Poem May 21, 1955 Issue

EXPECTANCY

Dorothea Sturdivant Fagan

Sweep well thy hearth!
Let no dead ashes of an unreal past
Be scattered there.
Set right thine house—
Until each shining room
Reflects thy care.
Prepare a place.
Let thy receptive, prayerful heart
Wait patiently—
And listen for the voice of Truth divine
To speak to thee.

Then to thy door,
Bringing sweet inspiration, healing,
Heavenly rest,
Cometh an angel thought from God—
Cometh thy guest!

Dorothea Sturdivant Fagan

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