Poem October 6, 1945 ISSUE

"So shall my word be"

MARCIA E. TURNER

Far in the whispering woodland deeply laidAfter the winter bleakness melts in springAnd bitter nights surrender to the day—Faint on the south wind now I hear a noteOf tiny waterfall, born of the snowThat winter heaped within the glen; and now,Released from binding travail by the sun,Leaps down the rocks in shining crystal spray;To eye, a rivulet so frail that rootOr rock might turn it from its certain way;Yet, gathering breadth of grace and depth of might,Resistless, gladsome, singing, it glides on.And touching thirsty wood and meadow, nowThe stream pursues its way with ceaseless flowOf living waters. And its blessing bringsA quickening greenness to the fruitful fields,And promise of a boundless harvest time.

So ever has the Word gone forth to blessThe earth and water it; returning notBut prospering and showing forth God's willWhere He has sent it. Yea, His glorious truthNow bringeth forth the bud and flower and seed;That man with bread of Spirit satisfied,Joyous and whole, shall be led forth with peace.

Send a comment to the editors
NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
Signs of the Times
October 6, 1945
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit