Poem December 1, 1945 Issue

His Holy Purpose

OCTAVIA BEATRICE WYNBUSH

Like to the lovely, fragrant flower
That furls its splendor till the sun
Has brought to pass the appointed hour
When its fair petals, one by one,

In radiant splendor lie unrolled
For eyes that will their beauty see,
God's holy purposes unfold
Throughout a vast eternity.

To him who looks through mists of tears
The bloom no beauty has; its line
Of grace obscured by human fears,
Mortals see not its pure design.

But he who waits in stillness knows
God will a perfect whole display
When the last petal shall unclose
His plan in Truth's resplendent day.

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