| Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. (Song of Sol. 2:11‑13) |
And someday, while she pores upon His Word,
And smiles through tears to think how His great love
Has dowered her with riches while she waits,
His voice will call her from the clouds above
And she will spring to meet Him, and forget
How long He tarried in the heavenly place,
In that deep rapture of fulfilled desire,
When she shall dwell with Him and see His face. |
