Sonnet:
The quiet hill where late the Master stood,
Receives the cloud that takes Him from their sight;
Yet, looking up, they see the blossoming wood,
And dawn where they had feared the falling night.
No longer cowering in a locked, dim room,
But loosed like tongues of Pentecostal flame,
They burst the borders of the ancient tomb,
To speak the power of a saving Name.
Receives the cloud that takes Him from their sight;
Yet, looking up, they see the blossoming wood,
And dawn where they had feared the falling night.
No longer cowering in a locked, dim room,
But loosed like tongues of Pentecostal flame,
They burst the borders of the ancient tomb,
To speak the power of a saving Name.
From Judah’s streets to distant, winding shores,
Through paths untrod and empires cold and vast,
They break the bread and open wide the doors,
Redeeming all the sorrows of the past.
The seed is sown, the joyful sound takes wing;
Across the globe, ten thousand voices sing.
Through paths untrod and empires cold and vast,
They break the bread and open wide the doors,
Redeeming all the sorrows of the past.
The seed is sown, the joyful sound takes wing;
Across the globe, ten thousand voices sing.
.jpg)
