Poem November 3, 1951 Issue

MY FIRST COPY OF THE TEXTBOOK

Mildred Kendall

I read again these pages,
thin and stained,
where tears of repentance fell;
and tears of joy
when all the vast uncharted labor of the years
found chart and compass
here.

Precious first book ... I learned to pray,
and found the gentle presence of the Christ
that took my unbelieving heart
at its first touch
of healing.

And everywhere the book!

Open on window sill above the mundane task;
beside my pillow close to reach
when night grew long.
And in the pocket of my coat—crowded, yes—
but there,
to feel within my grasp,
to hold it fast as now I hold the truth
it has revealed.

First book ...
As though someone touched my arm slightly
and said, "Here." And opened the door
to heaven.

Mildred Kendall

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