What are the benefits of walking with God?

Oh, Wonder of Wonders,

Thou our God, Father and Friend,

Teach us to thank Thee

As we journey on without end

To the great goal, from which

None ever wish to descend

Save to aid and encourage

Each timid and dear mortal friend.

Teach us to help and encourage them all,

That they may advance

When they hear Thy clear call

From high up above,

From the Throne of Pure Love,

Where all is so peaceful, so true,

That naught but happiness

May be possible through the radiant blue.

What are the lessons of walking with God?

Around you go through hill and dale,

Seeking for light and success—

Ahead we go, nor doubt, nor fear,

For we know that Faith and Love are always near

To guide our footsteps, as they will yours

If you will but welcome and unlock the doors

To let them enter and bring the Light

Of understanding in all its might!

Seeds of kindness sown about,

Lend their help the land throughout—

Deeds of valour may not claim

Greater praise nor greater fame

Than the kindly word when timely spoke,

For in itself it hath the power

To free the inner self of heavy yoke

And teach both gentleness and hope.

So strive to find the one in need

And speak to him of gentle Spirit creed.

Quoting God

I choose to re-create myself anew in every single moment. 

I choose to experience the grandest version of the greatest vision ever I had about who I am. 

I have created you, so that you might re-create me. 

This is your holy work. 

This is your greatest joy. 

This is your very reason for being.

Neale Donald Walsh, Conversations with God, Book 3, An Uncommon Dialogue, Chapter 15, page 258, Hodder & Stoughton, 1998

Thy Father's Hand

Oh, soul, I said, thy boding murmurs cease―

Though sorrow bind thee as a funeral pall,

Thy Father's Hand is guiding thee through all,

His Love will bring a true and perfect peace.

―By a Spirit

Eternal life is the gift to all.

I SLEEP not, dear mother, where daisies bloom,
And wild birds warble their hymns of praise;
Where the stars look down through the silent gloom,
And the cypress nods to the passing breeze.

No, no; I am living beyond the tomb,
Where the shadows of time no longer fall,
Where the angel Death has never come,
For eternal life is the gift to all.

Yet I have not left you; I am not dead,
Though a voice is missed from the trio band―

Though tenantless stands my little bed,
And you miss the clasp of Birdie's hand.

I am living and loving and waiting for you
In my beautiful home on the other side,
Where legions of angels, with fond hearts and true,
Are waiting for loved ones to cross the tide.

Through the long, dreary hours of sadness and pain,
When your brow with the tempest of fever was tossed,
Your Birdie was with you; yes, with you again;
Though the world in its blindness says Birdie is lost.

―Spirit) nna Cora Wilson

The prison of a soul!

Though God be good and free be heaven,

No force divine can love compel—

And though the song of sins forgiven

May sound through lowest hell,

The sweet persuasion of His voice

Respects thy sanctity of will.

He giveth day—thou hast thy choice

To walk in darkness still,

As one who, turning from the light,

Watches his own gray shadow fall,

Doubting, upon his path of night,

If there be day at all!

No word of doom may shut thee out,

No wind of wrath may downward whirl,

No swords of fire keep watch about

The open gates of pearl—

A tenderer light than moon or sun,

Than song of earth a sweeter hymn,

May shine and sound forever on,

And thou be deaf and dim.

Forever round the Mercy-seat

The guiding lights of Love shall burn—

But what if, habit-bound, thy feet

Shall lack the will to turn?

What if thine eye refuse to see,

Thine ear of heaven's free welcome fail,

And thou a willing captive be,

Thyself thy own dark jail?

O doom beyond the saddest guess,

As the long years of God unroll

To make thy dreary selfishness

The prison of a soul!

To doubt the love that fain would break

The fetters from thy self-bound limb,

And dream that God can thee forsake

As thou forsakest Him!

—John Greenleaf Whittier