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?