 
THE COMING OF HIS FEET
In the crimson of the morning
In the whiteness of the noon
In amber glory of the days retreat
In the midnight robed in darkness
Or the gleaming of the moon
I listen to the Coming of His feet.
I heard His weary footsteps
On the sands of Galilee
On the temple's marble pavement.
On the street worn with weight of sorrow
Faltering up the slopes of Calvary.
The sorrow of the coming of His feet
Down the minster aisles of splendor
From betwixt cherubim
Through the wondering throng
With motion strong and fleet
Sounds of His victor tread approaching
With a music far and dim.
The music of the coming of His feet
Sandaled not with sheen of silver
Girded not with woven gold
Weighted not with shimmering gems
Or odors sweet
But white winged and shod with Glory
In the tabor light of old.
The Glory of the Coming of His Feet.
He IS Coming, O my spirit,
With His everlasting peace,
With His Blessedness,
Immortal and complete
He IS Coming,
O my spirit,
And His Coming
Brings release.
I LISTEN...
For the COMING
of HIS FEET.
BY
Lyman W. Allen
|