THE COMING OF HIS FEET.
lii the crimson of the morning, in the whiteness of the noon, In the amber glory of the day’s retreat; In the midnight robed in darkness, or the gleaming of the moon. I listen for the coming of His fret. I have heard His wean footsteps, on the sands of Galilee; On the Temple’s marble pavement, on the street, Warm with weight of sorrow, fal ering up the slopes of Calvary, The sorrow of the coming of His feet. Down the minster-aisles of splendour from betwixt the Cherubim Through the wondering throng, with mot'on strong and fleet. Sounds His Victor .read, approaching with a music far and dim — T’ c music of the coming of His f eet. Sandled not with shoon of silver, girdled not with woven gold; Weighted not with shimmering gems and odors sweet, But, white-winged and shot with glorv in the Tabor-ligh; 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.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/WHIRIB19180318.2.45
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White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 273, 18 March 1918, Page 12
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195THE COMING OF HIS FEET. White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 273, 18 March 1918, Page 12
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