Poem October 1, 1938 Issue

Thy Wilderness Shall Joyful Be

BERTHA RIVERS-THOMPSON

Wide spaces of a distant land forlorn,
Dim in the world's gray morn,
Darkness without a star, without a light,
Nor shade, nor shelter, in the scorching sun
Of midday heat—and when the day is done
Loneliness, fear, and doubt come with the night!
And yet, the seer of old
In shining words foretold,
The wilderness shall blossom as the rose,
Joy in the solitary place shall be—
Instead of thorns shall grow the myrtle tree—
And shadow of a rock for your repose.

In every wilderness a burning bush shall be
Truth's flame for all to see.
Out of this flame God spake, and speaks again:
The place whereon thou stand'st is holy ground.
For omnipresent good is all around.
Mind was, and is, and evermore shall reign.
O weary heart that in the wilderness
From grief finds no redress,
There, where thou art, Love's care encircles thee.
Warfare and strife, darkness of mortal mind,
No place in all God's universe can find.
Behold, thy wilderness shall joyful be!

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