Poem November 21, 1931 Issue

Songs in the Night

MARTHA BAILEY PROCTOR

Another day, with its recurring round
Of good and ill, had slowly rolled away
Upon the wheels of time. The sullen sun
Disdained his kingly robes of golden light
And wrapped himself in heavy sackcloth gray,
Then passed behind the Macedonian hills.

The pale-faced moon, for one brief moment's time
looked sadly down upon the market place,
And then withdrew behind a veil of clouds;
While every glittering orb, or star of night,
Extinguished for a time its radiant glow,
And darkness fell like death on Philippi,
Yet covered not her sins.

Behind grim prison walls the jailer went
His evening rounds, securing bolts and bars.
He paused before the inner cell to make
It doubly sure, for well he knew his life
Depended on the keeping of his charge.
Within the cell, where darkness spread its wings,
Their feet imprisoned in the cruel stocks,
And stinging sense of many Roman stripes,
Two servants of the Most High God were held;
For they had brought the healing Word to one
Whose malady had wrought for others gain.