Faith

There is a seeing some deny,

But no less real for those of faith

Than the ground beneath one’s feet,

A breath of air, one’s own heartbeat.

 

For I have met Him in the stars,

A lovely phrase, a sprig of moss.

I have found Him in a brook,

A thundering cloud, a caring look

 

On the darkest of dark days,

Even then I’ve sensed Him near;

A touch unseen but no less true,

And From His presence, comfort drew.

 

On the loneliest of nights

He has lavished me with care,

Held my poor heart in His hands

And made me His without demands.

 

In peaceful churches I have knelt

While slanting sun through stained-glass streamed

Upon an altar decked with flowers,

Where by His Word a priest empowered.

 

That sacred hour once more renewed,

“Take and eat; from this cup drink.”

No longer simple bread and wine,

But a blessed Food Divine.

 

His goodness seeks us as we are

And finding sin, eradicates

Fallen nature’s selfish trace,

Leaving virtue in its place.

 

From youngest years I’ve heard His voice

Beckoning with Father-love,

His mercy’s work a soul-deep truth;

What other need have I of proof?

 

M. C. Pehrson