Poem April 11, 1953 Issue

THE MASTER AT NAIN

Helen Robertson Whitehead

Father of us all,
Unfold Thy joy and power that they prevail!

Much people of the city walked with her.
The frame whereon her only son lay dead
Rested now beyond the final gate.
The widow turned as though a light had shone
Across the darkened way and saw him stand
Somewhat apart from those his chosen twelve.
The voice held soft rebuke, "Woman, weep not."
He came and touched the bier with gentle hand
And lo, the death weight left her burdened soul;
Peace unutterable remained instead.
then words rang clear, "Young man, I say arise."
She noted those that followed had stepped back,
And where the gloom had been, now all was light.
He they thought was dead sat up and spoke—
Stood forth aware of inner joy and power.
Praise beyond the gift of moving lips
The mother gave for this clear proof of Love,
For death had vanished by the law of Life!

Helen Robertson Whitehead

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