I stood on a mountain-top last night,
And looked through a telescope at the light
Of the sun's bright rays on a crescent moon.
The heavens and earth were in perfect tune.
As I saw the myriad stars in place -
And the planets moving through infinite space,
Guided unerringly by the Hand
That fashioned this wonderful, beautiful land.
I stood in a garden, washed with dew,
And studied the flowers of every hue, -
Each tiny flower an upturned face,
Seeking - reflecting - His wondrous grace.
I visited temples of every creed,
And found that our Father was there indeed.
In the early Missions, now crumbling away
There is something within that cannot decay:
The spirit of Him who died on the cross,
Counting all else but God's kingdom dross.
I saw an old woman, bed-ridden with pain,
Who knows she will never stand up again;
But there was a glory in her worn face,
As she opened her Bible to that loved place:
"For God so loved... that he gave His son,
That who so believeth hath eternal life won."
I looked in the heart of a dear little child,
And found God's love, planted there, undefiled.
Then out of my heart came a song and a prayer.
"Oh, wonderful God, you are everywhere."
I am sorry not to write a column this week. This is the poem I wrote for the Juniors this week. But it has been "old home week" - Bertha Hobaugh Dill, Clair Snyder, and Miss Mary Jenkins, formerly of Saltsburg - and the column just could not get written. But I'll tell you about them next week.
Hastily, but sincerely,
Florence B. Taylor,
3904 Ave. F. - Austin, Texas (after March 13)
Next - 3/16/1944 - Knox's Home. Visit with former student
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