Poem June 27, 1931 Issue

"There is lifting up"

MINNY M. H. AYERS

She made her way amidst the Sabbath crowd
That thronged the temple—weary, crushed, and bowed;
A toilsome climb she'd had o'er steep, rough road,
Yet now in pain-dimmed eyes a glad hope glowed:
To-day she was to see him—Son of God!
What mattered all the rugged road she'd trod?
What mattered years, full eighteen burdened years
Of bended form, of bitterness and tears!
What mattered all? Her heart could now but sing—
She was to see him—Israel's hope! the King!
She could in no wise lift herself—it mattered not—
Her thought was lifted, thus was self forgot.

He came—he touched her with his tender hands;
The Christ-compassion loosed her cruel bands.
She could not lift herself, nay, but she sought
The one whose vision healed her lifted thought.

Dear God, may those who seek Thy throne to-day,
Bowed down by burdening sense-dreams as they pray,
Rise up exalted, loosing self to see
The vision of Thy son reflecting Thee.

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