"The desert shall ... blossom as the rose"

MARY C. CAMPBELL

The desert plain seemed arid, void of life;
No flower or fruit was seen, no beast or bird;
Within its scorching waste, nor man, nor maid,
No sound of rippling waters to be heard.

The wanderer lowly bows in humble prayer:
This aching void with love, O Father, fill;
Enrich my empty life and vision give;
All-Father mine, let me but love Thee still.

The sun goes down, the weary wanderer rests
Upon his cheerless couch of rock and stone—
Exhausted sleeps; a silence deep prevails;
In distant eastern sky gleams one star lone.

He dreams, and lo! the desert air is filled
With strains of music far and faint and clear;
A sparkling fountain plies beneath his feet,
And lilies bloom where all was dark and drear.

He hears the voice of Truth in accents clear,
He feels the touch of omnipresent Love,
He sees a light ne'er seen in earth or sky,
He knows the peace, the Spirit's holy dove.

The vision fades; in eastern sky the dawn
Is slowly breaking in a fire of white;
Rising, the wanderer views the desert dim,
The shadows flee before the dawning light.

Waking he cries, O Love I know Thee here,
I know Thy nature now, most blessed One;
Abysmal night gives place to Thine own day,
And as I love I ne'er can be alone.

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Pacific Coast Sanatorium

March 22, 1930

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