Evening Star

Let the world rock on, its turmoil never ceasing,
If we may have that one bright ray of heaven-inspired light,
If beauty and tranquility our pent-up tears releasing
The everlasting wonder of that first white star of night.

Like a symphony of the masters, timidly transcendent,
In the afterglow of sunset, softly, bravely glowing;
Then, encouraged by increasing darkness, coming forth resplendent,
The benediction of the Lord on all below bestowing.

January 25, 1942

To My Husband

At times you are weary
And heartsick all through
From failures and worries
That life has dealt you.

Just then, may I be
Understanding and strong,
To encourage and comfort,
To teach you a song.

So you are to me
When I am perplexed
And don’t seem to care
What Life hands me next.

Your arms are my home;
Your heart is my shrine.
Let me stay there forever,
Oh, husband of mine.

June 18, 1939

Busy Day

All day I hoe or dig or rake
Or sweep or dust or sew
Or wash my clothes or iron or bake
Or watch the garden grow,

Until by night I realize
That work, although required,
Must be a blessing in disguise:
I’m so pleasurably tired.

June 9, 1940

Willow Tree

A willow tree against the sky,
Swaying gracefully,
Nodding dreamily,
Possesses beauty not of earth–
Drooping mournfully,
Dancing mirthfully
To unheard music from above.
I gaze prayerfully,
Almost tearfully,
At something meant for wiser eyes–
For who am I–
Mere sinful mortal–
To look on loveliness divine?

June 4, 1939

My Haven

There’s a beautiful room in my head
Where I keep all the nice things you say,
Each wrapped in the tissue of memory
And put securely away.

Then when you speak words in anger,
I close and lock the small door,
And the words leave no more impression
Than one wave on a rocky shore.

January 27, 1940

Remember Mother

Have you always worn a red rose
On your coat or on your dress?
If you have, then you are lucky,
Just how lucky you can’t guess.

For you’ll never know until she’s gone
Just how much she meant to you.
You will never find a love
So unquestioningly true.

Don’t wait until a white rose
You must wear on Mother’s Day.
Show her your appreciation
While on earth God lets her stay.

May 14, 1939

Housewife’s Lament

Dishes to wash, floors to sweep,
When I would so much rather keep
A rendezvous with an ivy vine
Out in the golden spring sunshine.

Mocking bird on lofty bough
Calls to me–just hear him now!
But here am I, still dusting chairs
And sweeping cobwebs from the stairs.

Oh, to be as free and gay–
‘Specially on an April day–
As a rippling mountain rill
Or the wildflowers on the hill!

May 7, 1939