- A. A. PROCTER by A. A. Procter

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Jul 14, 1904

— A. A. PROCTER

By A. A. Procter

“Let the Words of My Mouth . . . be Acceptable in Thy Sight”

Words are lighter than the cloud-foam Of the restless ocean spray, Vainer than the trembling shadow That the next hour steals away. By the fall of summer rain-drops Is the air as deeply stirred; And the rose leaf that we tread on Will outlive a word.

Yet, on the dull silence breaking, With a lightning flash, a word, Bearing endless desolation On its blighting wings, I heard: Earth can forge no keener weapon, Dealing surer death and pain, And the cruel echo answered Through long years again.

I have known one word hang, star-like, O'er a dreary waste of years, And it only shone the brighter Looked at through a mist of tears, While a weary wanderer gathered Hope and heart on life's dark way, By its faithful promise, shining Clearer day by day.

I have known a spirit, calmer Than the calmest lake, and clear As the heavens that gazed upon it, With no wave of hope or fear; But a storm had swept across it, And its deepest depths were stirred (Never, never more to slumber) Only by a word.

I have known a word more gentle Than the breath of summer air; In a listening heart it nestled, And it lived forever there. Not the beating of its prison Stirred it ever, night or day; Only with the heart’s last throbbing Could it fade away.

Words are mighty, words are living: Serpents with their venomous stings, Or bright angels, crowding round us, With heaven’s light upon their wings; Every word has its own spirit, True or false, that never dies; Every word man’s lips have uttered Echoes in God’s skies.