GIVE WAY!
Shall we not open the human heart,
Swing the doors till the hinges start;
Stop our worrying doubt and din,
Hunting heaven and dodging sin?
There is no need to search so wide,
Open the door and stand aside—
Let God in!
Shall we not open the human heart
To loving labor in field and mart;
Working together for all about,
The glad, large labor that knows not doubt?
Can He be held in our narrow rim?
Do the work that is work for Him—
Let God out!
Shall we not open the human heart,
Never to close and stand apart?
God is a force to give way to!
God is a thing you have to do!
God can never be caught by prayer,
Hid in your heart and fastened there—
Let God through!
THANKSGIVING HYMN.
FOR CALIFORNIA.
Our forefathers gave thanks to God,
In the land by the stormy sea,
For bread hard wrung from the iron sod
In cold and misery.
Though every day meant toil and strife,
In the land by the stormy sea,
They thanked their God for the gift of life—
How much the more should we!
Stern frost had they full many a day,
Strong ice on the stormy sea,
Long months of snow, gray clouds hung low,
And a cold wind endlessly;
Winter, and war with an alien race—
But they were alive and free!
And they thanked their God for his good grace—
How much the more should we!
For we have a land all sunny with gold,—
A land by the summer sea;
Gold in the earth for our hands to hold,
Gold in blossom and tree;
Comfort, and plenty, and beauty, and peace,
From the mountains down to the sea.
They thanked their God for a year’s increase—
How much the more should we!
CHRISTMAS CAROL.
FOR LOS ANGELES.
On the beautiful birthday of Jesus,
While the nations praising stand,
He goeth from city to city,
He walketh from land to land.
And the snow lies white and heavy,
And the ice lies wide and wan,
But the love of the blessed Christmas
Melts even the heart of man.
With love from the heart of Heaven,
In the power of his Holy Name,
To the City of the Queen of the Angels
The tender Christ-child came.
The land blushed red with roses,
The land laughed glad with grain,
And the little hills smiled softly
In the freshness after rain.
Land of the fig and olive!
Land of the fruitful vine!
His heart grew soft within him,
As he thought of Palestine,—
Of the brooks with the banks of lilies,
Of the little doves of clay,
And of how he sat with his mother
At the end of a summer’s day,
His head on his mother’s bosom,
His hand in his mother’s hand,
Watching the golden sun go down
Across the shadowy land,—
A moment’s life with human kind;
A moment,—nothing more;
Eternity lies broad behind,
Eternity before.
High on the Hills of Heaven,
Majestic, undefiled,
Forever and ever he lives, a God;
But once he lived, a Child!
And the child-heart leaps within him,
And the child-eyes softer grow,
When the land lies bright and sunny,
Like the land of long ago;
And the love of God is mingled
With the love of dear days gone,
When he comes to the city of his mother,
On the day her child was born!