On, on we roll through trackless space While centuries sweep by, Each in our own appointed place In God’s eternal sky. Immortal Man, sleep-bound on earth, The Mind that guides us gave thee birth. Obey in awe Life’s changeless law! The Hand that holds us in our course,-- Omnipotent, Divine, Omniscient Love, Life’s only source,-- Created thee sublime. The stars shall fade and cease to be; But Man reflects Infinity. Through space afar, Star echoes star:-- O Quenchless Flame, To thee we bow. Awake, Man! Claim Thy birthright now; Life calls thy name,-- God’s image thou! Fore’er we sing As on we roll, Of Life the King,-- Man’s deathless soul. Eternal harmony is thine; Obey God’s law--arise, and shine! LIFE AND I Life came to me at Morning; (And oh, his eyes were kind!) With flowers my head adorning; But I was blind. With tender care he laid me In Love’s uplifted arms, That gently held and stayed me Through all alarms. We quarreled--Life and I--one day, Because he took the arms away,-- Yet then it was I learned to pray. Life came to me at Nooning, And scattered roses red; But when soft winds blew crooning, They all lay dead. With tears and wild upbraiding, I railed at Life and Fate, Nor saw the blooms unfading-- Beside my gate. We walked estranged then--Life and I-- Because he let the roses die; Nor wot I of the bending sky. Life came to me at Gloaming (And oh, his eyes were blest!) I knew ’twas time for homing, For peace and rest. I took his hand outreaching, And drew a raptured breath; When lo--his smile beseeching-- I saw--’twas death. So Life and I are winging free, Reclothed--with Immortality; I loving Life, Life loving me. THE WEAVERS Ruthlessly a weaver’s hands Seized life’s silken threads and fair, Rent, defiled the spotless strands,-- Wove a texture of Despair. Men then cursed and called it Fate; But the weaver’s name was--Hate. Prayerfully a weaver toiled,-- Seeing only what God meant,-- And from ends all frayed and soiled, Wove a fabric of Content. Hearts were lifted then above; For the weaver’s name was--Love. THE OPEN DOOR If so it be that through my open gate Some thief shall enter and despoil in hate, Shall quench the fire upon my hearth of trust, Leave but dead ashes and a barren crust; Still shall I say ’twere better far that I Left open, free, my windows to the sky; That my door stood ajar by night and day, My gate outflung to Angels by the way.