And on this ground my foes a.s.sail, But I still kiss the rod, For tho' I cannot tell the why My heart is filled with peace; I can on my dear Lord rely, And wait for my release.

I know He is both true and kind, And has my good at heart.

His discipline will only bind With cords which naught can part, My heart's affections to His throne, And fit me for my rest, Nor do I tread life's path alone; _He knows_, and I am blest.

"SALUT AUX BLESSIS"

A group of mounted officers Ride up and fall in line; Their gleaming swords hang at their sides, Chevrons their arms entwine; They bare their heads as pa.s.s along A train of wounded men, Their shattered comrades from the field They ne'er may meet again.

"_Salut aux Blessis!_" loud they cry.

The wounded soldiers hear, And for a time forget their pain, And swell the l.u.s.ty cheer.

Thus should it be in other lines; The men who lead the van Should e'er accord a brother's cheer To every wounded man.

The "rank and file" the wounds receive; Sometimes the leader, too; But honest wounds none should despise; The bearer may be true.

He stood his ground 'gainst mighty odds, And dared the shot and sh.e.l.l; So bare your heads, ye scarless ones, And say, "_Thou hast done well!_"

SONNET

Each human life with mysteries is replete; They press upon us in its early dawn, And multiply apace as years roll on, And at each turn we must their problems meet.

Reason is blind, and fails their end to see, Misjudges G.o.d and gathers only woe, And from this spring much turbid waters flow.

Only the pure in heart from doubt are free; They read aright the writing on the wall Which solves the problems of our earthly lot; To them G.o.d draws aside the veil, and shows The golden threads with which the garment glows, And why one dwells in palace, one in cot, And how His love is working good to all.

BROTHERHOOD

Is brotherhood to flesh confined?

Is there no kinship of the soul?

To have it thus, I am resigned, If 'tis my G.o.d-appointed goal; For there are those whom I hold dear, Who claim with me a common sire, That we, with one accord, revere, And love holds out midst flood and fire.

But is the family so small Of which I fondly claim a part?

Is there no other I may call A brother, and within my heart Cherish for him, whate'er his name, Or rank, or color, or his creed, A love of pure and changeless flame, And feel I render but his meed?

Thank G.o.d for brotherhood so broad That all the human race may share A kinship, never yet outlawed, Tho' types of it have been too rare.

But bigotry is doomed to die, And hate, a relic of the past; The golden age is drawing nigh, And all one family at last!

SHE DEARLY LOVED THE FLOWERS

I saw her first when she was old, Her form devoid of grace; Her locks that once were yellow gold Were white, and on her face Were furrows deep, which told of pain, And toil, and worldly fret, Which all, alas, had been in vain, But nature claimed the debt.

Her eyes were gray and lacked in glow, Her voice some thought was gruff, And when excited was not slow To use a sharp rebuff; For she in speech was free from art; Men feared her verbal stroke, And yet they said, "She has a heart; She never wears a cloak."

Her creed, perhaps, was heterodox, If creed she ever had.

She knew far more of pans and crocks, But this was not her fad; Her light, I fear, did not shine out In pious talk and airs, In fact I entertain a doubt If she oft said her prayers.

Her light, if dim, was never hid, Yet looked not for applause; For kindly deeds she often did, In line with highest laws.

She lacked it may be that rare grace Which some I know endowers, Yet good in her I gladly trace-- _She dearly loved the flowers._