Poems

TRUE HOMAGE

AMY RUTH WENZEL.

The Christ is guest at many a princely boardWhere each one owns himself as lord,Where none of those with whom he sits at meatWould deign to kneel and wash his feet.

Poem

Though the rough surge is thundering on the sand,And wild white-horses o'er the sullen seaRace with the raving wind, I take my stand,Immovable in calm security,Upon my rock, above the breakers hurled—The rock of Christ, above a 'whelming world.

Poem

COMMUNION

EVELYN SYLVESTER KNOWLES

Communion with thy God is not to standWith eye uplifted and outreaching hand;Communion with thy God is this—what more?

Poem

THE PURPOSE

LEBARON P. COOKE.

Take all thy hidden talents.

Poem

SHADOW

JOSEPHINE W. HEERMANS

My heart was full of rapture yesterday;Ecstatic joy my being overflowed,For Love with me sojourned.

Poem

A PROMISE

GERTRUDE RING HOMANS

"Their works do follow them.

Poem

PRAISE

R. E. KEY.

When the soft falling wind has ceased to stirThe tendrils of a thousand restless trees,When the slow humming-bee has ceased to lieCaressingly within the clustering leaves,When the gray twilight falls—a silver sign—Upon the path the woodland torrent cleaves:Then, 'twixt the parting of reluctant dayAnd gentle advent of approaching night,I bow a humble head in thankful prayerFor blessings infinite.

Poem

LOVING AND LIVING

RUTH INGRAHAM

As the window, clear and bright,Letteth in the warmth and light,Bringing gladness to the sight,

Poem

"WITH THY LIKENESS."

LAWRENCE BRAINERD.

When I awake in that glad morning light,And find myself in harmony with God,—Freed from earth sense, and one with good,—I shallExultant rise to walk on holy sod.

Poem

FRET NOT THYSELF!

E. W. SMITH.

Fret not thyself! Be patient, strive to proveThe depth and vastness of our Father's love;When waves break high and winds blow fierce and chill,Our God who rules the storm cries, "Peace, be still.

Poem

THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAINS

ADA J. MILLER

The mountains call! Their heights in azure bathedSpeak of a broader view, of peace, of rest;But as we climb, sometimes, confronting usIs rock,—sheer, dark,—across the narrow way;And, looking back, the valley seems a heaven.

Poem

THE VICTOR

MARY J. ELMENDORF.

He lifts his lyre on highIn the heavy stillness around;He lifts his lyre on highAnd smites it in fervent emotion,Singing with sweetness new-found.

Poems

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From Overcoming grief

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From Safety

From Living the Lord's Prayer

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