The Mirror

When I was but a wee lass
I chanced upon a looking glass
Its frame was cracked old and yellow
On its back, a carved face, soft and mellow

As I gazed into its silvery pane,
I thought for sure I had gone insane
For there I saw not my reflection,
but a land of beauty and perfection

Its majestic view held my gaze
as I drifted into its silvery haze
At once I sought to be in that land
then I felt a soft tingling in my hand

Turning over the mirror I could see
that kind gentle face staring at me
Not now my child, someday you will hear,
the sound of My voice calling you near

Until then, just a glimpse of things to be
as long as you continue to believe in Me