PS 3537 .T183 T5 1920 Copy 1 iHERE IS NO NIGHT BY IRA EDMUND STANFORD THERE IS NO NIGHT AND OTHER VERSE Written and Assembled by IRA EDMUND STANFORD Author of "Wayside Gleanings," "Service," "A Royal Success," "Texts," "Democracy," etc. DENRJCM 3 Copyright 1920 by Ira Edmund Stanford APR -9 1920 C1A567706 J- THERE IS NO NIGHT 33 INTERROGATION OK! dust of eartK! ToucKed by tke leven WKicK was and is: TKe Word in heaven, Whence art thou? Lo! Whither dost thou feo? Behold! The Father in the son Promise and pledge fulfilled in one. A PILGRIM COMMITMENT Throu^K tKe panoramic vicissitudes and asso- ciations of a Kalf century, seeing, hearing, touching, and tasting, tKe real things that constitute a human life, I have studied and observed with keenest scrutiny, from hovel and hut, from classroom, prison, and mart, the desires, ambitions, achieve- ments and destinies of men. Having elbowed with those tossed on billows of adversity — g,ored by the horns of disappoint- ment in both affection and finance — yea, having been permitted to ^rasp the hand and stay the thought of some standing on the very pinnacle of despair imploring the bodkin or other a|,ent of the unknown and meanwhile having, sought diligently for the well spring — probed for the secret touch, the "modus operandi" of building, ^reat character; I have an incurable pursuasion that every man under normal dome is born with a faculty (latent or ignored) which possesses him THERE IS NO NIGHT witK an innate ability not only to recognize but to pass judg,ment upon all acts of rig,ht and wron^ as pertains to his own character. If he "will follow w^ith unfaltering alacrity the dictations from within, not allowing himself to become dwarfed, biased, or pi^mied by strained commercialism, false teaching, and evil association, he will, regardless of place, color, or condition, countersu^g,estion or whatsoever, ultimately pass judgement on his ow^n acts — determine his ow^n destiny, and attain unto perfect happiness and abiding, peace. It is my further conviction that if every man were scrupulously honest and box-toed with himself — ^oing, forth to bailiff with all alacrity every minute verdict of his internal court^ — the heart, eg,o, eclesia, mind, or will, the most coveted ^oal, the wildest ambition, and highest ideals would become immediate realities. Straightway universal justice would prevail, and the Utopian a^e would be transformed from the misty, in- tangible, far-off dream into a glorious, opulent present reality. THERE IS NO NIGHT To all who are passing throug,K trials of priva- tion, discouragements, anxiety, disappointments, agonies with lin^erin^ doubts and na^^in^ fears — you have an anchor which is sure and steadfast within you. It (the truth) shall be in you a well of water springing, up unto everlasting life. Thus anchored, we shall possess the grandeur of inde- pendent integrity, the sublimest thing, in all nature. Now, to all such and to the many friends who have desired a copy of "There Is no Ni^ht" after much thoug,ht mingled with serious meditation, I affectionately submit this little booklet with the full hope that you — studying to show yourself approved unto ^ood, may learn the secret of happiness in service, g,rasp the author's interpre- tation of living, truth and behold your li^ht. Most sincerely committed, IRA EDMUND STANFORD. THERE IS NO NIGHT Old! Growing old! Aye, can it be? Man not born for eternity? Dons he tKe cradle labeled old To swiftly pass like tales he's told, Doth bended form, do tresses ^ray Bespeak thee more than closing day? Yon orb of li^ht doth steal away To but clothe vales in vestures ^ray. Think you the tints on crests between Can rob one whit of splendent sheen? Not sobs, nor tears, nor any plight Can stay his irresistless flight. Lon^ shadows fall from cotta|,e old, Blank ni^ht creeps on. Blank? I behold In fancy wild, the frizzled shrouds THERE IS NO NIGHT WKicK wrap the clay of myriad crowds, I scan tKe bier, tKat reckoned spouse Of all wKo 'proach the narrow house. The wailing wind brings woeful tone That chills the marrow in my bone. Doth coy man tread the mystic deep Whence strangely soon there's none to w^eep? What! One step bare and one that's shod, Then fold our mantles 'neath the sod? Strange sounds are heard at dead of nig,ht When some lone soul is taking flight. I list once more, I strain my sig,ht. To hear no voice and catch no li^ht. It stays my thoughts, they trouble so, Those horrid doubts of lon^ a^o. A grassy knoll, prepared place For faith and zeal in such a race? A home like that, down twixt the pines THERE IS NO NIGHT Its walls bedecked with moss and vines? Think you Omnicience ever could Forsake the thin^ he once called ^ood? Justice defies the demon's thrust That men, like worms, return to dust. I reaffirm; it must be ri^ht. That unto man THERE IS NO NIGHT. That awful thoug,ht o'er whelms my brain 'Til body rent and racked with pain Upstarts as from its wanton dreams To hail once more, perchance what seems A fiery arm; a missile clasped With which to break this monster's ^rasp 'Tw^as vapored spray across the deep, A meteor had ^one to sleep. Once more, in darkness all alone, I felt within, the spirit's ^roan. And spectres jeered in boisterous ^lee "Lost is your opportunity." THERE IS NO NIGHT BeneatK the damp and cKill of death I gasped and g,asped for one more breath, By which to hurl the arch foe fear With "Would to God my Lord were here." Though pulses fail, my throat would fill, I whisper yet, "Thy will! Thy will! I am thy child, for aye shall be. To such there's no extremity, Throug,h faith and love Thy face I'd see, E'en though 'twere through Gethsemane!" A sheen of li^ht o'ercasts my bed, A voice speaks, "Hush! He is not dead. This one ^reat truth believe — aye, know. Because I live, ye live also. I am of truth Thy life. Thy breath, Believe in me. Ne'er taste of death." I leap upright, dazed in the ^low, I hide my face and bend me low. A voice within, so firm yet sweet, THERE IS NO NIGHT TKis wondrous message dotK repeat. "TKere's one ^reat trutk I needs must brin^, It is the edict from tKy Kin^." Wrin^ not tKy hands, spurn idle tears, In retrospect of misspent years, Where lack of zeal has failed to show To faltering men the God you know. Arise and do, where man hath trod. The things I bid for, I am God. I am in you and you in me We twain are one eternally. This doth thy God require of thee, Live truth for all humanity." This mandate heed, the voice obey. Then serve with Him through endless day. Why sorrowing ^rope thou thy way? The darkest hour lies nearest day. When shadows fall and cables strain. Through ^rievin^ loss or crucial pain. THERE IS NO NIGHT We're want to hold unwitting plaint, Toward Him who g,uides, though oft restraint Be Wisdom's way to brin^ about The ^ood of man from inside out. Should I bechide "It's God's own way Permitting ni^ht to follow day?" Strong dwells the God of Love in thee To lead and shape thy destiny. The voice within thou shalt obey, With him is life, the truth, the way, His star appears. The truth is born, That darkened men may reach the morn. The sun is risen! There is no ni^ht. Brother, fear-tossed, behold thy li^ht. THERE IS NO NIGHT REFINING To everyone in life TKere comes some testing time, A day to try the soul As ne'er before; When character rises To heights sublime, Or failing, it falls Perchance to rise no more. THERE IS NO NIGHT MY CARPENTER I know we are building As we journey alon^ by the way; Each thoug,ht is a nail driven In timbers that cannot decay. At last when we've finished Be it loathsome, majestic, or ^ay It shall be returned to us Just as we willed and built it today. A PILGRIM'S CAMP •AN EXECUTIVE ODE Wliere justice reigns in any fi^Kt, Whatever is is always ri^ht. Staid He tKe Kand that would defeat To cast the world now at thy feet? Dear chosen voice, whate'er betide, A loyal host is at thy side. No North, no South, no East, no West, You are our country's barred breast With sword unsheathed as her behest To aveng,e the wrongs of God's oppressed. Since justice now is our delight, Whatever is, is always rig,ht. The blood this awful scourge has shed * Dedicated and addressed to the Chief Executive of the United States of America on March tenth, nineteen seventeen at the close of one of the keenest political campaig,ns in a half century and at a time when war clouds bulked ominous and the roar of cannon and shell were continental. AN EXECUTIVE ODE Cries for revenue from cursed dead. The Oppressor's clan now hides its face Throug,h consciousness, needless disgrace. Great God who doth the worlds command Be thou Columbia's brain and hand. Unto her sons wisdom ordain Let Justice now thy people rei^n That awful scourge of shot and shell Be cast with all into its hell. Let Peace with ri^ht come on apace 'Till it shall compass every race. And then, Oh God of love and li^ht, Where your Son shines there is no nig,ht. When Justice wields the sword of mig,ht, Whatever is, is always Ri^ht. ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 393 712 1 ^