"My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me,
I may but choose the colours,
He worketh steadily,
Full of the weaveth sorrow,
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
Love and Hate
Tempest of calm,
A symbol of the Love-
Child and Mother,
Neither could be without the other.
If love and hate, dear Lord, so closely be entwined,
How shall we tell 'twixt love and hate, when judgement is so blind?
When words of solace to our hearts
(that which the mouth has spoken true)
are oft received as vermon darts...
Why does the mind thus misconstrue?
Shall from the ashes of our love,
Emerge the tiger not the dove?
And yet, within the tiger's claws,
Enfolded. Lo, are kitten's paws,
If love and hate the parents be,
Of all the souls activity,
If love and hate be so entwined,
In nuptial bed that all mankind,
Is child of love and child of hate,
And child of thee and child of self.
How shall we tell the loving thought and deed,
from that that is with hatred fraught?
The words we utter from the mouth,
Betray our being and the truth;
Though smoothly silk like viper's skin,
Yet, oh the vermon hid within,
We mean so well and yet the word,
Is from the evil in us stirred;
Only within the silent soul,
May we experience the whole.