 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Word
The Word! it cannot fail; it ever speaks;Unheard by all save by the sons of heaven,
It waits, while time counts on the appointed weeks,
The purpose to fulfill for which 'twas given;
Unchangeable its ever-fixed command;
When human feet would from its precepts stray
It points their pathway with its flaming hand,
And bids them keep the strait and narrow way;
And when by its unerring counsels led
The child would seek again his Father's face,
Upon its stores of heavenly manna fed
He gains at length through grief his resting place;
And hears its praise from angels' countless throng,
And joins forever in the new-raised song.
Poem No. 598; c. 15 December 1838
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