Reflections by Clara Edna Rosencrans

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Oct 8, 1912

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 39, No. 39.

Reflections

By Clara Edna Rosencrans

By Clara Edna Rosencrans

As I crossed the bridge one morning, In the dusk of the early dawn, E'er the sun had sent his warming rays Athwart the upland lawn, And the damp, cold breath of the frost king Sent a chill to my finger-tips, And the icy touch of his fingers Lay in stiffness on my lips,

The twinkling stars looked downward To the river's unquiet breast, Shining and shimmering darkly, In a sort of weird unrest, With a mocking scintillation, Like some village far away, Or mirage leading the traveler From the beaten track astray.

The radiance was imperfect, The brightness was but cold, And it seemed to my inward vision A wondrous truth to hold. Ah, me! as the Lord looks downward On the tide of the world's unrest, As the stars were mirrored dimly In the river's darkling breast,

Shine we not with as poor a radiance, With as sickly and pale a glow, As the stars that cast their shadows In the Gasconade below? We are but poor reflectors, And we shame our Saviour's love. We are but the pale, cold shadows Of the Star that shines above.

Could the river rest calm and quiet, Like the pool or the wayside well, What a glowing, perfect image Could the cool, clear waters tell! And if we could but be quiet, And let His love shine in To the pool of our lives, so darkened With unrest of sorrow and sin—

Could we pause for one little moment In our turbid onward rush, Could we feel in our inmost being The stillness and the hush— Then we might reflect the image Of the glorious "Morning Star." No broken, imperfect glimmer Would the perfect image mar.

Lord, quiet these restless currents To flow deep, hidden, and still. So shall we reflect Thine image, And do Thy perfect will.

Mountain Grove, Missouri.