Poem November 30, 1929 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Peniel

BEATRICE CLAYTON

Art thou, like Jacob, wrestling through the night
With a mysterious foe?
Shirk not the conflict; seek not mere escape;
Cry rather, as did he, Except thou bless,
I will not let thee go!

Hast thou an Esau? Left alone art thou
To meet an unseen foe?
Cling to this angel of the midnight hour,
Though with spent breath, cry still, Except thou bless,
I will not let thee go!

Even though shrunk the sinew of thy strength,
As strength had seemed before,
True might is Spirit: in that might prevail.
A victor shalt thou be when dawns the light,
Victor forevermore.

And this the blessing: mortal fears o'ercome
Shall be thy staff and rod;
Thou shalt dwell safely, peace shall thee enfold,
Thy brother's face, henceforward, thou shalt see
E'en as the face of God.

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