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

No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.

The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

Nothing before, nothing behind; The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The Rock beneath.

I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.

Through the open door A drowsy smell of flowers -grey heliotrope And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette Comes fairly in, and silent chorus leads To the pervading symphony of Peace.