Poem March 9, 1940 Issue

The "still small voice"

LEELAH C. HART

When first I heard the "still small voice,"
I did not heed its gentle plea,
But went my wayward, willful way,
Rejecting signals sent to me
By Love, the Father-Mother, God,
Who shields from harm and mortal lure
The child that in reality
Has never been aught else than pure.

My feet were pierced with hidden thorns,
And paths were changed to viscid mire,
Until I knew not where to turn;
I seemed to be in straits most dire.
In anguish sore, forth came the cry:
Dear Father, help me ere I die.

And then the voice came low and still:
Come unto Me, thou child of Mine,
And learn the real about yourself,
The man reflecting the divine;
Forgetting sin and earthy tears,
Rise up above all mortal fears;

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