AT EPHESUS

AMY RUTH WENZEL.

Again the faces of the careless throng
At Ephesus I see;
Again I feel the clutching sense of wrong,
Again Love comforts me.

The wild beasts rush upon me through the door,
A moment stand at bay,
I hear the crashing thunders of their roar—
O Love, be now my stay!

But what avails that I with beasts have fought,
That they, not I, were slain.
If at the journey's end we come to naught,
Nor rise to life again?

Beloved, endeavor is not futile, though
We pass from earth uncrowned;
Against the impulse of Life's onward flow
Death sets in vain its bound.

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit