I love to hear Your voice; the Words You say
leave residues that sojourn in my heart
of things You thought before all yesterdays,
the loveliest of which You would impart.

I’ve never heard You audibly, nor seen
Your Face which calls to me at evening tide
when lights are dim and we, Your children, dream
of You who bid us come with you abide.

Upon awakening, Your wondrous Light
brings awe of what will be when we shall reach
beyond this earthbound realm, this passing night,
when You’ll forever quell the misty breach.

I long to see the glory of Your Face,
to touch Your hands that bear the scars of nails,
to sing always of Your amazing Grace
and tarry where Your Holy Spirit dwells.

Anne Bryant-Hamon
  August 17, 2001
 

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Poems of Faith|THE WEE POET TREE