Poem August 4, 1951 Issue

THE DOVE

Margery A. Todahl

LIKE to a bird
On lifted wing,
The inspired Word
Soars, glorying,

Horizonless.
The way before
Its progress is
An open door.

On, on, it flies,
While far below
The centuries
Like rivers flow.
The stars grow pale,
The world runs red,
While men assail
The thorn-crowned head.

But the winged Word,
The heavenly dove,
Flies on, unstirred,
And sings above,

Forever free,
Bringing, to bless,
Leaves of the tree
Of righteousness,

Whose healing grace,
From roots unseen,
Through time and space
Springs ever green.

Margery A. Todahl

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Testimony of Healing

Throughout the many years I...

August 4, 1951

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