Poem August 30, 1947 Issue

THE COMFORTER

Judith Somers Cocks

They thought their friend and Master dead,
And, hungering for him, bereft
Of all they loved, they turned for bread
Back to the trade which they had left.

Yet even here they found no food.
The agonizing night hours passed.
Then, when the morning came, there stood
Upon the shore their Lord, at last.

Before they knew him he was there;
Love had not left that little band.
Oh, may we learn this lesson rare,
And find the Comforter at hand!

God does not take our friends away;
What hides them from us is the night,
And now, once more, night cedes to day,
Grief yields to joy and sense to sight.

Judith Somers Cocks

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THE BRIDAL HOUR
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