the work of small patient fingers,
Their strength is in the hand of man,
He hath woven his flesh and blood into their glory.
The cities are scattered over the world like anthills,
Every one of them is full of trouble and toil,
And their makers run to and fro within them.
Abundance of riches is laid up in their treasuries,
But they are tormented with the fear of want,
The cry of the poor in their streets is exceeding bitter.
Their inhabitants are driven by blind perturbations,
They whirl sadly in the fever of haste,
Seeking they know not what, they pursue it fiercely.
The air is heavy-laden with their breathing,
The sound of their coming and going is never still,
Even in the night I hear them whispering and crying.
Beside every ant-hill I behold a monster crouching:
This is the ant-lion Death,
He thrusteth forth his tongue and the people perish.
O God of wisdom thou hast made the country:
Why hast thou suffered man to make the town?
Then God answered, Surely I am the maker of man:
And in the heart of man I have set the city.
The Friendly Trees
I will sing of the bounty of the big trees,
They are the green tents of the Almighty,
He hath set them up for comfort and for shelter.
Their cords hath he knotted in the earth,
He hath driven their stakes securely,
Their roots take hold of the rocks like iron.
He sendeth into their bodies the sap of life,
They lift themselves lightly toward the heavens.
They rejoice in the broadening of their branches.
Their leaves drink in the sunlight and the air,
They talk softly together when the breeze bloweth,
Their shadow in the noon-day is full of coolness.
The tall palm-trees of the plain are rich in fruit,
While the fruit ripeneth the flower unfoldeth,
The beauty of their crown is renewed on high forever.
The cedars of Lebanon are fed by the snow,
Afar on the mountain they grow like giants,
In their layers of shade a thousand years are dreaming.
How fair are the trees that befriend the home of man,
The oak, and the terebinth, and the sycamore,
The broad-leaved fig-tree and the delicate silvery olive.
In them the Lord is loving to his little birds,
The linnets and the finches and the nightingales,
They people his pavilions with nests and with music.
The cattle also are very glad of a great tree,
They chew the cud beneath it while the sun is burning,
And there the panting sheep lie down around their shepherd.
He that planteth a tree is a servant of God,
He provideth a kindness for many generations,
And faces that he hath not seen shall bless him.
Lord, when my spirit shall return to thee,
At the foot of a friendly tree let my body be buried,
That this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches.
The Broken Sword
Mine enemies have prevailed against me, O God:
Thou hast led me deep into their ambush.
They surround me with a hedge of spears:
And the sword in my hand is broken.
My friends also have forsaken my side:
From a safe place they look upon me with pity.
My heart is like water poured upon the ground:
I have come alone to the place of surrender.
To thee, to thee only will I give up my sword:
The sword which was broken in thy service.
Thou hast required me to suffer for thy cause:
By my defeat thy will is victorious.
O my King show me thy face shining in the dark:
While I drink the loving-cup of death to thy glory.
The Unseen Altar
Man the maker of cities is also a builder of altars:
Among his habitations he setteth tables for his god.
He bringeth the beauty of the rocks to enrich them:
Marble and alabaster, porphyry, jasper and jade.
He cometh with costly gifts to offer an oblation:
He would buy favour with the fairest of his flock.
Around the many altars I hear strange music arising:
Loud lamentations and shouting and singing and sighs.
I perceive also the pain and terror of their sacrifices:
I see the white marble wet with tears and with blood.
Then I said, These are the altars of ignorance:
Yet they are built by thy children, O God, who know thee not.
Surely thou wilt have pity upon them and lead them:
Hast thou not prepared for them a table of peace?
Then the Lord mercifully sent his angel forth to lead me:
He led me through the temples, the holy place that is hidden.
Lo, there are multitudes kneeling in the silence of the spirit:
They are kneeling at the unseen altar of the lowly heart.
Here is plentiful forgiveness for the souls that are forgiving:
And the joy of life is given unto all who long to give.
Here a Father’s hand upholdeth all who bear each other’s burdens:
And the benediction falleth upon all who pray in love.
Surely this is the altar where the penitent find pardon:
And the priest who hath blessed it forever is the Holy One of God.
The Pathway of Rivers
The rivers of God are full of water,
They are wonderful in the renewal of their strength,
He poureth them out from a hidden fountain.
They are born among the hills in the high places,
Their cradle is in the bosom of the rocks,
The mountain is their mother and the forest is their father.
They are nourished among the long grasses,
They receive the tribute of a thousand springs,
The rain and the snow provide their inheritance.
They are glad to be gone from their birthplace,
With a joyful noise they hasten away,
They are going forever and never departed.
The courses of the rivers are all appointed;
They roar loudly but they follow the road,
For the finger of God hath marked their pathway.
The rivers of Damascus rejoice among their gardens;
The great river of Egypt is proud of his ships;
The Jordan is lost in the Lake of Bitterness.
Surely the Lord guideth them every one in his wisdom,
In the end he gathereth all their drops on high,
And sendeth them forth again in the clouds of mercy.
O my God, my life floweth away like a river:
Guide me, I beseech thee, in a pathway of good:
Let me run in blessing to my rest in thee.
The Glory of Ruins
The lizard rested on the
