POEMS OF OPTIMISM

BY

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

GAY AND HANCOCK, INC.

34 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden

LONDON

1919

All rights reserved

p. ivN.B.—The only books of my poems that I’ve approved for sale in the British Empire are published by Messrs. Gay & Hancock.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Released 1913

Reprinted 1915, 1918, 1919

Our hearts weren't focused on fighting,
We didn't crave the battle,
And whatever wrongs need fixing,
We wouldn't have faced it that way.
But the path that has opened up before us
Leads us through a blood-red field;
And we swear by the great God above us,
We will die, but we will not give in.

The battle isn’t something we created,
And we never intended for war;
Yet, leaving behind everything good,
We advance, one by one.
It’s either to strike or be struck,
There’s no other choice today;
And we live, as a true Brit should,
Or we die, as a Brit might.

p. 4We aren’t made for cages,
Or to eat from a keeper’s hand;
Our strength, which has developed over time,
Is the strength of a free land.
We can’t kneel before a master,
To our God alone can we pray;
And we stand in this world’s crisis,
To fight, like a lion cornered.

Ruined? Destroyed? Ah, no; even though blood was flowing in rivers
Down all her ancient streets; even though countless treasures
Born of love, shaped by time, and priceless
Are gone, Belgium’s star still shines in God’s grand design.

Rarely have kings been truly great since kingdoms first started;
Rarely have great kings been great individuals, when everything is considered.
But, with the torch held high in armored hands, look,
Behold the immortal king of immortal Belgium, and Man.

At the concert and the play
Everywhere you see them sitting,
Knitting, knitting.
Women who just yesterday
Thought only about their outfits
Or their jewelry or their hair,
Women who lived for fun,
Who knew no life but relaxation,
Now are knitting, knitting, knitting
For the soldiers over there.

On the trains and on the ships
With a dedication that fits,
They are knitting.
Some with smiles on their faces,
Some with charming ways,
Some with serious looks and vibes.
But each heart, in its own way,
Weaves in pity and compassion
In their knitting, knitting, knitting
For the soldiers over there.

p. 7Rushed women going back and forth
From their homes to work, flitting,
Knitting, knitting,
Busy hands come and go.
They spare little bits of time,
Just to feel like they’re contributing,
Just to maintain life’s sense of beauty
In doing their duty,
They are knitting, knitting, knitting
For the soldiers over there.

Oh, the kings of the earth have called up their men.
Look at them moving, showing courage,
Heading to the fields of glory,
Banners waving, bugles sounding,
Every one a mother's child,
Brave in their uniforms and armed,
Marching in perfect rhythm,
Yes, with a confident step and light pace, heading into battle,
Just to satisfy the warrior ambitions of a king;
Who has gathered his army for the fight.

Oh, the King of Death has gathered his troops.
Check out the huge, black hearses
As they rumble down the road;
With their coffins filled with the dead,
Packed with people who fought and bled;
p. 9Now from fields of glory coming
To the sound of muffled drumming
They lie still and pale,
But the Kings have battled hard;
Death has mobilized his army for the grave.

That weak word ‘Neutral’ sits nicely
On the lips of the timid. But the men whose brains
Find energy in their blood, the men whose minds
Connect deeply with their hearts,
Those men are never neutral. That word stands
Unmanly and powerless in the realm of speech.
When big problems confront a shocked world,
No strong man is neutral. Right or wrong,
His thoughts pour out, assertive and unafraid,
Ready to stand by his beliefs and to help
Shape outcomes. Silence may keep useless words at bay,
At the command of discretion; but to stand
Without opinions in a world that needs
Constructive thinking is the act of a coward.

A book has been created for the King,
A book of beauty and art;
To the good king’s eyes
A smile will appear
Concealing the ache in his heart—
Concealing the hurt and the sorrow
As he flips through it, page by page.

A book has been created for the King,
A book of blood and despair;
Before the Great King’s eyes
A gaze will rise
That will shatter, wilt, and strike—
Yes, strike with a just God’s fury,
As He turns it, page by page.

Said the Kaiser’s god to the god of the Czar:
‘Listen, listen, how my people pray.
Their faith, I think, is much stronger
Than all the faiths of the others combined;
They believe I will help them conquer.’

Said the god of the Czar: ‘My people call
In a mix of languages; they know
I will lend my strength to them one and all.
Wherever they fight, their enemies will fall
Like grass before the mowers.’

Then the god of the Gauls spoke out of a cloud
To the god of the King nearby:
‘Our people pray, even if they don't say it loudly;
They ask for the strength to kill many,
And to laugh, even if they might die.’

p. 13And deep in the heart of Space
Where a solitary path wound,
Up over the stars, to a hidden place,
Where no light shone except for His face,
Christ hid His eyes and cried.

There was no wind, and yet the air
Seemed suddenly alive;
There were no figures, and yet all space
Seemed filled with emerging crowds.
They came from Somewhere and Nowhere,
Like phantoms as they were;
They came from many lands and places—
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.

And some were white, and some were gray,
And some were red as blood—
Those ghosts of men who lost their lives
On the battlefield.
Against the skies of a setting sun,
They stood like banks of clouds;
And each spirit asked another spirit,
‘What were we fighting for?’

p. 15One person said, ‘I was everything to my mother;
And she was old and blind.’
Another said, ‘Down on Earth, my wife
And our week-old baby are. Another said, ‘When the bugle sounded,
I left my bride behind;
Love made my life so beautiful
I couldn’t stand to die.’

In voices like the winds that moan
Among pine trees at night,
They whispered long, the newly dead,
While watching stars came out.
‘We wonder if the reason is known,
And if the war was justified,
That took our lives too soon,’ they said,
‘And what it was really for.’

They arrived in huge crowds that filled every space—
Those whispering ghostly figures;
They came from many different lands and places,
The ghosts, the ghosts, the ghosts.

Why should the poet of these significant times
Be asked to sing about the terrible crimes of war?

To praise and celebrate the trade that thrives
On the terrible destruction of human lives?

Man was a warrior when the earth was young,
And war was the only topic when Homer sang.

Between strength and strength the fair competition existed:
Not so the battles of our modern day.

Too often now the winning hero shows off,
A Gulliver among the little people.

Success no longer relies on talent or luck,
But on the actions of a collective.

In the past, men fought and considered it honorable and fair,
Today, the warrior fights because he has to;

p. 17And deep inside, he feels ashamed because
He violates the principles of true manhood.

Oh, there are more worthy themes for a poet’s pen
In this great moment than the bloody actions of men:

The rights of many—not just the worth of one—
The challenges ahead, not the battle finished;

The terrible wealth and terrible poverty—
The rise of community—the decline of greed;

The soul of man filled with God’s own power,
The call ‘to heights,’ not the shout ‘to horse.’

Are there not better themes in this great age
For the pen of a poet, or for the voice of a sage,

Than those old stories of violence? Song is dumb
Only that greater song in time may come.

When the poet arrives, the one everyone is waiting for,
He won’t sing about War.

Little kids and grandpas,
Women worn from worry;
But all the men are dying men
Or dead men over there.

No one takes the time to dig graves;
Who has the time to waste?
The dead men, the dead men
Look how the dead men stare.

Kings are out hunting—
Oh, what a rare sport;
With dying men and dead men
Falling all around.

Life for boys and grandfathers;
Loot for kings to divide;
And dead men, dead men,
Dead men all around.

Over the noise of battle,
Over the cannons' bang,
Over the loud voices of men and their dying cries,
I hear the thrones collapsing.

Out of the chaos
That stretches from one end to the other,
I see a new world emerging from the ruins of old towns;
And the Leaders wear no crowns.

Over the blood-stained water,
Over the fields of death,
Down to the hidden vaults of Time, where the worn-out things lie,
I witness the decline of Kings.

Angel of Peace, the hounds of war,
Unleashed, are everywhere,
And war’s terrible business is once again
Man’s main goal in life.
Blood stains the waves and the ground;
Even the winds are filled
With stories of slaughter. Angel, please,
What can we do, think, or say
In times like these?
‘Child, think of God!’

‘Before this small speck in space
Called Earth was illuminated,
Great chains and levels of magnificent spheres
Were crafted by His hand.
It’s your role to love and praise,
Not try to comprehend.
Lift your eyes from deadly guns
To the one who created a billion suns;
And trust and be patient.
Child, think about God!’

Peace shouldn’t come along this dirty, earthly path.
Peace shouldn’t arrive until we clean it up.
God waited for us; now in terrible anger
He spills the blood of men day by day
To make the highroad ready for her feet.
What would Peace do in a world where hearts
Are filled with thoughts like poison-tipped darts?
It wouldn’t be right; surely it wouldn’t be right
For Peace to come and cover with her white robes
These industries of death—these guns and swords,—
These uniformed, hate-filled, destructive forces,—
These awful things that each nation takes pride in.
As long as people believe in armed power,
Let weapons be wielded. Don’t seek Peace
Until humanity empties out all thoughts
Of violence and blood as arguments for what’s right.
p. 22The world
has never had enough of war,
Otherwise war wouldn’t exist. Now let the monster remain,
Until it destroys itself with its own hands;
Though no one knows what they’re fighting for.
Then in the place where wicked cannons stood,
Let Peace build her shrine of Brotherhood.

One ship sails east and another sails west,
With the same winds blowing,
   It’s the way they set their sails
   And not the winds
That determine where they go.
Like the winds of the sea are the winds of destiny,
As we travel through life,
   It’s the state of our souls
   That decides our goals
And not whether it’s peaceful or turbulent.

The search for beauty is the search for God
Who is All Beauty.  If you seek, you will find.
And all along the paths I’ve walked,
I have searched eagerly with my heart and mind,
   And open eyes for beauty, everywhere.
   Look! I have discovered the world is very beautiful.
The search for beauty is the search for God.

Beauty was first shown to me by stars,
Before I recognized it in my mother’s eyes,
Or, when I saw it, felt that beauty stirred
To awe and wonder by those glowing orbs
All pulsating against purple skies.
They spoke a language to my young heart
Of mystery and splendor, and of space,
Familiar with graceful, unseen presences.
Beauty was first shown to me by stars.

p. 27Sunsets expanded the meaning of the word.
There was a window facing west;
Beyond it, vast Wisconsin fields of grain,
And then a hill, where white clouds
Would gather in the afternoon to rest.
And when the sun set behind that hill
What glorious scenes unfolded before my eyes;
What beauty—beauty, pure and unmatched!
Sunsets expanded the meaning of that word.

Clover blooming, red and sweet like honey,
In summer swelled like a crimson ocean
Across the meadows. One day, I stood
Chest-high in its waves and heard the buzz
Of countless bees, just as wild as I was
With the scent and the beauty. Above us,
A warm sun beamed from a clear sky,
While a gentle breeze brushed by softly,
Clover blooming, red and sweet like honey.

Autumn proclaimed beauty in bold colors.
In Nature's gallery hung
Massive images pressed against the sky,
Painting forests vibrant with a hundred shades;
And with each morning, a new marvel appeared
p. 28Before the surprised world; some daring hue,
Some unusual, fresh design of color and shape.
Autumn proclaimed beauty in bold colors.

Winter, while harsh, is subtle in its artistry—
More subtle than Summer or Fall
(Even as a rough man can be more refined
In important ways than a woman). Winter’s touch
On Nature appears the most beautiful of all—
That fleeting beauty of frost
On window panes; of clean, fresh, fallen snow;
Of bright, white sunlight on ice-covered trees.
Winter, while harsh, is subtle in its artistry.

Morning! The word itself is beautiful,
And the early hours have so much to offer
That nourishes the soul with beauty. Whoever keeps
Their days for work and their nights for rest
Wakes up aware of the joy of being alive,
And returns from that mysterious Land of Dreams
A sense of beauty that lights up the world.
Morning! The word itself is beautiful.

The search for beauty is the search for God.

There are, there are
Invisible Great Helpers of the race.
Across uncharted continents of space,
From star to star.
   In response to some soul’s urgent need,
   They rush, they rush.

When the nature-loving young people are made to stand
On the edge of the Unknown Land,
Here they come—those angels who have walked
The heights of God,
And to the trembling heart
Their strength gives.
Haven't you seen the delicate young woman,
Filled with the joy of life in her beautiful morning,
Look death in the face, completely unafraid,
And with a smile, move on?

p. 30This isn't human strength; not even faith
Has such great confidence in moments like this.
It's a power
Granted by those who have overcome death.
Drifting from realm to realm
They stay close
To the souls that require the courage they can offer.

This isn't just a dreamer's fantasy.
Even if we're unaware
They exist, they exist,
Filling every corner—
Invisible Great Helpers of humanity.

A toast to the amazing daughters
Of the New World across the waters,
   A world that feels fresh and new;
Daughters of courageous old cultures,
Daughters of vast heights and open spaces,
Wide seas and wide land areas—
   Cheers to your land and to you!

The sun and the winds have nourished you;
The vastness of your world has brought you
Out to the bigger picture;
Strong with a gentle strength,
Bright with a natural beauty,
We give you tribute and praise—
Hail to your land and you!

Sisters, daughters, and mothers,
Standing side by side with your brothers,
Working for what is right;
p. 32Thinking, doing, and daring,
Giving, receiving, and sharing,
Earning the crowns you wear—
Hail to your land and to you!

You have lived a long time and learned the secret of life, O Seer!
Tell me what the best three things to pursue are—
The best three things for a person to seek on earth?

The three most important things for a man to seek, my Son, are these:
Respect for the great Source from which he came;
Purposeful work in the world he lives in;
And understanding of the Realm he is heading toward.

What are the top three things to love on earth, O Seer!
What are the top three things for a person to love?

The top three things for a man to love, O Son! are these:
Work that keeps him fully engaged;
p. 34A home where no bad things can come in;
And a loving woman who has God in her heart.

What are the three major sins to avoid, O Seer!—
What are the three major sins for a person to avoid?

The three major sins a man should avoid, O Son! are these:
A thought that taints the heart from which it arises;
An action that can hurt a living being;
And untapped potential of the mind.

What are the three worst things to fear, O Seer!—
What are the three worst things for a person to fear?

The three worst things a man can fear, O Son! are these:
Doubt and suspicion in a young child's eyes;
Shame on a woman's face;
And within himself, no awareness of God.

New paradise, and groom and bride;
The world was all theirs;
Her heart was filled with love and pride;
But were they truly alone?
‘Now how is it, oh how is it, and why is it’ (in fear
All silent to herself she spoke) ‘that something feels off here?’

Along the garden paths they walked—
The moon was shining bright—
And they strolled and talked like lovers,
But something felt off.
And ‘Who is that, now who is that, oh who is that,’ she said,
(All silent in her heart she spoke) ‘that seems to follow me?’

He pulled her closer to him;
She felt his lingering kiss;
Yet a shadow seemed to drift
Between her heart and his.
p. 36And ‘What is that, what is that, oh what is that,’ she said,
(All silent to herself she said) ‘that reminds me of the dead?’

They wandered back past flower beds;
They climbed a winding staircase;
They crossed the threshold of their room,
But something was waiting there.
‘Now who is this, and what is this, and where is this,’ she exclaimed,
(All was silent with the cry she made) ‘that comes to haunt and hide?’

Wide-eyed, she lay there while he slept;
She couldn't name her fear.
But something crept from her bedside
Just as dawn was approaching,
(She didn't know, she couldn't know—how could she know?—who came
To haunt the home of someone whose hand had dug her grave of shame).

There was a guy who killed a caring maid
In a crazy fit of passion; and he paid
The price, on a scaffold. Now his name
Is just a synonym for shame.
There was another guy, who married a loving woman.
She was full of life,
Of hope and dreams; and her pride
Wrapped her like a luxurious cloak.

First,
the broad
joyful flow of life that pulsed through her veins
he blocked with stones, casting it, day by day.
Her flag of hope, boldly raised to the world,
he lowered to half-mast, then took down and tucked away.
The dreams, alive in every word,
were rendered ridiculous by subtle mockery:

p. 38The fragile veil of her pride,
With harsh and unfeeling hands, was forcefully removed:
And through petty greed, or just for appearances,
Her trembling heart was made to realize
That she was nothing more than property, acquired to fit
Whatever role might satisfy the buyer’s desires.

So she was killed, while the slow years passed.
And her killer, celebrated and wealthy,
Lived without punishment or social consequences!
‘A good provider, a successful man.’

The bird flies back to its young;
The flower wraps its leaves around a budding bloom;
And in my neighbor’s house, there's the sound of a child crying.
I close my window so I don't have to hear it.

She is mine, and she’s truly beautiful:
And in her heart, there’s no evil thought.
There’s even love in her heart—
Love for life, love for joy, love for this lovely world,
And love for me (or love for my love for her);
Yet she will never agree to have a child with me.
And when I bring it up, she cries,
Always crying, saying:
‘Don’t I bring enough joy into your life?
Aren’t you happy with me and my love,
Just as I’m happy with you?
I would never push you into some great danger
To satisfy my wish; yet you always push me,
p. 40Push me to risk my happiness—yeah, my life—
So lightly do you treat me.’ Then she cries,
Always crying, until I kiss away her tears
And comfort her with sweet lies, saying I’m happy.
Then she goes singing through the house like a bright bird
Preening her wings, making herself all beautiful,
Perching on my knee, and pecking at my lips
With little kisses. So again, love’s ship
Sets sail on a sea without a port,
From nowhere to nowhere; and it takes
Or brings no treasures to enrich the world.

The
years
are flying by. We will eventually be old
when we’re still young. And all the man in me
longs for a piece of myself
through the woman I love. Why, love and youth like ours
could fill this great, green earth with gods and goddesses
and bring new life to the world
if it were made to thrive! Often, I can see,
like in a vision, a lonely old age
and solitude creeping in on us two,
with nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the earth,
to find the fruit of my loins and her womb to satisfy
p. 41our hungry hearts. It seems to me
more sorrowful than sitting beside small graves
and watering sad-eyed pansies with our tears.

The bird flies home to its chicks;
The flower closes its petals around a budding bloom;
And in my neighbor’s house, there’s the sound of a child.
I close my window so I don’t have to hear.

One and a half decades since we first arrived
With passionate hearts
Into Love’s Paradise, as partners;
And now we’re parting.
Soon, way too soon,
The bright splendor of our honeymoon faded.
We noticed it disappearing; but we didn’t realize
How harsh the journey would be once its shine
Was completely gone.
And still, we had to keep going—
Miles apart while always side by side.
The loveless weather grew darker,
Darker the path,
Until we couldn’t stay
Together any longer.
Now that all anger has faded from our hearts,
p. 43And love has flown far from its broken home,
To find comfort in another’s embrace,
Let’s calmly discuss our past mistakes,
And our faults; if only for the sake
Of those whose futures will include us.
You go first.

A woman would speak last—
Tell me my first serious mistake as a wife.

Inertia. My youthful veins were filled
With the passionate blood of manhood; and love was a fire
Inside me. But you met my strong desire
With lips like frozen rose petals—pure, so pure
That all your incredible beauty seemed just a waste
Of love’s resources. Then, about that beauty
Which had so captivated my eyes,
You seemed indifferent; you felt no obligation
To remain an object of delight
For a lover’s gaze; and neglect
And laziness quickly took their toll.
You were not
The woman I had promised to love and cherish.
If love goes hungry, what can love do but die?
p. 44Now will you talk about my first tragic mistake
And everything that followed, just as I have?

I have to start
With the early days of our honeymoon.
You are just one
Of countless men who take the invaluable gift
Of a woman's love and ruin it right from the start,
Not intentionally but without realizing it.  A woman’s passion
Is such a delicate thing—woven from her heart,
A web of her spirit; and the body’s role
Is always to be secondary
To her pure soul.
When seized in a rough manner,
It fades like the down on butterfly wings;
Then it dies.
That’s how my love faded.
Next, you nailed my pride to the base of money,
Forcing me to ask for what I rightfully deserved:
Until, in my own eyes,
I felt like a helpless slave
To whom the master gave
A reluctant allowance. Oh, yes, sometimes gifts flowed
p. 45To your property; but I was not blessed
With generous love. Hatred has never crafted a curse
Or imposed a cruel restriction
That has crushed a woman as much as the law made by men
That makes her dependent on his wealth.
That necessary stuff called gold is such
A cold, harsh thing that it needs the gentlest touch
Of thought and words when it interacts with love,
Or it will surely lead to its death.

Your words hurt a lot; it's time for us to part ways.

Well, each person gets wiser with a new partner.

How big your task is, O teacher of the young,
To take the tangled threads thrown by parents
With careless hands, and with your skillful care
To weave a fabric, strong and beautiful.
God’s unfinished work is yours to complete—
Be brave and true!

I think there's no greater purpose in life
Than creating beauty. Can anyone imagine
A single spot in the heavenly realms
That’s unattractive, dull, or ordinary?
Or visualize ugly angels, poorly dressed?
Beauty and splendor, richness and joy,
Are qualities of God and His kingdom,
Along with worth and virtue. But why talk
About virtue only to humankind,
Neglecting beauty, until they see it as sinful?
If everyone on this little planet
Could grasp the sacred meaning of that word
And appreciate its profound significance,
People's thoughts would shape into beauty, and their dreams
Of heaven would find expression in their lives,
p. 48However simple; they themselves would become
Like God, suited for such a lovely state.
Let’s move beyond just what is good,
Demanding beauty here and now;
Otherwise, with our minds and eyes untrained on earth,
We’ll feel uneasy when we reach heaven.

One day when England's June was at its finest,
I saw a proud and commanding swan
Gliding on the calm waters of the Avon.
Suddenly, it felt like all conflict had vanished
From the world; all disagreement, all unease.

The sorrows and the wrongdoings of humanity
Faded away like nightmares in the morning.
All of heaven was one blue backdrop for the grace
Of Avon’s beautiful, slow-moving swan;
And earth had nothing lowly or ordinary.

Life no longer felt like it was rushing by
With an awkward urgency; instead, it moved gently,
Like someone reading in an emerald leaf, or on grass,
Or a red rose, a message sent straight from God.
. . . . .
On the waters of Avon, I saw a majestic swan.

It was a long, long time ago that a soul like a
flower
bloomed, blossomed, and faded in an hour.
It was a long, long time ago; and the memory feels
like the joys and pains that appear in our dreams.

The kind years have brought me so much joy
Since my little boy left;
Each one that has gone by has stopped to give a kiss,
And left behind some happiness—knowing there’s one thing I miss.

But when I'm in the park or on the street, all fired up
I see a baby in his fancy carriage,
As proud as a king in his little stroller—
I feel all the motherly love rise in my heart!

p. 51And I feel like I’m back in that long-gone May;
And the baby, who came just to leave quickly
In the tiny white hearse, is not dead, but alive,
And out in his little stroller for a ride.

I silently pray as he rides down the street,
And my thoughts trail after him, gentle and sweet;
For I know, by a law that is great and divine,
(Though I don’t know his name) that the baby is mine!

I’m rushing to meet you, my Master,
Because they say you’re definitely on your way;
Yes, they tell me you’re coming back again
(While I run, while I run).
And I wish my feet were like wings to go even faster,
And I wish I could see you here today,
Lord of all.

I’m running, but I’m also walking alongside my neighbor,
And I handle the responsibilities that come my way;
Yep, I tackle the daily tasks as they arise
(While I run, while I run),
And my heart connects with my hands and supports the work,
Because I believe this is how I can reach you,
Lord of everything.

p. 53I’m running, but I often stray from work and obligation,
Simply to focus on the art of being happy;
Yes, to the joys that light up the world we live in
(While I run, while I run).
For the soul that honors God must appreciate beauty,
And the heart that thinks of You cannot feel sadness,
Lord of light.

I’m running, but I stop to say hi to my brother,
And I bend down to clear the weeds from my garden;
Yeah, I bend down, even though I keep my mind up high
(While I run, while I run).
And I think about that command, ‘Love each other,’
As I hear conflicting sounds from one belief to another,
Lord of Love.

I’m running, and the road is shining bright,
And it gets even more beautiful with every step;
Yeah, it glows like a dream highway
(While I run, while I run).
And my heart feels really compassionate for everyone,
Because I can see the good in every person,
Lord supreme.

Fame always tells its tale and song,
For wartime heroes, in letters of glory.

But where’s the story and where’s the song
For the peacemakers and the martyrs of injustice?

They fight their battles in the store and in the mine;
They die at their jobs without a word.

They gather like animals in a slaughterhouse;
They live like livestock and endure pain like humans.

Why, faced with the horrors of such a life,
The battle's struggle feels like a merry-go-round,

And the vast ocean, and the small boat,
And the deadly cannon with its booming voice.

Oh, what are they all, with death included,
To a life that has nothing to gain or lose—

p. 55The life that offers no hope or reward
Just poorly paid work and a life of suffering?

Fame, where's your story and where's your song
For the heroes of peace and the victims of injustice?

The best words are always alone,
Set apart in one syllable; like birth,
Life, love, hope, peace. I celebrate the value
Of that cherished word that the whole world seeks—
I sing of home.

To create a home, we should bring all of our love
And a lot of hard work, patience, and genuine joy;
Then combine the basic things of the earth
With the better things taken from higher realms,
The spirit of home.

There should be music, melody, and song;
Beauty in every place; an open door
And generous sharing of the joy around
With fellow travelers as they move along,
Looking for home.

p. 57Make plenty of space for quiet friends—the books,
That give so much and only ask for room.
And don’t let practicality take over the vase
Which serves no purpose other than beautifying
The cherished home.

To make things clearer, let's use mirrors to help
And reflect every beautiful touch of art;
And let the random visitor feel the role—
The amazing role—that love has played
Within the home.

Here, bring your best in thought, words, and actions,
Your kindest deeds, your highest self-control;
Don't hold them back for some future time or goal.
This is the moment, and now is the time to act,
Right here in your home.

Time, with his back against the huge wall,
That blocks out all future joy and pain,
Listens, without responding, to the restless call
Of tiny humans, seeking news of tomorrow.

Be wise, and embrace silence,
Leaving behind these pointless and restless paths;
Focus on the Eternal Now—
Today, everything is yours for the taking.

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today,
I would look confidently into the eyes of Life,
Unafraid of any Fate that might come my way.
I would give the world what it desires most—
A manhood that understands it can achieve and be;
A courage that dares, and a faith that can see
Deep into the human soul,
And discover God there, along with the ultimate goal,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today.

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today,
I would see myself as a powerful being
Of all the powerful plans;
p. 60The Formless Cause, taking shape and form;
The Power that ignores limits or rules;
A remarkable man.
I would do good things and forget them right away;
I would turn my troubles into ropes
And climb
Up to the heights of the helper’s gateway;
And Life would serve me, and Time,
And I would sail out, and out, and discover
The treasures that lie in the deep sea of the Mind.
I would dream, think, and act;
I would work, love, and pray,
Until each dream and vision became a reality,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today.

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today,
I would protect my passions like kings protect treasures,
And keep them pure and elevated.
(For a man’s will, along with his passions,
p. 61is as strong as they are intense.)
I would view each woman as someone's mother;
I would see each man as my own brother,
And encourage him on his journey.
And the beauty of life in this amazing moment
Should inspire and energize me with a sense of power,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know today.

Now, there's a lot that needs to be done, but it shouldn't be rushed;
Instead, it should be done slowly and patiently, just like turning a jungle into a town.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it’s not always like that:
When a murderer raises his hand to kill, there’s no time to waste;
And the way to change his mind is first to bring him down
And then teach him the law of kindness after you’ve struck him.

The acorn you plant in the morning won’t provide shade by noon;
And the thornless cactus needs years of hard work to grow.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it’s not always straightforward,
p. 63For you can’t pull the roots of poison ivy too early;
If you want to improve your garden and make the most of your soil,
Act quickly, dig up the bad stuff, and get rid of it today.

The deep-rooted sins of nations can't be erased by any law;
We have to wait for mothers to raise their children and give them pure hearts.
But listen, my brothers, listen—when a child cries in pain,
We have to get up from the dinner table and help, even if the host is saying grace;
We must stand up and confront the Herod of Greed, who's harming our little ones,
And not return to the table until that monster is defeated.

The strong man waits for justice, with a lifted spirit and eyes,
As a sturdy oak stands against the storm, refusing to break or bend.
But listen, my brothers, listen;
p. 64If a ruthless foot crushes every young shoot, how can the forest grow?
We are stealing from humanity when we steal from a child; we must save the children NOW;
We must rescue the little victims of Greed and let them go out to play.

To stay silent when we should be protesting
Makes cowards out of us. The human race
Has progressed through protest. If no one had raised their voice
Against injustice, ignorance, and greed,
The Inquisition would still enforce the law,
And executions would settle our slightest disputes.
The few who dare must continue to speak
To correct the wrongs affecting many. Thank God,
No power can silence our speech on this great day and in this land.
The media and our voices can cry out
Loud disapproval of the problems that exist,
Can criticize oppression and condemn
The unjust laws that protect the wealthy
While children and mothers work
To support lazy millionaires,
So I protest against the claim
Of independence in this powerful land.
p. 66Don’t call any chain strong that has even one rusted link,
Don’t call any land free that has even one enslaved person
Until the shackled, skinny wrists of babies
Are free to play in joy and laughter,
Until mothers bear no burden except
The precious one in their womb; until
God’s land is freed from the grip of greed
And returned to the laborers, let no one
Call this the Land of Freedom.

Fate treated me harshly; but I looked at her and laughed,
So that no one could tell how bitter my experience was.
Then Joy arrived and stopped next to me where I was sitting,
Saying, ‘I came to see what you were laughing at.’

When the whole world is filled with loud alarms
Of fighting arms,
When God's good earth, from edge to edge
Shows man's chaos,
Let me not waste my gift of human strength
In mourning over wrongs I can't fix.
This is my task: amid conflicting strife
To maintain a pure, sweet center in my life;
And even though the human orchestra may be
Playing completely out of tune—
To align my soul with higher symphonies,
And resonate with the note of love.
This is my task.

When it seems that the most beautiful belief
Faith
is destined for death,
And is raised to her place through betrayal of the soul,
The foolish Reason,
p. 69Let me not rush out with my flag flying high
To convert a skeptical world.
This is my mission: in the depths of a starless night
Or in distracting and changing light
To keep (whether in crowds or alone in my room)
Faith on her elevated throne;
And whatever happens or occurs,
To recognize God’s hand in everything.
This is my mission.

When, in church seats, men worship God with words,
But face each other with swords,
When True Religion, stripped of pure passion,
Walks around disguised as Fashion,
Let me not get angry at what I see;
Or waste my energy mourning her sad state.
This is my task: to search within my own mind
Until I discover the qualities of God;
To find them in the hearts of friends and enemies—
Whether high or low;
And in my hours of hard work, prayer, or play,
To live my beliefs every day.
This is my task.

A granite rock on the mountainside
Looked out at the world and felt content.
It watched the centuries pass by,
It welcomed the sunlight but loved the snow,
It felt sad when the forest had to be cut down,
Yet was happy when tall, white steeples rose
In the valley below, and excited to hear
The sound of the bustling town nearby.

When the mountain stream that was just playing around
Got caught by the mill-wheel and taken away
And set to work, the gray rock thought,
‘Trees and greenery and streams are used
By man the master, but I stay
A friend to the mountain, stars, and plains,
Unchanged forever by God’s decree
While the passing centuries bow to me.’

p. 71Then, without warning, with a huge impact
A rock was ripped from the mountain;
Hurt and shattered, and heartbroken
It was taken away to the marketplace.
Torn apart, and destroyed in peace and pride,
‘Oh, God is cruel,’ the granite cried,
‘Companion of the mountain, friend of the star,
All have abandoned me—how sad my end.’

A dreaming sculptor walking by
Looked at the granite with a thoughtful eye;
Then moved by a purpose so grand
He made his dream come alive in the stone’s hand.
And look! from the broken and shapeless block
That mourned and hesitated, it came to rock
That a stunning statue of priceless worth
And endless beauty graced the earth.

Look at the earth hanging among the stars,
A perfect home for gods if only people were kind—
Do your part to shape it for that purpose,
By shaping your own life to perfection.
Seek nothing for yourself or your family
That takes away another’s hope or joy,
Let no one work in poverty and pain
To give you luxury and comfort you didn’t earn.
Don’t feed the hungry servant with stones,
So that lazy guests can feast on your bread.
Look for the good in strangers and enemies,
And don’t hold back your praise for just a few;
And let the weakest sinner find in you
A motivation to reach higher goals.
p. 73Look at the earth hanging among the stars—
A perfect home for gods; awaken the God within you
And by the broad example of your love
Share your strength with others.
All people are unawakened gods: let yours
Be the voice to wake them from their unhappy sleep.

Sad man, Sad man, tell me, please,
What did you see today?

I saw the neglected and unhappy elderly, waiting for a slow, lingering death to come.
Pale little children working for the wealthy, in rooms where sunlight is too ashamed to shine.
The terrible nursing home, where the living dead decay slowly in their ghastly open graves.
And there were disgraceful sights;
Soldiers and forts, and industries focused on death, and devil ships, and loud-winged devil birds,
All aimed at slaughter and destruction. These and even more disgraceful things my eyes witnessed.
Old men pursuing indulgent conquests, and young men living without any thought of God;
And half-clothed women smoking a cigarette, mimicking the vices of the underworld—
p. 75 Engrossed in trivial pleasures and determined to be barren wives.
These things I saw.
(How God must despise His earth.)

Happy man, happy man, please,
What did you see today?

I saw an elderly couple, in whose eyes
Shone that deep light of combined love and faith
That makes the world a little piece of Paradise,
And leaves no pain in death.

I saw groups of children streaming out,
Line after line, from the classroom door
Organized by Progress. They seemed to say
‘Let ignorance give way;
We are the messengers of a brighter future.’

I saw the college and the church that stood
For everything rational and positive.

I saw God’s helpers in the shop and slum
Lighting the way for health and hope to arrive;
And men and women with big hearts and minds
Focused on working to improve their people.

p. 76Then, I also witnessed life’s most beautiful sight—
Loving mothers with their precious babies nursing,
These are the moments I experienced.
(How much God must cherish His creation.)

Well, you are free;
The longed-for, lied-about, waited-for decree
Is yours today.
I didn't protest; you had your say,
And left me with no trace of dignity.
Neglect, abuse, and cruelty you accuse
With broken marriage vows. The list is long
But can't be denied. So I stayed silent.

Now you need to hear some straightforward facts
Before you completely leave my life
As someone’s wife.
Pay close attention to this account of your actions
That turned the brightness of my honeymoon
Into dark sadness,
And ripped the lid off Pandora’s box.

p. 78In those early conversations
Between bride and groom, I laid my heart bare,
Revealed how deep and true my love was for you;
With all the feelings of a strong man, I loved YOU:
(God, how I loved you, my one chosen partner.)
But I realized this
(You really didn’t play your part well):
You married for the institution, to escape the fate
Of having ‘Miss’
Etched on your gravestone. Love was foreign to you,
But you were eager for the flashy things
That money provides.
Any weak affection you could offer
Was given to the provider, not the lover.

The knowledge hurt. Sharp pain like that is silent; And hides behind smiles, so no one will know. But I was lonely, and that feeling grew The more I looked at you. Love couldn’t find its way into your shallow heart, But you appreciated my love because it gave p. 79 The power of a mistress over a slave. You showed your control In small acts of dominance hour after hour, Day after day, year after long years. My tasks, my pleasures, my pursuits weren’t Important to you, Or treated as significant in your mind. My friends weren’t your friends; you tormented me With petty and dishonorable jealousy, Until, through suggestion, I gave you reason to feel that way. The beautiful ideal of Love that hung In my soul’s shrine, Worshipped as something divine, With careless hands you tossed Into the dust. And then you wondered why My love faded away. My mistakes and failures scream To the world: my head is bowed Under the deserved blame. Yours Is raised to receive The sympathy that the court’s ruling guarantees. The world loves to believe In man’s wrongdoing and woman’s value; But I am just one of many men on Earth p. 80 Whose loud, resounding fall Is like the crashing of a sturdy wall That those who seek can trace To the slow work of insects at its base. . . . . . . . Don’t be afraid. The alimony will be paid on time.

Let’s be friends. My life is sad and lonely,
While yours, filled with love, is beautiful and bright.
Please be kind to me: I only ask for your friendship.
No star loses its shine by sharing its light.

I offer you friendship as I see it,
A feeling I have for all humanity.

Oh, give me more; can’t one friend ask for it?

Look in the skies; that's where you’ll find the star.
It shines its light on everyone equally.

I would have more than what anyone can claim.

Then your ideas of friendship really reflect
Feelings that go by a different name.

May one friend not receive more than another?

Not a man from a woman and still remains a friend.
Life offers her just three: a father, brother,
Lover—against the rest she has to fight.

Against the universe, I would protect you,
Even with my life, and I wouldn't think twice about the cost.

But not against yourself, if fate chooses you
Like Lancelot for foolish Guinevere.

You wouldn't tempt me?

That is undeniable.
We set the question aside.
My point still stands, unanswered and unchallenged.
No man shields a woman from his own nature.

I am immune: for once I loved intensely,
And all the fires inside me turned to dust.
I think of women in a friendly way:
In me, she finds a companion she can trust.

So said Mount Peelée to the listening ocean:
Look at what happened! Let the good be smart.
Even if human hearts say feelings are gone,
Be cautious of how high the tides of friendship can rise.

Great dignity always accompanies great grief,
And quietly walks alongside it;
And I can always tell when I witness such sorrow
That Invisible Helpers are supporting it.
And I know deep sadness is like a tide,
It can never keep rising;
The high-water mark in the night and the dark—
Then dawn, and the retreating.

But the people who tug at my heartstrings
Are the ones whom fate rushes
Through ordinary paths to the end of their lives,
And bothers with trivial concerns.
The sellers who trudge along with a limited supply
To the door that is shut harshly;
The vendor who stands with his shop in his hands
Where the hurried crowds pass without noticing;

The woman with her worn-out purse
Has just enough for her rent,
p. 85While her hollow eyes long for the comfort she craves
To lighten her lonely life;
The man stuck in a never-ending grind,
Unrelieved by moments of rest;
And the kids who work in the dirt and the dust,
While their small hearts ache for joy;

The people who work hard, watch their spending, and save up,
At the call of some ungrateful duty,
And carefully hide, with a face of pride,
Their deep craving for beauty;
These don't ask for pity and don’t look for help,
But the thought of them lingers in my mind;
And I wish I could throw at their feet everything
That I know in their hearts they truly desire.

However strange it may seem
Events and situations on Earth,
Though blessings come to those who are ignored,
And worth faces insults and indifference,
Though poverty rewards a life of hard work,
And wealth arises where lazy feet have walked,
And storms destroy the patiently cultivated land—
Yet Justice governs the universe of God.

As undisturbed as the stately stars stay
Beyond the bright glare of the daytime light,
So Justice exists, though human eyes struggle
To find it through reason’s view.
But once free, the enlightened soul will look out—
Its cry will be, ‘O God, how could I have doubted?’

Two paths connect this land to That, and one is the path of Prayer;
And one is the path of Old Songs, and every note is a step.

A scruffy old man with a music player on a gritty city street;
But suddenly the earth felt like paradise, and life became fresh and joyful.
The city street vanished, and the world was green, and a small house stood by the sea;
And she came singing a lively tune (she who was pure peace);
She brought back with her the old, unique charm, of mixed sadness and joy—

p. 88With the eyes of a child in a woman's face and the soul of a saint in an elf.
She had been gone for many years. They say it's not far—
That quiet place where our loved ones go, but it might as well be a star.
Yes, it might as well be a faraway star as a beautiful nearby land,
If we hear no voice, see no face, and feel no touch of a hand.

But now she had arrived, because I saw her there, and she looked so cheerful and youthful;
(Not pale and motionless like I had seen her before) and the rose she wore was bright red;
And her voice lifted up in a bird-like trill at the end of the song she sang,
And she imitated a soldier’s bold stride, tossing her sweet little head back.

She had been gone for many years and had never returned before;
But I think she lives in a nearby place, since the song opened the door;
p. 89Yes, I really believe it's a nearby place, where our loved ones are,
Because the song would never have reached her if she were on a distant star.

Two paths connect this land to That, and one is the path of Prayer,
And one is the path of Old-time Songs, and each note is a step.

Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU,
Throwing stars into space, shaping suns and tides;
Then this small mortal mind gets a bigger perspective,
And the critical part of me runs away and hides.

Then I see all the dark paths leading out to Light;
See the lies fade away, leaving only the Truth;
See the wrong things destroy themselves, leaving only What’s Right;
When this small mortal mind gets the bigger picture.

Fussing over this and that, criticism, uncertainty and fear,
Flee, like insects fleeing at dawn;
Life and Death are clear; everything appears obvious,
All the wrong things take themselves out, leaving only what’s right.

p. 91The world has been burning with fever for days
Oh, poor, sick world!
Not realizing that all its dreams of greed and gain,
Of selfish conquest and ownership, were
Distorted visions of a troubled mind.

Now the world's sickness is at its peak
And there’s a foul contagion in its breath.
It rants about death and destruction; and the stars
Tremble with echoes of its cries,
And the sorrowful seas are troubled and disturbed.
So it must rant—this sick and suffering world—
Until the old toxins in its blood
Are flushed out and cleansed by war;
And the deep-seated wounds of the mind
Begin the healing process. Then a calm
Shall settle upon the earth; and that cherished word
PEACE, shall be understood from coast to coast.

Shriek on, crazy world. The great Doctor sits
Calmly aware of the upcoming change,
And doesn’t try to stop the fever; it has to run
Until it runs its course. He can wait.

In his expansive Solar Systems, he's seen
So many other worlds as troubled as this.
p. 92He feels
only pity for his suffering charge,
Not blame or anger. And he knows the time
Will definitely come when that sick child will wake
Free from all wild illusions, and will gaze
With clear eyes upon the face of God.
Then the new millennium will begin.

Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU,
Then this little mortal mind gets the bigger picture;
Then I see all the dark paths leading into Light,
Where the wrong things destroy themselves, leaving only what's Right.

Oh, poor, sick world!

Let’s pause for a moment in our rush;
Let’s take a minute to look up and around;
Let’s choose not to worry for a while;
Let’s decide to stop questioning and doubting.
If someone is nitpicking,
Overanalyzing, searching for flaws—always ready for a fight—
All the best joy is lost in the journey
As we move through life.

Just for today, we will set aside
Our sadness—
Just for today, not a single tear will fall;
We won’t fear anything or borrow
Pain from the future with useless worry.
Our thoughts will be carefree,
Enjoying and cherishing everything bright—
Savoring the joy found in just having fun
As we move through the light.

p. 94For today, let's ignore all the problems that need fixing.
We'll leave them out of our mental notebook;
We'll highlight all the good things with red ink;—
Those are the only things we want to find.
Let’s skip the stuff that makes us sad,
Makes us linger or complain—forget it, I say!
We’ll only remember what brings us joy—
This is Praise Day.

The days get shorter, the nights get longer;
The headstones multiply along the path;
And life gets sadder, but love gets stronger,
For those who walk with us every day.

The tears come faster, the laughs come slower;
The courage to act and take risks is less;
And the wave of joy in the heart retreats,
Rarely covering the rocks of worry.

But all real things in the world seem more real;
And the best things on earth seem the best;
And friends are more precious, as friends are fewer,
And love is everything, as our sun sets in the west.

Then let’s hold hands as we walk together,
And let’s speak softly in love’s gentle tone;
For no one knows if tomorrow,
We both move forward—or just one alone.

Oh! that is a beautiful land, I wish,
The land of the Gone-Away Souls.
Yes, a much lovelier place than this
(Though this world is truly fair),
The best destination of all good destinations,
Otherwise, why do our friends stay there?
I walk in a world that is full of friends,
And earth has always been dear to me;
Yes, love mixes with duty and beauty,
To make the earth bright and lively.
But faster and faster, year by year,
My friends are disappearing from view.

They rush off to the Over-There,
And hardly any of them say Goodbye.
Yeah, they leave with a mysterious vibe
As if they're on a hidden mission.
p. 97And they don't return to tell
Why that place seems the greatest.

Messages come from the spiritual realm,
But few understand the language of that place;
Yes, there are many messages, but few who listen
In the noise of the world below,
Or if they hear the message, can grasp
Those truths that we yearn to know.

But it has to be the aim of all worthwhile goals,
And I find myself thinking about it more often,
Yes, I think of that place of the Lost Souls
And its increasing number of friends
Who will welcome my boat when it reaches the shore
Where the final short journey concludes.

All day, all day in a stillness like death
The harp hung, waiting for the sea wind's breath.

When the western sky turned red with embarrassment
From the sun’s daring kiss, the sea breeze arrived.

Said the harp to the breeze, Oh, blow as softly
As the dove coos from its nest above.

I have a song that moms sing
When their little ones get tired of playing at noon.

Though a harp may seem like a silent thing
Until the breeze comes and makes it sing.

Said the wind to the harp, "No, play for me
The mournful song of those lost at sea."

I heard their call as I walked by,
And I rushed to find you and share the song.

Oh, the heart is like a harp, and love is the breeze,
And the song is always whatever love wants.

[In Edgar Allan Poe’s story, ‘The Pit and the Pendulum,’ the victim is tied up, lying on his back, looking up at a large, knife-sharp pendulum that swings back and forth over him, with the blade getting closer to his heart each time it swings.]

Bound hand and foot in this pit I lie,
And the walls around me are strong and tall;
They grow stronger and higher every day,
With maximum effort and minimum pay;
And there’s no ladder to help me climb
To a better world and a brighter time.
There’s no ladder, there’s no rope,
But the devil of greed has offered a hope.
He dangles before me the pendulum—Vice;
I know its purpose and I know its price,
And the good people of the world know it too,
They talk a lot, but they don’t do much.
I have cried out to the masses of men
Again and again and again:
p. 100But if I were to call once to the devil, he
Would rush to answer and set me free.
For Virtue must always call three times,
But just once brings a response when Virtue calls Vice.

Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie
While the pendulum swings and the days pass by.

For 'Mabel Brown,' I never cared
   (My real name from birth),
But when I took on the name Smith,
   I felt like I owned the world,
(I wrote it without ‘y’ or ‘e’—
Plain 'Mrs. Jack Smith' worked for me.)

My happiest hour, looking back
On times of great satisfaction,
Was when people referred to me as ‘Mrs. Jack,’
Even though ‘Mrs. Smith’ was intended.
It was the joy of my life
To hear them say: ‘That’s Jack Smith’s wife.’

One day I joined a club. They said
That I had to speak or write.
So I did both. I wrote and read
A speech one fateful night.
It was a success, but unfortunately,
A death blow to poor ‘Mrs. Jack.’

p. 102As ‘Mrs. Mabel Smith’ I’m known
   Throughout my town and state;
My heart feels widowed and alone;
   The situation is complicated.
Though darling Jack is still mine,
I’m somehow divorced in name.

Just ‘Mabel Smith’ I can handle;
It keeps the world guessing;
But ‘Mrs.’ confirms the marriage,
Yet leaves the husband out.
It feels like Reno, or a grave,
And always fills me with gloom.

They say all the honors are mine;
   Well, I’d trade them all
For one sweet year to shine
   Again as ‘Mrs. Jack.’
That brought real meaning to life,
Not found in ‘Mrs. Mabel Smith.’

For one suggests the chosen partner,
And all the joy love brings;
And one suggests a representative
For united things.
p. 103I’m built on the old-fashioned idea—
I like to support a man.

If on every point of glory’s star
My name sparkled like a pearl,
I’d feel a joy much greater
In being ‘Jack Smith’s girl.’
I know it’s silly, but you see,
I’m just made this way.

Amidst the cheering applause, I won a prize.
A cynic watched me with a sarcastic look;
An open enemy, full of hatred, sneered;
I didn’t care about either of them. Then my friend showed up.
Eagerly, I waited for his cheerful “Well done.”
But a sudden shadow seemed to darken my joy.
He praised me, but each slow, reluctant word
Revealed Envy’s hidden blade,
Two-edged, it hurt me; but, even worse,
It brought my friend down from his pedestal,
And showed him as he really was—so small, so small.

A sudden gentleness in the breeze;
A spark of melody in flight;
A sweet sound that lingers behind,
And happiness in everything.

A sudden blush on the cheek,
   A teardrop ready to fall;
A hope too fragile to voice,
   And heaven inside the heart.

A wild dawn and the sea’s amazing sight;
The bright, red heart of a rose opened up;
And beauty ripping her veil apart,
In front of a fainting world.

A call of the soul, and the senses blended;
The Springtime lost in the glow of the sun,
And two lives rushing, as God intended,
To meet and mingle as one.

The world is all dressed up;
But it’s not happy.
Its beauty masks a loneliness
For something that’s lost.

(Laughter and music fill the air;
A shower of rice and flowers.
Smiles for the loving couple leaving—
And then the empty room.)

Two trees swayed in the winter wind and dreamed
The snowflakes falling around them were like bees
Singing among the leaves. And they were happy,
Knowing the dream would soon come true.

Beside the fireplace, an old couple rocked,
And dozed; and dreamed that friends long gone
Were with them once again. They woke and smiled,
Knowing the dream would soon come true.

There was once a little comet who lived near the Milky Way!
She loved to wander out at night, jumping around and having fun.
The comet's mother was a very wise old star—
She would often scold her adventurous child for going out too far;
She warned her about the ogre, Sun, who feasted on stars,
And who had no better pastime than gobbling up comets.

But instead of becoming careful and showing the right amount of fear,
the silly little comet moved closer and closer.
She waved her flashy tail right where the Sun could see,
p. 108and flirted with old Mars, being as daring as possible.
She mocked the calm stars, who never played around;
She claimed there was no enjoyment in life unless you took some risks.

She enjoyed making the planets gaze, and desired no greater joy
Than to see the telescopes pointed at her from Earth.
She wondered why so many stars seemed to sulk through nights and
Days, allowing the pale-faced old moon to receive all the love and praise.
As she conversed and tossed her head, switching her shining
Tail, the serious old mother star grew sad, her cheek becoming wan and
Pale.

For she had been up in the skies for a million years or more,
And she'd heard cheerful comets chatting in just this way before.
Eventually, this cheerful comet’s fun came to an end—
p. 109She went just a bit too far—and disappeared into the Sun!
No longer does she trail her shining path for everyone to see,
But the quiet stars she used to mock are twinkling every night.

WHEN LOVE FOR HIS CREATOR AWOKE IN HUMANS, THE DANCE BEGAN

The ocean's waves and leaves in the forest,
In the rhythm of movement, declare life is great.
The stars are swaying to beats and rhymes,
The planets are singing while the suns keep time.
The moonlight and rivers drift away in a trance,
The Universe shudders—let's keep the dance going!

Our partners are chosen from the best of the crowd
In the ballroom of Life, and we glide along;
We follow our whims and choose as we like,
For waltz or tango or a cheerful quadrille;
But always, one partner is waiting for us all
At the end of the program, to conclude the dance.

p. 111Uninvited and unwanted, he shows up unannounced
And asks whenever he wants, "I think it's time for your dance?"
And no one can say no, and no one can refuse;
When he signals the dancer, the dancer has to move.
You might dislike him and try to avoid him; but still in life's party
For those who live well, it’s the best dance of all.

Since early this morning, the world has felt
alive with a rhythm I can't express, and a rhyme that makes no sense.
Maybe the Muses are pushing me this way
to remind me of the patience and struggles that go into creating poems.
It could be a singer who has moved on to glory,
with songs left unfinished, hanging around
And trying to share the rest of the story with me,
which I’m too slow to notice.

I hear nothing, I see nothing; but I feel the sweet swinging
and swaying of rhythm, in sunlight and shade,
The still arch of Space is ringing with music
that no orchestra has ever made.
Moments pass by me, and each one is dancing;
Each leaf on the tree is trembling with life,
And out on the ocean is captivating movement,
As waves race with joy, billow with billow.

p. 113Without a single thought worth sharing,
   And no theme to turn into a song,
Since early this morning, my mind has been wandering,
   A wandering thing, with a wandering crowd,
With cheerful, carefree moments, and waves of the ocean,
   With breezes and sunshine, and treetops and
birds,
It has floated along in the joy of simply moving,
   To tunes without music and verses without words.

My Flower Room is such a small space,
Barely twenty feet by nine; yet in that area
I have met God; yes, many bright hours
Have talked with Him, the All-Embracing-Cause,
About His laws.
And He has shown me, in every vine and flower
Such miracles of power
That day by day this Flower Room of mine
Has turned into a shrine.

Fed by the same soil and air
Pale, gentle sprouts show up
Reaching for the light in that lovely room.
One races to a bright red bloom;
One gradually grows with quiet elegance;
One climbs, one hangs down;
One absorbs the light and water;
One gives back.

p. 115Up through the ground together, stem by stem
Two plants quickly grow in a floral competition;
Until one blooms like a sparkling gem;
And the other only offers fragrance
In a seed
So tiny it’s hardly felt in the hand.
Such hidden delights lie
In scents and sights,
When released by the forces of Nature,
Just like Paradise must have at its disposal.

From formless roots and ugly bulbous things
What stunning beauty emerges!
Such endless variety appears
A hundred artists in a hundred years
Could never replicate from the floral world
The wonders that are curled in leaf and bud.
Nor could even the greatest human mind
Create one tiny seed of plant or vine
Without help from the First Great Plan;
Without divine assistance.

Who but a God
Could create from light and moisture, heat and cold,
And shape in earth’s form,
p. 116A A multitude of flowers to beautify one patch of land?
Who but a God!
Not a single person knows
Why the bloom and fragrance of the rose
Or how its colors were mixed;
Or why the white Camellia has no scent
Yet grows from the same soil;
Or how the daisy and the violet
And blades of grass first came together in wild meadows.
Not one, not one person knows;
The wisest can only GUESS.

This Flower Room of mine
Has become a shrine;
And I leave here
Every day with greater faith and respect.

My faith isn't based on any written doctrine;
And there are people who label me a heretic;
But year after year, whether I'm healthy or ill,
Whether I'm rich or struggling,
If, with a light step, beautiful Life passes by me bringing joy,
Or, under the weight of pain, old Time counts
The dull, boring moments—my cry still rises:
‘God is in charge up there!
He does everything perfectly!’

Not much do I value, whether one or any kind
Of theological knowledge; nor do I think too highly
Of the commonly accepted ideas of heaven and hell.
But faith and knowledge, directed by Love,
Create a beautiful heaven; a heaven of clear thought
Free from hate, fear, and doubt; a heaven of refined
And perfect trust; and from this heaven I shout:
‘God reigns above!
Whatever exists, is the best.’

p. 118My faith doesn't accept the ‘fall’!
It views humanity as always being a child of God,
Gaining wisdom as new paths are explored,
Until the Christ within him becomes One with All.
From this complete awareness, my faith draws
Light to brighten Life’s deepest sorrows,
No matter what troubles come my way, I still shout:
‘God is supreme!
He does everything right.’

My faith sees prayer as the language of the heart,
Connecting us with the unseen host;
And those who linger in the spaces between
Here and There take part in these prayers.
My loved ones who have passed come close and say: ‘Death doesn't mean ending;
Hold us in your thoughts, because through that holding
The bonds that were broken will be joined again eventually.’
‘God rules above!
Whatever exists is for the best.’

It’s easy to get up in front of people, or kneel in a private space,
And say: ‘God, do this; God, do that!—
Make the world a better place; help relieve people’s suffering; for the sake of Your Son,
Oh, please forgive all sins!’ Then, having scripted God’s work, to feel
Like we’ve done our part.
It’s easy to be spiritual this way—
Easy to pray.

It's tougher to stand on the highway or walk in the busy mall;
And say: ‘I am He. I am He.
‘The weight of the world is mine; the sorrows of humanity are mine; the work of Christ
‘To forgive my brother’s sins,’ and then to truly embody the Christ-like spirit and never back down.
p. 120It's hard for you and me
To be religious like this,
Day after day.

But God isn’t in heaven anymore; we pushed Him out with our prayers,
Pushed Him out with our sermons and beliefs, and our endless complaints and despair.
He came down to our level, and Christ came along too;
They’re looking everywhere to see what’s really wrong.
God has grown tired of hearing His praises sung on earth;
And Jesus is tired of hearing the story of His birth;
The best way to gain Their favor, more reliable than anything else,
Is to join in a song of Brotherhood and praises for one another.

No; God isn't in heaven anymore; He has come down to earth to see
That nothing is wrong with the world He created; the problem lies within you and me.
p. 121He intended the earth to be a beautiful garden, where mills and factories now stand;
Childhood was meant for growing, but look at the struggling crowd!
Women were meant to be mothers and partners—now look at those enslaved by desire.
And the good people shake their heads and say, ‘We must pray to God and trust.’
God has a billion unopened books of our prayers sitting on His shelves,
For the things we're asking Him to do, He wants us to do ourselves.

Jehovah, Jesus, and every soul in space
Are one and indivisible. Until
We see God shining in each neighbor’s face
And find Him in ourselves and celebrate Him there,
What’s the point of prayer?
Let’s be quiet.
How can we love the whole and not each part?
How can we worship God and hold in our hearts
Hatred for God’s members—for all people are that.
Our souls have waited too long,
Like poor blind beggars at the door of God.
He never made a beggar—we are royalty!

p. 122Let's rise up, because it's time to stand on
The mountain peaks; it's time to do the things
We've been asking God to do for so long.
He’s waiting for you
To look deep into your brother’s eyes and see
The God within;
To hear you say, ‘You are He; you are He.’
This is the only way to end all sin,
The hard, one true way.

A prayer without action is like an arrow without a bowstring;
Action without prayer is like a bowstring without an arrow.
A person's heart should be like a quiver full of arrows,
And a person's hand should be like a strong bow ready for action.
A person's heart should always aim high with their arrows,
And their hand and mind should be engaged in endless work.

Now, what would Jesus say,
And what would He take a moment to express,
If we were to encounter Him in our homes or on the street
The Lord of the world today?
Oh, I believe He would take a moment and say,
‘Continue with your chosen work;
Speak only kindly of your neighbor;
Expand your fields, and put down your weapons,
Or till the land with each sword.’

Now what would Jesus say
If we asked for a creed
To help us through the amazing gate
When our soul leaves the body?
Oh, I think He would give us this creed:
‘Praise God, no matter what happens;
Spread joy to those around you;
Make the world better, by increasing its value,
With love as the guiding principle.’

p. 124Now what would Jesus say
If we asked Him to share
About the final destination of the returning soul,
Where we all hope to live.
Oh, I believe this is what He would say:
‘The soul is the creator—so awaken it;
The mind is the kingdom—so claim it;
And with thought upon thought, let paradise be created,
For heaven will be what you make it.’

Let brave Faith battle Death,
And Death is sure to lose;
For the dead come back with joy in their eyes—
They were never really gone.
If this were just a world of randomness,
Then faith, with its bright white spark
Could break through the ground and create a God,
And make Him shine in the darkness.

So in tough times, and in dark moments,
During the hard and challenging days,
We must hold on, we must hold on to our faith, and raise
Our courage to great heights.
It’s not about just following a belief
That will lift us into the light,
But in believing that love is fair,
And that whatever happens, is right.

p. 126When the hopes of this world are thrown into chaos,
And it feels like the devil is in charge,
When the bad people stay and the good ones go,
And greed wins over integrity,
Oh, that’s the time to trust in the Power
That will sort everything out;
For death and sorrow are minor issues,
But doubt is a terrible thing.

This is the secret of all prayers
That in God’s eyes have value,
They must be spoken from the steps
That lead away from the ground;
And whoever rises to say the word,
He will be heard. He will be heard.

And he who won’t let go,
   But stays stuck in his worries,
Or with his thoughts of pride and wealth,
   Even if his prayers are loud and long,
Beyond the vast sky above,
They won’t rise. They won’t rise.

Oh, you who seek strength and power
First find a quiet place,
p. 128And spend a silent hour
building your staircase, thought by thought;
Then climb, and pray to God above:
He will respond. He will respond.

Up to the gates of shining Pearl,
There came the spirit of a girl,
And to the white-robed Guard she said:
‘Dear Angel, am I really dead?
Just over there, lying on my bed,
I heard them say it; and they cried.
And after that, I think I slept.
Then when I woke, I saw your face,
And suddenly found myself in this place.
It seems like a nice place to be,
Yet earth was nice enough for me.
What’s there to do or see here?
Will I see God, dear Angel, tell me?
And is He very far away?’

The Angel said, ‘You are really
What people call dead. That word can be
Terrifying to youth; but it just means
A change of tasks and scenery.
p. 130You’ve been brought to us because
Of certain ancient karmic laws
Set in motion eons ago.
We will guide you
From one realm to another,
Until your work here is done.
Then back to earth, the home of humankind,
To work again another span.’

‘But, Angel, when will I see God?’

‘After the last journey is taken;
After you no longer long for, or desire,
To see, hear, own, or possess
Anything besides—HIM. Then His face
Will show itself to you in the universe.
And you will discover that you are united
With that Great Sun, beyond the sun.
Child, go your way through the gate,
Where many eager loved ones are waiting.
Death is just the beginning of a greater life.’

My soul saw a vision of the Master:
I thought He stood with sad and questioning eyes,
Where Freedom led its chariot to disaster
And workers heard, ignoring, workers’ cries.
Where people denied God’s blessings to their neighbor,
And fertile fields were ruined by greed;
Where Labor’s hand was raised against labor,
And suffering workers turned to tyrants when freed.

Majestic rose, tall steeple after steeple;
Powerful bells called worshippers to prayer;
But as they passed, the faces of the people
Were marred by envy, anger, and despair.
‘Christ the Redeemer of the world has risen,
Peace and goodwill,’ so rang the major strain;
But from sweatshops, tenements, and prisons
Came minor protests, filled with pain.

p. 132I thought about the Master, completely unaware,
Battled fierce groups of striking factions against each other,
Their main goal, intended for freeing labor,
Lost in a spiteful hatred of man against man.
Pretentious Wealth, in unearned garments of beauty,
Tossed Want a small amount from her overflowing purse,
While poorly paid Labor continued its tedious routine,
Hell in her heart, and a curse on her lips.

Then spoke Christ (so amazing was my vision)
(His voice deep and heavy with sorrow):
‘This world today could be a paradise
If my disciples had embodied the love I taught.
Un-Christlike is the Christian belief men create
Who kneel to worship and then rise to kill.
Fake pretenders of my sacred Passion,
You re-crucify Me every day.’

How will Christ return,
How will He be visible, and where,
What will be His chosen way?
Will He come in the dead of night,
Shining in His robes of light,
Or at the break of day?

Will it be at Christmas,
When the bells are ringing,
That He is re-born?
Or will He come back and bring
A wide and amazing awakening
On some Easter morning?

When will this sorrowful world celebrate,
Listening to that golden voice
   Speaking to people?
Is there anyone who will shout
Loudly to surprised passers-by—
   ‘Christ has come again?’

p. 134Here's the answer—Christ is here!
Look for him, and you’ll find him close—
Living on the earth.
Through the world’s awakened awareness,
This amazing miracle happens,
This is the second birth.

While you ponder where and when
Christ will appear—look for him now,
Patient, loving, humble.
Seeing through your neighbor’s eyes,
Or in the simple work they do—
There’s the Christ you're searching for.

Look for him in people's hearts,
In the stores and in the markets,
And by your fireplace.
Search and share the word Love,
And Christ will rise and show
He has come to earth.

Sorrowful often is He
That we do not have eyes to see,
Do not have ears to hear,
As we call to Him from afar,
p. 135Out
beyond some distant star,
While He is so close.

Seek Him, seek Him, where He lives,
Hear the ringing of the bells
   In the Christmas air.
Christ has come to earth again,
He is in the hearts of people,
   Seek and find Him there.

p. 136Printed by T. and A. Police officer, Printers to the King
at the Edinburgh University Press