WHEN to Emmaus on that day
Disciples of the Master walked—
Two lonely men and sick at heart—
Of grievous things they sadly talked.
And disappointment ruled their thoughts
And woe held fast their yearning eyes,
Nor did they know that healing went
Beside them in a stranger's guise.
They hearkened to the faith he voiced
And, though their bosoms warmed to hear
The potent word, they did not guess
Consummate comfort journeyed near.
How prone are human ways to miss
Truth's guidance evermore at hand,
And faltering the step that need
But claim unfailing strength to stand.
How often happiness is hid
By ruthless self's enshrouding veil,
When harbored in conviction deep
Is evil's devastating tale.
Oh, Father, open Thou mine eyes
To present good, and help me know
That where my pilgrim feet shall fare
Enduring Love shall with me go.
