More Precious Still

The morning star, the peak's pearl pink,
The sun above the mountain's brink,
The dark green forest, softly kissed
By ghostly figures in the mist;
The sun's red glory at the rim
Of western islands, twilight dim--
These are the things that grow more sweet
As days race by on winged feet.

My work to do, a load to bear,
Bring light to one in black despair;
The breaking waves, curled white with foam;
The deepening fellowship of home,
A letter from a distant friend,
A smile and kiss at evening's end--
These are the things that grow more dear
As months join hands to make the year.

God's promises, so old yet new,
That make life's deepest longings true;
A place of prayer that borders heaven
Where God comes near and strength is given
To have a share in his design
And know his purposes are mine --
These are the things more precious still
As years conspire to work God's will

January 12, 1966