Poem July 24, 1954 Issue

"BEHOLD, THE BRIDEGROOM COMETH"

Douglas Roberts

Always at midnight
We may hear the cry,
"He comes."
We trim our lamps,
Whose sacred flame
In pure devotion burns,
And look upon his face.

O blessed One,
We waited not in vain:
We feel thy peace
In silence and in love,
And we are healed.
Then through the night
With thee we walk
With lighted lamps,
Rejoicing on our way,
Until we reach the light
Of God's eternal day.

Douglas Roberts

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