Poem by Charles Walter Stansby Williams

Pentecost

When the porter let me in
Out there flew a Dove;
Down It vanished through your din,
The name of It was Love
O, so softly It would coo,
So sweet It was to see!
O who hath found My Dove? O who
Will bring It back to me.

Must I go search again
Through the weary earth?
It would be frighted at your pain,
And startled at your mirth.
It flies so quick, 'twould fly right through
The gates of destiny;
O who has found My Dove? O who
Will bring It back to me?

It will come at your command,
Nor doubt nor flutter much;
If you should take It in your hand
It will not fear your touch.
But they how do It wrong shall rue
Their shameless cruelty;
O who has found My Dove? O who
Will bring It back to me?

My Father will come down to him,
And give him many things;
The Dove will overshadow him
With beating of Its wings;
And I Myself to him will sue
For grace of amity.
O who has found My Dove? O who
Will bring It back to me?

1. Bethlehem
2. Saint Matthias
3. The Adventures of the Holy Week
4. Hymn for Septuagesima Sunday
5. The Feast of St. Silas, Martyr, and Patron of This Place

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