DEEP AND WIDE

Youth, you have a broader gap to cross;

the sudden flood of knowledge sweeping wide,

leaving strong footholds reduced to dross,

changes the patterned walk in the rapid tide.

As shadows, limping across a rime of day,

alter a viewpoint, render an accent brief,

the constant flow takes worn ideas away,

shatters a theory, staggers a staunch belief.

You do not think the world is insecure;

your lessons from the changes seasons bring

show wintered oaks have roots that will endure

and look to greater glory in the spring,

and rooted well, your branches find their place

in unimagined mysteries and space.

            GREAT MEN WALK

Great men walk through a gate of chance

Swung on the hinge of circumstance.

              REGARD HIS CHILD

She traveled in the track of a boisterous blow,

And wormed the wounded from the wild debris

To deftly bandage broken bodies, though

the pigment of the skin she did not see.

But she held suffering as a sacred vow,

and she saw stain of blood and blanch of bone;

she rescued, from a torn imprisoning bough,

A child whose fist had flung a hateful stone.

The oath had said, "for benefit of the sick...

Regard his child..." she knew the passage well.

Did in His image mean tall, or thin, or thick,

Or brown, or black?  No, not that she could tell.

Her ebon hands moved tirelessly through the night;

It mattered not to her that we were white.

Closed Doors

                                       A polished door was left ajar

                                       And cold, gaunt hands were tapping there,

                                       But when the door closed from within

                                       He turned away in humble prayer.

                                       A heart's door stood slightly ajar

                                       And nail scarred hands kept rapping there,

                                       But when the door closed from within

                                       He turned away in deep despair.

                                       But wait, one day a trumpet blew,

                                       And people came from near and far;

                                       Both black and white, Gentile and Jew

                                       Now stood before the Judgment bar.

                                       A golden door was opened wide;

                                       The nail scarred hands and the cold and thin

                                       Were clasped together there inside,

                                       But lo, the door closed from within.

                                       Oh shuttered doors that seal a fate

                                       By opening too late, too late.

                                                       When Do You Pray

                                       "When do you pray?" the pastor asked,

                                       And one was quick to say,

                                       "Each time I hear an ambulance

                                       Or fire truck on its way."

                                       Another cried, "When I'm afraid!"

                                       Then one said, "When I'm ill."

                                       Responses were spontaneous

                                       But one sat pensive, still.

                                       The pastor knew that she was there,

                                       And she felt some dismay

                                       When he looked straight at her and said,

                                       "Neighbor, when do you pray?"

                                       "Why, I most always say a hurried

                                       Grace before I eat,

                                       And often when I pass the blind

                                       Or crippled on the street.

                                       "Oh, I like to pray at length

                                       When veils of darkness fall,

                                       But Pastor, sometimes I am just

                                       Too tired to pray at all."

                                       The pastor smiled a knowing smile

                                       For he had heard her say

                                       God bless you to a ragged tramp

                                       She fed just yesterday;

                                       He had seen the cake she took

                                       When Sue Brown hurt her back,

                                       And the baskets full of goodies

                                       To some folks across the track.

                                       She sat up at the Joneses

                                       When their baby had the 'Flu,

                                       And did the family ironing,

                                       'Just to have a mite to do.'

                                       She kept her flock well fed and clean

                                       And taught them well God's word;

                                       At every meeting she was there,

                                       On hand to praise the Lord.

                                       She fed the poor, she helped the sick,

                                       She shared each neighbor's care;

                                       Her zealous hands were "Praying Hands,"

                                       Her very life a prayer.

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