Songs out of Doors by Van Dyke, Henry, 1852-1933

Surely the Lord guideth them every one in his wisdom, In the end he gathereth all their drops on high, And sendeth them forth again in the clouds of mercy.

O my God, my life floweth away like a river: Guide me, I beseech thee, in a pathway of good: Let me run in blessing to my rest in thee.

THE GLORY OF RUINS

The lizard rested on the rock while I sat among the ruins, And the pride of man was like a vision of the night.

Lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness, The ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work.

There is nothing left of the city but a heap of fragments; The bones of a vessel broken by the storm.

Behold the waves of the desert wait hungrily for man's dwellings, And the tides of desolation return upon his toil.

All that he hath painfully built up is shaken down in a moment, The memory of his glory is buried beneath the billows of sand.

Then a voice said, Look again upon the ruins, These broken arches have taught generations to build.

Moreover the name of this city shall be remembered, For here a poor man spoke a word that shall not die.

This is the glory that is stronger than the desert; God hath given eternity to the thought of man.

THE TRIBE OF THE HELPERS

The ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil; I will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace.

He that turneth from the road to rescue another, Turneth toward his goal: He shall arrive in time by the foot-path of mercy, God will be his guide.

He that taketh up the burden of the fainting, Lighteneth his own load: The Almighty will put his arms underneath him, He shall lean upon the Lord.

He that speaketh comfortable words to mourners, Healeth his own hurt; In the time of grief they will come to his remembrance. God will use them for balm.

He that careth for a wounded brother, Watcheth not alone: There are three in the darkness together, And the third is the Lord.

Blessed is the way of the helpers, The companions of the Christ.

GOOD TEACHER

The Lord is my teacher, I shall not lose the way.

He leadeth me in the lowly path of learning, He prepareth a lesson for me every day; He bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction, Little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth.

The world is a great book that he hath written, He turneth the leaves for me slowly; They are inscribed with images and letters, He poureth light on the pictures and the words.

He taketh me by the hand to the hill-top of vision, And my soul is glad when I perceive his meaning; In the valley also he walketh beside me, In the dark places he whispereth to my heart.

Even though my lesson be hard it is not hopeless, For the Lord is patient with his slow scholar; He will wait awhile for my weakness, And help me to read the truth through tears.

THE CAMP-FIRES OF MY FRIEND

Thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, O God, Beneath thy blue canopy I have found shelter, Therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest.