Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 122

Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spot Where mighty Allah's awful house is not."

--Frank Dempster Sherman.

IF THE LORD SHOULD COME

If the Lord should come in the morning, As I went about my work-- The little things and the quiet things That a servant cannot shirk, Though n.o.body ever sees them, And only the dear Lord cares That they always are done in the light of the sun-- Would he take me unawares?

If my Lord should come at noonday-- The time of the dust and heat, When the glare is white and the air is still And the hoof-beats sound in the street; If my dear Lord came at noonday, And smiled in my tired eyes, Would it not be sweet his look to meet?

Would he take me by surprise?

If my Lord came hither at evening, In the fragrant dew and dusk, When the world drops off its mantle Of daylight, like a husk, And flowers, in wonderful beauty, And we fold our hands in rest, Would his touch of my hand, his low command, Bring me unhoped-for zest?

Why do I ask and question?

He is ever coming to me, Morning and noon and evening, If I have but eyes to see.

And the daily load grows lighter, The daily cares grow sweet, For the Master is near, the Master is here, I have only to sit at his feet.

--Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.

The day is long and the day is hard; We are tired of the march and of keeping guard; Tired of the sense of a fight to be won, Of days to live through, and of work to be done; Tired of ourselves and of being alone.

And all the while, did we only see, We walk in the Lord's own company; We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm; He turns the arrows which else might harm, And out of the storm he brings a calm.

--Susan Coolidge.

COME TO ME

Come to me, come to me, O my G.o.d; Come to me everywhere.

Let the trees mean thee, and the gra.s.sy sod, And the water and the air.

For thou art so far that I often doubt, As on every side I stare, Searching within and looking without, If thou canst be anywhere.

How did men find thee in days of old?

How did they grow so sure?

They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, They suffered and kept themselves pure.

But now they say--neither above the sphere Nor down in the heart of man, But only in fancy, ambition, and fear, The thought of thee began.

If only that perfect tale were true Which ages have not made old, Of the endless many makes one anew, And simplicity manifold!

But he taught that they who did his word, The truth of it sure would know; I will try to do it--if he be Lord Again the old faith will glow.

Again the old spirit-wind will blow That he promised to their prayer; And obeying the Son, I too shall know His Father everywhere.

--George Macdonald.

Out of the hardness of heart and of will Out of the longings which nothing could fill; Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife, Out of myself and all I called life, Into the having of all things with Him!

Into an ecstacy full to the brim!

Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!

Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!

Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!

Wonderful glory to which I belong!

IF I HIM BUT HAVE

If I Him but have, If he be but mine-- If my heart, hence to the grave, Ne'er forgets his love divine-- Know I naught of sadness, Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.

If I Him but have, Glad with all I part; Follow on my pilgrim staff, My Lord, only, with true heart; Leave them, nothing saying, On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

If I Him but have, Glad I fall asleep; Aye the flood that his heart gave Strength within my heart shall keep; And with soft compelling Make it tender, through and through it swelling.

If I Him but have, Mine the world I hail!

Glad as cherub smiling, grave, Holding back the Virgin's veil.

Sunk and lost in seeing, Earthly cares have died from all my being.

Where I have but Him Is my Fatherland, And all gifts and graces come Heritage into my hand; Brothers long deplored I in his disciples find restored.

--George Macdonald.

Quiet from G.o.d! How beautiful to keep This treasure the All-merciful hath given; To feel, when we awake or when we sleep, Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart; To dwell with G.o.d, and still with man to feel; To bear about forever in the heart The gladness which his spirit doth reveal.

--Sarah J. Williams.

HIS CHOSEN ONES

Some souls there are, beloved of G.o.d, Who, following where the saints have trod, Learn such surrender of the will They seem insensible of ill.

Yet, finely strung and sensitive, They live far more than others live, And grief's and pain's experience Must be to them far more intense.

O mystery--that such can know A life impregnable to woe!

O paradox that G.o.d alone In secret proveth to his own!

It must be that supremest grace So nerves them for the heavenly race Their litanies are turned to psalms, Their crosses, even here, to palms.

--Harriet McEwen Kimball.

When, courting slumber, The hours I number, And sad cares c.u.mber My weary mind, This thought shall cheer me: That thou art near me, Whose ear to hear me Is still inclined.

My soul thou keepest, Who never sleepest; 'Mid gloom the deepest There's light above; Thine eyes behold me, Thine arms enfold me; Thy word has told me That G.o.d is love.