Part 4

We thank Thee, Father, for the care That did not come to try us, The burden that we did not bear, The trouble that passed by us, The task we did not fail to do, The hurt we did not cherish, The friend who did not prove untrue, The joy that did not perish.

We thank Thee for the blinding storm That did not loose its swelling, And for the sudden blight of harm That came not nigh our dwelling. We thank Thee for the dart unsped, The bitter word unspoken, The grave unmade, the tear unshed, The heart-tie still unbroken.

The Second Wind (1923)

When “Lizzie” starts to climb a hill Too hard to make “on high,” She goes it very well until Her power begins to die. Then, shifting to another gear, She leaves the slope behind, And hustles on without a fear Upon her second wind.

I notice it is so with men. They start out with a will, They go it well awhile, and then, Slow down midway the hill. But, seeing that their strength is run, They change their gear, and find The world’s best work is often done On people’s second wind.

The Serving Giant (1923)

The mighty giant of the air, More ancient than the sun Whose power is vibrant everywhere That restless force may run Shakes the foundation of the hill, Or rends the ground in twain, Or blasts the forest at his will And levels all again.

And yet he stoops to hold the light That aged eyes may see. He warms the baby’s feet at night, And cooks for company. He does a thousand little things To help the world along. He who the most of service brings Is strongest of the strong.

The Teacher v1923

HE NEVER wandered far from his own town, The little hamlet where he lived and died, And yet his pupils traveled up and down The whole wide world of town and countryside. He sought no honor to adorn his name Nor dreamed of crowns that tarnish and grow dim; But those he taught achieved undying fame And in their triumph hour remembered him.

He had no time to mold the wide world’s life Or take a hand in the affairs of state; But others did he send into the strife And through them helped to shape his people’s fate. He won no earthly riches for himself. He had no time to waste in seeking gold But every day bestowed on him a pelf Of love whose value never could be told.

[Poem is on cover page with the following additional text: The Sunday School Journal, September 1923. The cover has an illustration of a rural scene. Bottom third is landscape. A dirt road in the foreground gradually descends into a town having a church on its outskirts. The road is lined with bushes. Fields extend from the bushes. A large oak tree in the foreground frames the scene’s left side and top half.]

Transforming Love (1923) [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]

Love transforms all things. Lone days are touched with light, And trying moments lose their stings, And vexing things come right. Love’s ointment to our eyes applied, We see with vision glorified.

Love transforms all things-- Worn faces, hardened hands. To the poor hovel glory clings, For Love’s heart understands. Whatever it beholds is fair; It sees each hidden beauty there.

The Window of Dreams (1923)

There is a little window. ’Tis called, I think, a screen. Thru it the strangest people And fairest things are seen. Calm valleys, silent woodlands, Tall summits, shining streams, Long roads and busy cities Are in this world of dreams.

There weary hearts may travel, Each to its wonted place; And lonely ones may revel In pictured act and face. There to our hidden longings The waiting answer gleams The while our thoughts inhabit This pictured world of dreams.

Brotherhood (1924) [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]

Let black be black and white be white, As they were meant to be; But let the hearts of men be right On every land and sea. Let brown and yellow boast their race, Their blood no taint e’er tell; But let them each possess the grace To wish a neighbor well.

Let us forget our foolish strife, And all our groundless hate. We needs must live a common life, And share a common fate. Whatever troubles we must stem, Whate’er our place or name, Beneath the crust that covers them Our hearts are all the same.

The Builder v1924 [Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]

The builder of the future Is not the trader keen, The driver of the turbine, Nor any swift machine; Not he who rides in triumph Through the admiring town, Fawning for public praises And seeking for renown.

The builder of the future Sits not upon a throne. He toils among the shadows, His struggles oft unknown. He is the one who kindles And keeps the fires of truth, The teacher who is molding The plastic heart of youth.

Childhood on the Farm (1924)

In many a crowded city Where moves the human tide, Eyes look with eager longing To some old countryside. Hearts that have long been sated With earth recall the charm Of life’s morning splendor In childhood on the farm.

From many a path of glory And many a throne of power Is still recalled the wonder Of some dear, distant hour. Men look through years of toiling, Of sorrow, strife, and harm, And treasures unforgotten Their childhood on the farm.

The Clock (1924)

WHAT is the matter with our clock I cannot understand. It sounds its steady old tick-tock With mien and manner grand. To look at its great open face You’d think it truthful quite. I’m sorry such is not the case. It’s hardly ever right.

Just yesterday when I was blue Because Tom didn’t call To play with me when work was through, Its hands scarce moved at all. When I went to his house today To spend an hour or so, We’d scarce got started at our play Till it was time to go.

The Dream (1924)

I had a dream the other night, Too sweet for word of tongue, Of days when, beautiful and bright, The children all were young. I saw them playing on the floor And ’mongst the dooryard flowers. Soft baby voices came once more From unforgotten hours.

I came from work when eve was late And all the sky was gold. They ran to meet me at the gate With greetings as of old. I helped to tuck them in at night With prayers of happiness, But my arms ached when dawn was bright With a great emptiness.

An Easter Vision (1924)

Whene’er I hear the Easter Bells Ring out their carols gay, The graves from all the hills and dells Dissolve from sight away. I see the mighty planet left Without a marble stone To tell of death, or one bereft Who comes to weep alone.

Dear hands, long folded to their rest, Return to touch my own, And voices memory has blessed In each familiar tone Speak as in other days to me; While on the springtime’s breath Is borne to every land and sea The news: “There is no death.”

The Electric Spark (1924)

SEE this snappy little spark Flashing pertly in the dark; Coming with its sudden gleam Out from nowhere, it would seem; Glowing here against the shade, Fire unkindled, light unmade, Brother to the bolt’s fierce blow And the driving dynamo.

Here is hid the mystery, Mayhap, of the land and sea. All creation’s story may Hide within this flashing ray. Light, and heat, and force it holds; Boundless energy unfolds; Tells the secret, if we find it, Of the God who stands behind it.

Fade-Outs (1924)

Faces, like stars, rise on our little ken; Shine on our souls with warm and cheering ray. Then, like the stars, they pass from us again, Leaving the dreary world of yesterday. Friends slip into our little world awhile. Joys come to thrill us with their rapture keen. The friends go trudging on their winding mile The joys fade as a picture on the screen.

Altho unseen, they are not wholly gone. A friendship once established cannot die. A joy once tasted sweetly lingers on, A perfumed presence never seen but nigh. In the great drama of the fleeting years They come upon the stage and play their part. Then, tho each wondrous vision disappears, It leaves its deathless image on the heart.

Film Judgment (1924)

The man who reads the titles, The man who tramps our toes, The man who holds the end seat Whatever comes and goes, The man who laughs so loudly That all the house can hear, The man who with his snoring Outrages every ear.

All died, and took their journey Where the unseen begins, And stood before the judgment To answer for their sins. They got a common sentence. Each one was ordered flat To sit and fume forever Behind a picture hat.

Finding God (1924)

I found Him in the whisp’ring pines, And in the beauty of the rose; I found Him where the first star shines, Above the Summer day’s soft close; I found Him where the storms grew wild; I found Him in the happy face And manner of a little child, Revealing loveliness and grace.

I found Him in the swinging suns That wheel their way through endless space, And in the humblest path that runs To love’s sequestered dwelling place; I found Him where the violets dwell, And where the bluebirds wheel and dart; But never really knew Him well Until I found Him in my heart.

The Firefly (1924)

We’ve never gotten to it, With all our learning keen. We simply cannot do it With any fine machine. Old Nature’s lanterns greet us When dusk succeeds the sun. A thousand miles they beat us On all we’ve ever done.

In spite of shining crescent And starbeam’s boasted light, The firefly’s incandescent Most glorifies the night. Across the meadows flying Cold light it generates. We, too, have long been trying, But Time still stands and waits.

The God of the Beginning (1924)

IN the beginning was God. Beyond Time’s threshold he hovered, Back of the earliest dawn or the flush of the first fair spring. Farther than eye has disclosed or the keenest thought has discovered, Moved in the silences vast the Maker of everything. Back of the first heart-ties and the first warm heart-fires lighted, Back of gleaming sky, the sea, and the shining sod, Back of the first fond dream that a hopeful heart e’er sighted, Lingered the Soul Divine and brooded the Love of God.

IN the beginning was God. O’er struggle and strife diurnal, The void, and the mist, and the darkness, the mire, and the slime, and the clay, Through the long course of the ages has watched the Spirit Eternal Seeking for men the dawn of a better and kindlier day. Brooding, watching, and hoping--but, withal, ever beseeching, Over the track of time a saving shade it has cast, And into the distant future as far as the years are reaching. In the beginning was God, and God shall be at the last.

Jove’s Plaint (1924)

The good old days have vanished, And I suppose forever. My thunderbolt once quivered O’er mountain, plain and river. But now they have it captured, These humans so audacious. They dole it out through cables, To serve their plans rapacious.

They sell it through a meter, Howe’er the gods may scoff it. They send a monthly statement, And make a profit off it. Alas, my bolt of thunder (And what worse could befall it?) Is hopelessly commercialized. “Juice” now I think they call it.

The Land of Heart’s Desire (1924)

There is a land of wonder With fields and towers agleam. I often see it yonder Beyond the Hills of Dream, Touched by the glow of morning, Lit by the sunset’s fire, Or with starbeams adorning-- The Land of Heart’s Desire.

Along the road of duty We daily struggle on; But e’er we touch its beauty, Eluding us, ’tis gone. Yet through the clinging shadows, The brambles, and the mire, It lures us toward its meadows-- The Land of Heart’s Desire.

Minds (1924)

SOME minds are flaming rockets That flit among the stars; And some are gaily nickeled And painted motor cars; And some are lumbering wagons That slowly make their way, With nothing keen to offer And nothing fine to say.

THE swiftly flaming rocket Loses its brilliancy. The fine car is supplanted By one more fair to see. But the slow-moving wagon That lumbers down the road Is certain of arrival And bears the heavy load.

Miracle (1924)

Whoever saw a garden grow, Or watched a robin build her nest, Or lingered in the flaming glow Of sunset blazing in the West; Whoever walked the fruitful plain, And saw the green stalks reach, and swell, And ripen to a field of grain Knows earth is full of miracle.

Whoever wandered in the wood, And rambled down its aisle of dreams, Or sought the orchard path, or stood Where falls the murmur of a stream; Whoever watched a cloudland wild, Or sensed the twilight’s gentle spell, Or prattled with a little child Knows life is full of miracle.

The Picture’s Lament (1924)

They take great liberties with me, Nor ever ask me yea or nay. I’m just as weary as can be From prancing on a screen all day. I’ve dug, and climbed, and laughed, and wept, Loitered, and danced to make a show; And not a moment have I slept. They keep me always on the go.

No choice is mine. I needs must move, Swiftly, obedient, silently. No fields of freedom do I rove. My course is parceled out for me. But this I cannot quite forget --If I can wake some old refrain Or still a rush of wild regret, I shall not then have toiled in vain.

Prayer for Normal Men (1924)

For every poor, defective soul that wanders In the dark shades of subjectivity, For each deluded mind that glibly flounders In the foul mire of abnormality, Give us a host who cheerful laughter scatter, Whose willing hands toil on in love’s sweet right, Who plant the roses, guide the feet that patter Around the hearth of happiness at night.

Give us, O God, a race of normal people Who walk no paths of morbidness apart; Who dwell not in the bog, nor yet the steeple, But in the dusty way, the busy mart; Who like their work, care for the folks about them, And make each day a thing of joy and song. This world of our’s could never do without them. They are the men who make it move along.

The Railroad (1924)

WHERE do they go, these shining rails That ramble so far away That seem to reach where the twilight pales At the beautiful gates of day?” “They run to the wider world, my boy, Of dreaming, and strife, and again, With its mingling of weariness and joy, To the city--and back again.

Out of the valley and o’er the hill Where childhood has had its day, Out of the hamlet so small and still And into the far away, On, on to the world of toil, my lad, With its struggle of brawn and brain, Some of it good and some of it bad, To the city--and back again.

Shadows on the Wall (1924)

Coming, going, thru the play, Flashing on the screen, Do the actors take their way. Briefly each is seen. What are they--these shapes that move, Forms that rise and fall, Urged by hope, or fear, or love? Shadows on the wall.

In the daily strain and strife Shift and change appear. On the larger stage of life Mingle smile and tear. Here our little race we run, Then are vanished all. What are we when all is done? Shadows on the wall.

Sorrow (1924)

God sometimes drops the shadows o’er us, And leaves them for a space, That we may clearly see before us The image of the love he bore us Reflected on his face.

He sometimes sends us hours of grieving, That we may slip away From sounds and voices so deceiving, And once again in faith believing Kneel at his throne and pray.

He sometimes leaves us to our weeping, Though bitter seem our tears, That briny drops from we eyes creeping May wake some happiness long sleeping For gladder, sweeter years.

The Things That I Believe (1924)

The things that I believe --These things are life to me. Some all the senses might deceive, For some I cannot see; But in the tempest fierce and old I feel their strong truth grip and hold.

The things that I believe --I cannot let them go; And empty-hearted grope and grieve In darkness and in woe. So, God, I thank my every star They are no fewer than they are.

Today and Tomorrow (1924)

Could something only make today As lovely as tomorrow, As free from care and shadows gray, As void of tears and sorrow, The world would be a perfect place, Without a woe to blight it. Earth would be rich in every grace, With happiness to light it.

Yet day is day, and life is life. Time e’er repeats its story. Each morning brings its toil and strife, Likewise its gleam of glory. Each brings its mingled shine and shade, Its mingled joy and sorrow, For each today God ever made Was wrought from a tomorrow.

The Tree (1924)

It stood upon a meadow fair, A green and leafy tree. Gaily it met the breezes there, Lovely it was to see. One night a storm of wind and rain Rent it from earth apart. The reason then was very plain. Decay was at its heart.

He was a youth of promise fine, The strongest of the crowd. His features wore the stamp divine, His eye was clear and proud. He could have lived to purpose high And played a noble part. But no, he fell. The reason why? Decay was at his heart.

The Unknown Soldier (1924)

The guns are silent in the valley now. The river creeps serenely on its way. Still clings the ivy to the rugged brow; Of yonder hill, and roses grace the day. No grave was heaped. No word of prayer was said. No stone was reared against the pitying sky. None ever knew where rests the silent dead As unrevealing years go drifting by.

And yet he is not lost. This quiet sod; Can rest him quite as well as anywhere, Beneath the gentle, sleepless eye of God, Whose robins sing for him when Spring is fair. His life is wrought into the victory. Glory is his. He need not urge his claim. He lives on in the better age to be, Though sleeping in a grave without a name.

What Does It Matter? (1924)

What does it matter if here or there Is a strand of joy or a thread of care, If when the web has been finished all The final pattern is beautiful? The One who weaves on the world’s great loom Must make His fabric of shine and gloom. It takes the gold and the somber hue To make it lovely when He is through.

What does it matter if there or here Is a song of joy or a falling tear, If at the hour of the setting sun A lovely product is held forth done? The One who orders the passing hours With ceaseless cycle of sun and showers Fashions the color and rare design Of a growing tapestry divine.

Why We Are Here (1924)

OUR minds were made to search the deeps Of Truth’s clear-flowing stream; Our feet to scale the rugged steeps Of faith and hope and dream; Our hands to toil and serve and lift, To help and heal and bless; Our hearts to bring the priceless gift Of love and tenderness.

Our lives were made to struggle on, The upward path to plod; Our souls to catch the glint of dawn From the white throne of God; Our lips the helpful word to speak, The tender song to sing; Our eyes to search the world and seek The good in everything.

The Age of a Heart (1925)

SO LONG as stars are bright and fair And skies are blue and clear; So long as joy is in the air And Dreamland hovers near; So long as roses blossom gay And song is on the tongue-- Tho brow be lined and hair be gray That long the heart is young.

But when the sky grows dull and sere And roses fade and die; When song no longer holds the ear Nor Dreamland hovers nigh; When passing days no wonder bring, No great adventure hold-- In spite of time or anything [Transcriber’s note: Last line is missing from source.]

The Children v1925

The dear little children that climb on the knee, The promise and hope of the morrows to be --Their song is unfailing; their spirits are bright; Their hearts are courageous from morning till night, How helpless they are! On our mercy they wait. The hands of their elders must fashion their fate. They are frail little barks to be launched on the sea --These dear little children that climb on the knee.

Oh guide them with hands that are tender and true. The voyage is long and the lighthouses few. What struggles await them! What conflicts and fears! What dream castles shattered! What heartaches and tears! Their skies will have clouds, and the clouds will bring rain. Then all will give way to the sunshine again. Bound upon their souls are the ages to be --These dear little children that climb on the knee.

Credo (1925)

Lord, I believe That thou hast made the earth, the sky, the sea, And all the members of immensity, The rose that blooms beside the traveled way; That thou didst weave The fabric of the dawn and close of day.

Lord, I believe That thou hast fashioned me to be thine own, Hast made my human heart to be thy throne, Hast made this voice of mine that it should sing From morn till eve, These hands the precious gift of love to bring.

Lord, I believe That yonder, past the valley’s shaded rim, The lifting crest that seems so cold and dim Is but the outlines of another shore That doth receive The loved and lost of earth forevermore.

The Fabulous City (1925)

There rises in the distance Across the Vale of Dreams A fair and lovely city, Built on get-rich-quick schemes. Its towers are bright and shining. Its streets are paved with gold, Paid for by mine promotions And stock sales bad and bold. Wondrous that shining city Before our vision stands, But when we come to touch it It crumbles ’neath our hands. Ethereal its fabric, Intangible its soil. ’Twas builded with the fortunes We never made in oil.

Home v1925

Standing beside a quiet path they found it. A humble little house it was, and low. With patient hands they planted flowers around it, And flung its windows to the sun’s warm glow. They laid an open book upon the table, And hung a simple picture on the wall. They trained a vining rose around the gable. They built a throne and crowned love Lord of all.