rock while I sat among the ruins,
And the pride of man was like a vision of the night.
Lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness,
The ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work.
There is nothing left of the city but a heap of fragments;
The bones of a vessel broken by the storm.
Behold the waves of the desert wait hungrily for man’s dwellings,
And the tides of desolation return upon his toil.
All that he hath painfully built up is shaken down in a moment,
The memory of his glory is buried beneath the billows of sand.
Then a voice said, Look again upon the ruins,
These broken arches have taught generations to build.
Moreover the name of this city shall be remembered,
For here a poor man spoke a word that shall not die.
This is the glory that is stronger than the desert;
God hath given eternity to the thought of man.
The Tribe of the Helpers
The ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil;
I will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace.
He that turneth from the road to rescue another,
Turneth toward his goal:
He shall arrive in time by the foot-path of mercy,
God will be his guide.
He that taketh up the burden of the fainting,
Lighteneth his own load:
The Almighty will put his arms underneath him,
He shall lean upon the Lord.
He that speaketh comfortable words to mourners,
Healeth his own hurt;
In the time of grief they will come to his remembrance.
God will use them for balm.
He that careth for a wounded brother,
Watcheth not alone:
There are three in the darkness together,
And the third is the Lord.
Blessed is the way of the helpers,
The companions of the Christ.
The Good Teacher
The Lord is my teacher,
I shall not lose the way.
He leadeth me in the lowly path of learning,
He prepareth a lesson for me every day;
He bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction,
Little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth.
The world is a great book that he hath written,
He turneth the leaves for me slowly;
They are inscribed with images and letters,
He poureth light on the pictures and the words.
He taketh me by the hand to the hill-top of vision,
And my soul is glad when I perceive his meaning;
In the valley also he walketh beside me,
In the dark places he whispereth to my heart.
Even though my lesson be hard it is not hopeless,
For the Lord is patient with his slow scholar;
He will wait awhile for my weakness,
And help me to read the truth through tears.
The Camp-Fires of My Friend
Thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, O God,
Beneath thy blue canopy I have found shelter,
Therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest.
Naked and poor I arrived at thy door before sunset:
Thou hast refreshed me with beautiful bowls of milk,
As a great chief thou hast set forth food in abundance.
I have loved the daily delights of thy dwelling,
Thy moon and thy stars have lighted me to my bed,
In the morning I have made merry with thy servants.
Surely thou wilt not send me away in the darkness?
There the enemy Death is lying in wait for my soul:
Thou art the host of my life and I claim thy protection.
Then the Lord of the tent of the world made answer:
_The right of a guest endureth for a certain time,
After three days and nights cometh the day of departure._
_Yet hearken to me since thou fearest to go in the dark:
I will make with thee a new covenant of hospitality,
Behold I will come unto thee as a stranger and be thy guest._
_Poor and needy will I come that thou mayest entertain me,
Meek and lowly will I come that thou mayest find a friend,
With mercy and with truth will I come to give thee comfort._
_Therefore open thy heart to me and bid me welcome,
In this tent of the world I will be thy brother of the bread,
And when thou farest forth I will be thy companion forever._
Then my soul rested in the word of the Lord;
And I saw that the curtains of the world were shaken,
But I looked beyond them to the stars,
The camp-fires of my eternal friend.
Hymn of Joy
To the Music of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony
Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee,
God of glory, Lord of love;
Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee,
Praising Thee their sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness,
Fill us with the light of day!
All Thy works with joy surround Thee,
Earth and heaven reflect Thy rays,
Stars and angels sing around Thee,
Centre of unbroken praise:
Field and forest, vale and mountain,
Blooming meadow, flashing sea,
Chanting bird and flowing fountain,
Call us to rejoice in Thee.
Thou art giving and forgiving,
Ever blessing, ever blest,
Well-spring of the joy of living,
Ocean-depth of happy rest!
Thou our Father, Christ our Brother—
All who live in love are Thine:
Teach us how to love each other,
Lift us to the Joy Divine.
Mortals join the mighty chorus,
Which the morning stars began;
Father-love is reigning o’er us,
Brother-love binds man to man.
Ever singing march we onward,
Victors in the midst of strife;
Joyful music lifts us sunward
In the triumph song of life.
The Sun-Dial at Morven
For Bayard and Helen Stockton
Two hundred years of blessing I record
For Morven’s house, protected by the Lord:
And still I stand among old-fashioned flowers
To mark for Morven many sunlit hours.
The Shepherd of Nymphs
The nymphs a shepherd took
To guard their snowy sheep;
He led them down along the brook,
And guided them with pipe and crook,
Until he fell asleep.
But when the piping stayed,
Across the flowery mead
The milk-white nymphs ran out afraid:
O Thyrsis, wake! Your flock has strayed—
The nymphs a shepherd need.
Echoes from the Greek Anthology
With two bright eyes, my star, my love,
Thou lookest on the stars above:
Ah, would that I the heaven might be
With a million eyes
