Poem October 6, 1945 Issue

"So shall my word be"

MARCIA E. TURNER

Far in the whispering woodland deeply laid
After the winter bleakness melts in spring
And bitter nights surrender to the day—
Faint on the south wind now I hear a note
Of tiny waterfall, born of the snow
That 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 root
Or 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, now
The stream pursues its way with ceaseless flow
Of living waters. And its blessing brings
A quickening greenness to the fruitful fields,
And promise of a boundless harvest time.

So ever has the Word gone forth to bless
The earth and water it; returning not
But prospering and showing forth God's will
Where He has sent it. Yea, His glorious truth
Now bringeth forth the bud and flower and seed;
That man with bread of Spirit satisfied,
Joyous and whole, shall be led forth with peace.

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October 6, 1945
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