We Must Believe

"Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief."


We must believe -
Being from birth endowed with love and trust -
Born unto loving; - and how simply just
That love - that faith! - even in the blossom-face
The babe drops dreamward in its resting-place,
Intuitively conscious of the sure
Awakening to rapture ever pure
And sweet and saintly as the mother's own,
Or the awed father's, as his arms are thrown
O'er wife and child, to round about them weave
And wind and bind them as one harvest-sheaf
Of love - to cleave to, and forever cleave....
        Lord, I believe:
            Help Thou mine unbelief.

We must believe -
Impelled since infancy to seek some clear
Fulfillment, still withheld all seekers here; -
For never have we seen perfection nor
The glory we are ever seeking for:
But we have seen - all mortal souls as one -
Have seen its promise, in the morning sun -
Its blest assurance, in the stars of night; -
The ever-dawning of the dark to light; -
The tears down-falling from all eyes that grieve -
The eyes uplifting from all deeps of grief,
Yearning for what at last we shall receive....
        Lord, I believe:
            Help Thou mine unbelief.

We must believe -
For still all unappeased our hunger goes,
From life's first waking, to its last repose:
The briefest life of any babe, or man
Outwearing even the allotted span,
Is each a life unfinished - incomplete:
For these, then, of th' outworn, or unworn feet
Denied one toddling step - O there must be
Some fair, green, flowery pathway endlessly
Winding through lands Elysian! Lord, receive
And lead each as Thine Own Child - even the Chief
Of us who didst Immortal life achieve....
        Lord, I believe:
        Help Thou mine unbelief.

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

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English

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Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale,
O man of God! our hope and faith
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In vain to this dread Unconcern
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        1.

        SO shall abundant entrance me be given
        Into the truth, my life's inheritance.
        Lo! as the sun shoots straight from out his tomb,
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        Into the corners of his endless room,
        So, through the rent which thou, O Christ, hast riven,
        I enter liberty's divine expanse.

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        It will be so--ah, so it is not now!
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Unbelief

Your chosen grasp the torch of faith--the key
Of very certainty is theirs to hold.
They read Your word in messages of gold.
Lord, what of us who have no light to see
And in the darkness doubt, whose hands may be
Broken upon the door, who find but cold
Ashes of words where others see enscrolled,
The glorious promise of Life's victory.

Oh, well for those to whom You gave the light
(The light we may not see by) whose award
Is that sure key--that message luminous,
Yet we, your people stumbling in the night,
Doubting and dumb and disbelieving--Lord,
Is there no word for us--no word for us?

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My Faith

My faith is rooted in no written creed;
And there are those who call me heretic;
Yet year on year, though I be well or sick
Or opulent, or in the slough of need,
If, light of foot, fair Life trips by me pleasuring,
Or, by the rule of pain, old Time stands measuring
The dull, drab moments - still ascends my cry:
'God reigns on high!
He doeth all things well!'

Not much I prize, or one, or any brand
Of theologic lore; nor think too well
Of generally accepted heaven and hell.
But faith and knowledge build at Love's command
A beauteous heaven; a heaven of thought all clarified
Of hate and fear and doubt; a heaven of rarefied
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My faith refuses to accept the...

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The Sermon Of The Rose

Wilful we are in our infirmity
Of childish questioning and discontent.
Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant -
Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery!
Make us to meet what is or is to be
With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent
To serve us in some way full excellent,
Though we discern it all belatedly.
The rose buds, and the rose blooms and the rose
Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo,
Is in the lover's hand, - then on the breast
Of her he loves, - and there dies. - And who knows
Which fate of all a rose may undergo
Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest?

Nay, we are children: we will not mature.
A blessed gift must seem a theft; and tears
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The Eternal Goodness

O Friends! with whom my feet have trod
The quiet aisles of prayer,
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I trace your lines of argument;
Your logic linked and strong
I weigh as one who dreads dissent,
And fears a doubt as wrong.

But still my human hands are weak
To hold your iron creeds:
Against the words ye bid me speak
My heart within me pleads.

Who fathoms the Eternal Thought?
Who talks of scheme and plan?
The Lord is God! He needeth not
The poor device of man.

I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground
Ye tread with boldness shod;
I dare not fix with mete and bound
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Ye praise His justice; even such
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