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In Church

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · May 19, 1904

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 81, No. 20.

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In Church

Just in front of my pew sits a maiden— A little brown wing in her hat, With its touches of tropical azure, And sheen of the sun upon that.
Through the bloom-colored pane shines a glory By which the vast shadows are stirred, But I pine for the spirit and splendor That painted the wing of the bird.
The organ rolls down its great anthem; With the soul of a song it is blent; But for me, I am sick for the singing Of one little song that is spent.
The voice of the preacher is gentle; “No sparrow shall fall to the ground;” But the poor broken wing on the bonnet Is mocking the merciful sound.
— Our Sunday Afternoon.