Poem March 10, 1962 Issue

THE HEIR

Doris Peel

The Father has given to the son
not sober suit, not uniform,
but a many-colored coat
all fresh, all gay.

What is relinquished is the gray
sackcloth stuff: the orphan's shift,
the widow's veil, the livery
so dark and stained of servitude and prisonment.
These we are stripped of, every one
by His command, and given instead
this multi-hued,

this princely thing, no thread left out
of its design, so rich it is
from hem to hem, so lustrous full.
But first, at start—

all beggar-rags must be unclutched;
all prison-garb and mourning-dress
be shaken off; even the vestment
(hardest to give up)

of merge in monotone-of-mass,
must go, must go. Then, this done—
O look! O see! How we appear
this very hour

as what from the outset we have been
in His bright sight! The immortal son!
The acknowledged heir! Honored, endowed,
caparisoned in total radiancy of light.

Doris Peel

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Let Love In
March 10, 1962
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