Without God's Presence by Lois Mathilda Buck

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · May 16, 1907

Without God's Presence

By Lois Mathilda Buck

I AM a broken flower, That hangs its bruised and drooping head Upon its stem. The dews at morn That filled its fragrant cup are shed Upon the ground. E'en so forlorn I am without thee, God.

I am a dying bird, That beats its fluttering wings to mount Once more into the sparkling sky: Its strained, white pinions yet but count Their strokes upon the dust. I die E'en so with thee withdrawn.

I am the low night wind— That blowing through the cedars wakes In them a voice to mourn with sighs For Lebanon, their home, where breaks The dawn from Jehovah's watching eyes— When thou from me art gone.

I am a mountain stream— That frets its breast against the rocks, And tears to foam its wounded sides To find the ocean where there rocks The fulness of the silent tides— When thou art far, O God! — Lois Mathilda Buck.