The Pure In Heart Shall See God.

They shall see Him in the crimson flush
    Of morning's early light,
In the drapery of sunset,
    Around the couch of night.


When the clouds drop down their fatness,
    In late and early rain,
They shall see His glorious footprints
    On valley, hill and plain.

They shall see Him when the cyclone
    Breathes terror through the land;
They shall see Him 'mid the murmurs
    Of zephyrs soft and bland.

They shall see Him when the lips of health,
    Breath vigor through each nerve,
When pestilence clasps hands with death,
    His purposes to serve.

They shall see Him when the trembling earth
    Is rocking to and fro;
They shall see Him in the order
    The seasons come and go.

They shall see Him when the storms of war
    Sweep wildly through the land;
When peace descends like gentle dew
    They still shall see His hand.

They shall see Him in the city
    Of gems and pearls of light,
They shall see Him in his beauty,
    And walk with Him in white.

To living founts their feet shall tend,
    And Christ shall be their guide,
Beloved of God, their rest shall be
    In safety by His side.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was an African American abolitionist, suffragist, poet, teacher, public speaker, and writer. Born free in Baltimore, Maryland, she was one of the first African American women to be published in the United States. She was active in social reform movements and used her poetry and prose to advocate for abolition and women's rights. Her best-known works include the poetry collection "Forest Leaves" and the novel "Iola Leroy."

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Thank God For Little Children.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

Maceo.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

A Story Of The Rebellion.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

The Dying Bondman.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

English

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To Mr. C.R.

FOR MANY YEARS DEPRIVED OF SIGHT.


They say the sun is shining
In all his splendor now,
And clouds in graceful drapery,
Are sailing to an fro.

That birds of brilliant plumage,
Are soaring on the wing;
Exulting in the daylight,
Rejoicing as they sing.

They tell me too that roses,
E'en in my pathway lie;
And decked in rich apparel,
Attract the passers by.

They say the sun when setting,
Is glorious to behold;
And sheds on all at parting,
A radiant crown of gold.

And then the night's pale empress,
With all her glittering train,
The vacant throne ascending,
Resumes her peaceful reign.

That she in queenly beauty,
Subdued yet silvery light,
Makes scarcely less enchanting
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Somewhere

"For he looked for a city that hath foundations, whose Maker and Builder is God."


I.

Somewhere, I know, there waits for me
    A home that mocks the pomp of Earth,
Eye hath not seen its majesty,
    Nor heart conceived its priceless worth, -
Talk not of crystal, gems, or gold,
    Or towers that flame in changeless light,
Imagination, weak and cold,
    Faints far below the unmeasured height!
And through its open doors for aye,
    As ages after ages glide,
Without a moment's pause or stay,
    Flows grandly in the living tide -
Brothers, redeemed ones, pressing home
    From every clime, from every shore,
Beneath that fair celestial dome
    Meet to be parted nevermore!


II.

Somewhere, I know, there waits for ...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto The Hills.

I am pale with sick desire,
For my heart is far away
From this world's fitful fire
And this world's waning day;
In a dream it overleaps
A world of tedious ills
To where the sunshine sleeps
On the everlasting hills. -
Say the Saints: There Angels ease us
Glorified and white.
They say: We rest in Jesus,
Where is not day or night.

My soul saith: I have sought
For a home that is not gained,
I have spent yet nothing bought,
Have laboured but not attained;
My pride strove to mount and grow,
And hath but dwindled down;
My love sought love, and lo!
Hath not attained its crown. -
Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us,
None languish or recede.
They say: We love our Jesus,
And He loves us indeed.

I cannot rise above,<...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

The Refiner's Gold.

He stood before my heart's closed door,
    And asked to enter in;
But I had barred the passage o'er
    By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands,
    To set my spirit free;
With wounded feet he trod a path
    To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold,
    The fire of love had tried,
And garments whitened by his blood,
    My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes,
    Its glamour was too bright.
He came with ointment in his hands
    To heal my darkened sight.


He knew my heart was tempest-tossed,
    By care and pain oppressed;
He whispered to my burdened heart,
    Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn,
    On barren moun...

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For My Niece Angeline.

In the morning of life, when all things appear bright,
And far in the distance the shadows of night,
With kind parents still spared thee, and health to enjoy,
What period more fitting thy powers to employ
In the service of him, who his own life has given
To procure thee a crown and a mansion in Heaven.
As a dream that is gone at the breaking of day,
And a tale that's soon told, so our years pass away.
"Then count that day lost, whose low setting sun
Can see from thy hand no worthy act done."
Midst the roses of life many thorns thou wilt find,
"But the cloud that is darkest, with silver is lined."
As the children of Israel were led on their way
By the bright cloud at night, and the dark cloud by day,
So the Christian is led through the straight narrow road
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The Over-Heart

Above, below, in sky and sod,
In leaf and spar, in star and man,
Well might the wise Athenian scan
The geometric signs of God,
The measured order of His plan.

And India's mystics sang aright
Of the One Life pervading all,
One Being's tidal rise and fall
In soul and form, in sound and sight,
Eternal outflow and recall.

God is: and man in guilt and fear
The central fact of Nature owns;
Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones,
And darkly dreams the ghastly smear
Of blood appeases and atones.

Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within
The human heart the secret lies
Of all the hideous deities;
And, painted on a ground of sin,
The fabled gods of torment rise!

And what is He? The ripe grain nods,
The sweet dews fall, the swe...

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