Poem October 2, 1937 Issue

Law

PETER J. HENNIKER HEATON

If ever Christly word hath stilled dissension,
Hath healed the sick, hath made the dead arise,
Law was at work; no random intervention
Disturbs the creator's ordered enterprise.
And still that law must stand, its operation
Be present still to calm, to heal, to bless,
For law is changeless and doth hold creation
In finished order, finished loveliness.

Law is of God, it looketh not for witness
To shifting theory, code, conjecture, creed;
Its wide provisions meet with perfect fitness
At every moment each unfolding need.
And yet how plain it is; no circumvention
Or craft of words can darken or defer
The simple ruling and the pure intention
That find in love their full interpreter.

Its judgments wait not on the senses carnal,
Season or time, condition, cycle, phase;
As numbers added keep their tryst eternal
With the same sum, law is, and man obeys.
No chance intrudes, no error findeth entry,
Less than a shadow in some vanished dream
Their pale appearing, for where Truth stands sentry,
The things that are, dispel the things that seem.

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