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Great Poems and Writings A new item is usually added at the top of this page each week. GARDEN OF LIFE.---by Harriette Flora Gray Do you know that each life is a garden, And we sow as the days go by Seeds, for a future harvest To be gathered with smiles, or a sigh? Then what of the soil of our garden, Is it fertile, or stoney and old? Will it bring forth the thorn and the thistle, Or "the grain of a thousand fold"? Have we planted the rose of "forgiveness," And the lily of purest white That sends forth its sweetest fragrance Through the long, dark hours of the night? Have we planted that rare little blossom That blooms when the days are hot; Ever echoing the voice of its Master, "Dear friends, forget Me not?" Have we planted much in our gardens From His wonderful Book of Life? Have we sown the seeds of "obedience," His assurance of help through the strife? Have we also sown the seeds of "truth"? Have we done the best that we can To'ard sowing that marvelous seed of "love," Love for both God and Man? You know that in this world's sowing 'Tis true, and will ever be, There will come into every garden Some grief…from Gethsemane. But after the grief in the garden The harvest we'd hoped to see Will blossom in all its beauty, Through the glory of Calvary. Then know that your life is a garden, And you sow as the days go by Seeds…for a future harvest, To be gathered with smiles, or a sigh. Don’t Quit When things go wrong as they sometimes will, When the road you’re trudging seems all up-hill, When funds are low, and debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must, but don’t you quit. Success is only failure turned inside out, The silver lining of the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar; So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit --- It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit. ---Unknown “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due time we shall reap, if we faint not.” (Gal. 6:9) DISAPPOINTMENT "Disappointment--His appointment," Change one letter then I see That the thwarting of my purpose Is God's better choice for me. His appointment must be blessing, Though it may come in disguise For the end, from the beginning, Open to His vision lies. "Disappointment--His appointment," Whose? The Lord's who loves me best, Understands and knows me fully, Who my faith and love would test; For, the loving, earthly parents, He rejoices when He knows That His child accepts unquestioned All that from His wisdom flows. "Disappointment--His appointment," "No good things will He withhold." From denials oft we gather Treasurers of His love untold. Well He knows each broken purpose Leads to fuller, deeper trust; And the end of all His dealings Proves our God is wise and just. ---Edith L. Young CHRIST Christ for sickness, Christ for health, Christ for poverty, Christ for wealth, Christ for joy, Christ for sorrow, Christ today, and Christ tomorrow; Christ my Life, And Christ my Light, Christ for morning, noon and night; Christ when all around gives way, Christ my everlasting stay; Christ my rest, Christ my food, Christ above my highest good; Christ my well beloved, my Friend, Christ my pleasure without end; Christ my Savior, Christ my Lord, Christ my portion, Christ my God; Christ my Shepherd, I His sheep, Christ Himself my soul doth keep; Christ my Leader, Christ my Peace, Christ hath brought my soul's release, Christ my Righteousness divine, Christ for me, for He is mine; Christ my Wisdom, Christ my Meat, Christ restores my wand'ring feet, Christ my Advocate and Priest, Christ who ne'er forgets the least; Christ my Teacher, Christ my Guide, Christ my Rock, in Christ I hide; Christ the everlasting Bread, Christ His precious blood hath shed; Christ hath brought us near to God, Christ the everlasting Word, Christ my Master, Christ my Head, Christ Who for my sins hath bled; Christ my Glory, Christ my Crown, Christ the Plant of great Renown, Christ my Comforter on high, Christ my Hope draws ever nigh. H.W.S. But God I know not, but God knows; Oh, blessed rest from fear! All my unfolding days To Him are plain and clear. Each anxious, puzzled “Why?” From doubt or dread that grows, Finds answer in this thought: I know not, but He knows. I cannot, but God can; Oh, balm for all my care! The burden that I drop His hand will lift and bear. Though eagle pinions tire, I walk where once I ran, This is my strength to know I cannot, but He can. I see not, but God sees; Oh, all sufficient light! My dark and hidden way To Him is always bright. My strained and peering eyes May close in restful ease, And I in peace may sleep; I see not, but He sees. —Annie Johnson Flint "All Things Work Together For Good To Them That Love God..." Romans 8:28 Just how this statement can be true, Perhaps has often puzzled you; You've wondered now that "all things" could, Work out for your eternal good: How trouble, sorrow and unrest, Could work together for the best; How this could be, you did not know, And yet, you felt it must be so. Now "all things" mean both good and bad, Yes, things that really make you sad; It means your sickness and your health, Your poverty as well as wealth; Of trouble you will have your share, While in this world of toil and care; But rest assured you have a friend, Who knows your life from start to end. Should God permit dark clouds some day, To cast a gloom across your way, Just take it as your Father's (permissive) will; You're in His care, He loves you still; Be not alarmed, nor be cast down, "Tis through these trials you will a crown; All earthly sorrow soon shall cease, While joys eternal shall increase. There's much we do not understand, But "all things" are within His hand; Remember God's mysterious plan, Cannot be solved by mortal man; But when we reach the land of rest, We then shall see that He knew best: The things we had not understood, We'll realize (worked for our eternal good). ---By Uncle Charlie Cox A TV Prayer Lord, help me to watch What I watch on TV-- To turn off the bad And only the good to see. For it may enter my heart, What I watch on TV-- And I very much want my heart Kept pure and Holy for Thee. ---Elmer Winner "I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes." (Psalm 101:3) A BOY'S MOTHER My mother she's so good to me, Ef I was good as I could be, I couldn't be as good--no, sir!-- Can't any boy be good as her! She loves me when I'm glad er sad; She loves me when I'm good er bad; An', what's a funniest thing, she says She loves me when she punishes. I don't like her to punish me,-- That don't hurt,--but it hurts to see Her cryin',--Nen I cry; and' nen We both cry an' be good again. She loves me when she cuts and sews My little cloak and' Sund'y clothes; An' when my Pa comes home to tea, She loves him 'most as much as me. She laughs an' tells him all I said, An' grabs me up and pats my head; And I hug her, and hug my Pa An' love him purt' nigh as much as Ma. THE WILD WHITE ROSE It was peeping through the brambles, that little wild white rose, Where the hawthorn hedge was planted, my garden to enclose; All beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy, open moor; All within was sun and shelter, and the wealth of beauty’s shore. But I did not heed the fragrance of flow’ret or of tree, For my eyes were on that rosebud, and it grew too high for me. In vain I strove to reach it through the tangled mass of green, It only smiled and nodded behind its thorny screen. Yet through that summer morning I lingered near the spot; Oh, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not? My garden buds were blooming, but all that I could see Was that little mocking wild rose hanging just too high for me. So in life’s wider garden there are buds of promise, too, Beyond our reach to gather, but not beyond our view; And like the little charmer that tempted me astray, They steal out half the brightness of many a summer’s day. Oh, hearts that fail with longing for some forbidden tree, Look up and learn a lesson from my white rose and me. ‘Tis wiser far to number the blessings at my feet Than ever to be sighing for just one bud more sweet. My sunbeams and my shadows fall from a pierced hand, I can surely trust His wisdom since His heart I understand; And maybe in the morning, when His blessed face I see, He will tell me why my white rose grew just too high for me. ----Ellen H. Willis THE LIVING SERMON I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day, I'd rather one would walk with me than merely tell the way; The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear, Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear; The best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds, For to see good put in action is what everybody needs. I soon can learn to do it, if you'll let me see it done, I can watch your hands in action, your tongue too fast may run; The lectures you deliver may be very wise and true, But I'd rather get my lessons by observing what you do; I may not understand the high advice you give, But there's no misunderstanding how you act and how you live. I KNOW THE BOOK IS TRUE O the precious, precious Bible, God's messenger of love, Ever lifting fallen man-kind To a higher plane above; 'Tis a lamp unto my pathway Tho' old yet ever new, I'm acquainted with the author, And I know the Book is true. Each time I search its pages New treasures rare I find, How the blessed, loving Saviour Cures sickness of all kind; 'Tis a message of salvation To the Gentile and the Jew, I'm acquainted with the author, And I know the Book is true. I know some people doubt it, This precious Book divine, 'But I couldn't do without it, I believe it, line for line; Tis the very same sweet Gospel That my dear old mother knew, Get acquainted with the author, And you'll know the Book is true. ---Anonymous THE SUFFICING BIBLE When I am tired, the Bible is my bed; Or in the dark the Bible is my light; When I am hungry, it is vital bread; Or fearful, it is armor for the fight. When I am sick, 'tis healing medicine; Or lonely, thronging friends I find therein. If I would work, the Bible is my tool; Or play, it is a harp of happy sound. If I am ignorant, it is my school; If I am sinking, it is solid ground, If I am cold, the Bible is my fire; And it is wings, if boldly I aspire. Should I be lost, the Bible is my guide; Or naked, it is raiment rich and warm. Am I imprisoned, it is ranges wide; Or tempest-tossed, a shelter from the storm. Would I adventure, 'tis a gallant sea; Or would I rest, it is a flowery lea. Does gloom oppress? The Bible is the sun. Or ugliness? It is a garden fair. Am I athirst? How cool its currents run! Or stifled? What a vivifying air! Since thus thou givest of thyself to me, How should I give myself, great Book, to thee? ---Amos R. Wells THE BIBLE Born in the East and clothed in oriental form and imagery, the Bible walks the ways of all the world with familiar feet and enters land after land to find its own everywhere. It has learned to speak in hundreds of languages to the hearts of men. It comes into the palace to tell the monarch that he is a servant of the Most High, and into the cottage to assure the peasant that he is a son of God. Children listen to its stories with wonder and delight, and wise men ponder them as parables of life. It has a word of peace for the time of peril, a word of comfort for the time of calamity, a word of light for the hour of darkness. Its oracles are repeated in the assembly of the people and its counsels whispered in the ear of the lonely. The wicked and the proud tremble at its warnings, but to the wounded and the penitent it has a mother's voice. The wilderness and the solitary place have been made glad by it, and the fire on the hearth has lit the reading of its well-worn page. It has woven itself into our dearest dreams; so that love, friendship, sympathy and devotion, memory and hope, put on the beautiful garments of its treasured speech, breathing of frankincense and myrrh. No man is poor or desolate who has this treasure for his own. When the landscape darkens and the trembling pilgrim comes to the Valley named in the Shadow, he is not afraid to enter; he takes the rod and the staff of Scripture in his hand; he says to friend and comrade: "Good-bye, we shall meet again," and comforted by that support, he goes toward the lonely pass as one who walks through darkness into light. ---Henry Van Dyke A TRIBUTE TO THE BIBLE God's Word is the traveler's map, The pilot's compass, the pilgrim's staff, The soldier's sword, and the believer's log. The Bible contains light to direct you, Comfort to console you, food to sustain you, Wisdom to teach you, fire to warm you. This Book reveals the mind of God, The original state of man, The way of salvation, The doom of sinners. Its Author is God, Its writers were men, It's infallibly inspired. It's given you in life, Opened in judgment, And will endure forever. It's a mine of wealth, A river of pleasure, And a paradise of glory. God's glory is its end, The Lord Jesus Christ Is its wonderful object, And our good its design. Here Heaven opens, Paradise is restored, Hell's gates are disclosed. Its histories are true, Its doctrines are holy, And its precepts binding. Read it thoughtfully, Read it frequently, And read it prayerfully. Read it to be wise, Believe it to be safe, Practice it to be holy, Memorize it to grow. It involves the highest responsibility, It will reward the greatest labor, It will condemn all who trifle with its sacred contents. ---Anonymous Tell Him Now If with pleasure you are viewing Any work a man is doing, If you like him or you love him, tell him now; Don't withhold your approbation Till the parson makes oration, And he lies with snowy lillies o'er his brow. For, no matter how you shout it, He won't really care about it, He won't know how many teardrops you've shed; If you think some praise is due him, Now's the time to slip it to him, For he cannot read the tombstone when he's dead. More than fame and more than money Is the comment kind and sunny, And the hearty, warm approval of a friend; For it gives in life a savor, It makes you stronger, braver, And it gives you heart and courage to the end. If he earns your praise, bestow it, If you like him, let him know it, Let the words of true encouragement be said; Do not wait till life is over, And he's underneath the clover, For he cannot read the tombstone when he's dead. ---F. W. Brazier The Making of the Beautiful Meadow and vale and mountain, Ocean and lake and wood, God looked on the fruit of His labor And saw that His work was good; And yet was there something lacking In the world that He had made, Something to brighten the greenness, Something to lighten the shade? He took a shred of the rainbow, A bit of the sunshine’s gold, The colors of all the jewels The mines of earth enfold, A piece of the mist of evening, With the sunset woven through, A scrap of the sky at noonday, A clear, unclouded blue. Of these He fashioned the flowers, And some were red, like the rose, And some were a lovely azure, And some were pale as the snows; Some, shaped like a fairy chalice The perfumed honey to hold, And some were stars of silver, And some were flakes of gold. They flashed in the gloom of the forests, They clung to the boughs of the trees, They hid in the grass of the meadows, They drifted away on the breeze, They fell in the clefts of the canyons And high on the mountains bare, Where never any eye should see them Save His Who had made them fair. But still there was something wanting, His labor was not yet done; He gathered more of the colors Of rainbow and sky and sun, And now unto these He added The music of sea and land, The tune of the rippling river, The splash of the waves on the sand, The raindrops’ lilting measure, The pine tree’s crooning sigh, The aspen’s lisping murmur, The wind’s low lullaby, Faint fluting of angel voices From heavenly courts afar, And the softest, dreamiest echoes Of the song of the morning star. Then deftly His fingers moulded The strong and the delicate things Instinct with the joy and the beauty Of song and of soaring wings; Nightingale, heron and seagull, Bobolink, lark—and then, I think that He smiled a little As He tilted the tail of the wren, As He made the owl’s face solemn And twisted the blue joy’s crest, As He bent the beak of the parrot And smoothed the oriole’s vest, As He burnished the crow’s jet plumage And the robin’s breast of red; "In the cold of the northern springtime The children will love it," He said. So some were quaint and cunning, And some were only fair, And some he gave a song to, And lo, the birds of the air. And the snippets of things left over, He tossed out under the skies, Where, falling, fluttering, flying, Behold, they were butterflies! ---Annie Johnson Flint IF I WERE A SUNBEAM If I were a sunbeam, I would seek white lilies Rainy woodlands through; I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head. If I were a sunbeam, I know where I'd go; Into lowliest hovels Dark with want and woe. Art thou not a sunbeam, Child whose life is glad With an inner radiance Sunshine never had? Oh, as God has blessed thee, Scatter rays divine! For there is no sunbeam But must die, or shine. ---Lucy Larcom WE'LL SEE THEM AGAIN The sun has gone to rest beneath the lake, And one by one the little stars awake; But do not think because it slips from view, The sun has bid the earth a last adieu. We say the sun has "gone to rest" when night Drops a veil that dims the mortal sight; But it has risen on another world, The petals of its golden bloom unfurled, And there the robin in the treetop sings, And warmth and light awake all waiting things. And so "at rest" is what we sometimes say Of that dear one who gently slipped away; But he has simply vanished from the earth To find elsewhere a new and glorious birth; Lost to our sight a little tearful while, His tender voice, his quick and eager smile. But surely as the faithful, rising sun Returns to bless our eyes, so will this one Be waiting when the dawn of dawns appears, So put away your sorrow and your tears, And know that you will see him face to face, Whose light already shines in that far place. --Lois Parrish

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