Evelyn Underhill

Feast of Evelyn Underhill, Mystical Writer, 1941 Anyone can lead a "prayer-life" -- that is, the sort of read more

Feast of Evelyn Underhill, Mystical Writer, 1941 Anyone can lead a "prayer-life" -- that is, the sort of reasonable devotional life to which each is called by God. This only involves making a suitable rule and making up your mind to keep it however boring this may be.

Feast of Evelyn Underhill, Mystical Writer, 1941 Formal prayer is a practical device, not a spiritual necessity. It read more

Feast of Evelyn Underhill, Mystical Writer, 1941 Formal prayer is a practical device, not a spiritual necessity. It makes direct suggestions to our souls: it reminds us of realities which we always tend to forget.

Commemoration of Martyrs of Papua New Guinea, 1942 Love... makes the whole difference between an execution and a read more

Commemoration of Martyrs of Papua New Guinea, 1942 Love... makes the whole difference between an execution and a martyrdom.

When we look out towards this love that moves the stars and stirs in the child's heart and claims our read more

When we look out towards this love that moves the stars and stirs in the child's heart and claims our total allegiance, and remember that this alone is Reality and we are only real so far as we conform to its demands, we see our human situation from a fresh angle; and we perceive that it is both more humble and dependent, and more splendid, than we had dreamed. We are surrounded and penetrated by great spiritual forces of which we hardly know anything. Yet the outward events of our life cannot be understood, except in their relation to that unseen and intensely living world, the Infinite Charity which penetrates and supports us, the God whom we resist and yet for whom we thirst; who is ever at work, transforming the self-centred desire of the natural creature into the wide spreading, outpouring love of the citizen of Heaven.

Feast of Philip & James, Apostles I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Not borne on read more

Feast of Philip & James, Apostles I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Not borne on morning wings Of majesty, but I have set My Feet Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod. There do I dwell, in weakness and in power; Not broken or divided, saith our God! In your strait garden plot I come to flowers About your porch My Vine, Meek, fruitful, doth entwine; Waits, at the threshold, Love's appointed hour. I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Yea! on the glancing wings Of eager birds, the softly pattering feet Of furred and gentle beasts, I come to meet Your hear and wayward heart. In brown bright eyes That peep from out the brake, I stand confest. On every nest Where feathery Patience is content to brood And leaves her pleasure for the high emprize Of motherhood -- There doth My Godhead rest. I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: My starry wings I do forsake, Love's highway of humility to take: Meekly I fit my stature to your need. In beggar's part About your gates I shall not cease to plead -- As man, to speak with man -- Till by such art I shall achieve My Immemorial Plan, Pass the low lintel of the human heart.