Who Walked with Him

The Master's hands held our world in place.

The soft caress of His gentle face,

The quiet peace of His loved embrace

Made a shrine of our childhood home.

We heard His voice in the flute-clear note

That curved on the breeze from the Southwind's throat,

In the timeless river's lyrical rote,

As we sang with the singing loam--

Our father who walked with Him each day

Bade us to know Him along our way.

The Improvement Era