When He Passed By by Helen Adair

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Oct 29, 1914

When He Passed By

By Helen Adair

HELEN ADAIR

As Moses hastened to remove his shoes In holy rev'rence, when the voice of God Called unto him from out the burning bush,

So men, in sudden, silent awe their heads Uncovered, yesternight, before the sky That burned and burned and yet was not consumed.

A voice, the same that startled Horeb's heights, From whom the trembling Moses hid his face, Whispered from out the sky, “I am the God Of Abram, Isaac, Jacob, and of thee.”

The autumn-tinted atmosphere was charged With glory dust, as though the leaves of gold And scarlet, brown and purple, red and green, Had all been mixed together, ground up fine, And each mote kindled with a bit of God's Own light, and then sent out to shine for him.

Like shaded, shimmering banners swung the trees, Darkest at roots, and lightest at the tips; The church spires glowed and flashed, and roofs were bathed In light reflected from the gorgeous screen, On which the earth was thrown in silhouette.

The lawns 'neath changeable bright carpets lay, The pattern luminous oak leaves, tip to tip, With jagged spots of green just peeping through.

The men and women, creatures, great and small, Were draped in dazzling autumn hues. The fowls Of air, like mocking birds, had “russet wings.”

The streets and pavements, yea, and star-pierced clouds, Above, below, all nature caught the glow Of God Omnipotent, who, passing by, Permitted sinful, fallen man to gaze, One little moment, on his loveliness.