I Saw You Yesterday

By Bruce Martin Stringham

I saw you yesterday, in green.

I thought I’d like to see you there.

I’d dreamed about your silken hair

In flowing tresses, and that smile!

Envisioned that—for just a while—

It smiled for me. Then it was gone.

And as I mourned its passing on,

I cursed the hours till you were near,

And felt at times a touch of fear

That time would that sweet vision mar.

But you were lovelier by far

Than any vision I had seen.

I saw you yesterday, in green.

I saw you yesterday, in white.

I thought I’d like to see you there

Resplendent, free of earthly care

Almost. And what was in your eyes

Revealed a heart so true, so wise

That kings and sages might be awed,

Not knowing you have talked with God;

Not knowing of the life’s plan laid,

The course you’ve charted, vows you’ve made.

And, yes, I dreamed that vision, too.

But nothing like the look of you—

That simple, pure, and holy sight.

I saw you yesterday, in white.

Pray God when from earth’s cares you’ve slept,

When all dear friends have gone to rest

Like swallows going home to nest,

When things unclear have been made plain,

That I shall see you once again

In something green, perhaps, and white.

Though sweet my joy that day of light,

My heart could not be fuller then

Than seeing now, in white and green,

The vision I shall ne’er forget—

That I saw yesterday. And yet

It will, somehow, if vows are kept.

I saw you yesterday, and wept.

“Supper at Emmaus,” by Simon Harmon Vedder