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I come to meet You, God,
And as I linger here
I seem to feel You
very near;
A rustling leaf, a rolling slope
Speak to my heart of
endless hope.
The sun just rising in the sky,
The waking birdlings as they fly,
The grass all wet with morning dew
Are telling me I just met You.
And, gently, thus the day is born
As night gives way to breaking morn;
And once again I've met you, God,
And worshipped on Your holy sod.
For who could see the dawn break through
Without a glimpse of heaven
and You?
For who but God could make the day
And softly put the
night away?
~ Helen Steiner Rice ~
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