Poem May 25, 1940 Issue

Enoch

LESLIE C. BELL

God must have been very real to Enoch.

For in the timeless solitude
of empty desert and of trackless plain,
and underneath the quiet stars
aglow within the dim sky's magnitude,
or where the wind swept clean again
the sleeping hills and sun-baked rocks,
and also in the bustle of the camp,
amid the stir of mart and din of trade,
in all the flurry of the mingling flocks,
or chatter round the goods displayed,
did Enoch feel the presence of his God—
like wings of glory beating round his head,
like tongues of fire leaping in his heart,
like radiant light about the path he trod.

There, where the world caught discord's muttered breath,
Enoch could hear the voice of harmony;
or where seemed sickness and the chill of death,
Enoch could feel the power of endless Life;
and where the phantom foes of mortal man
with fear and hatred would engender strife,
to make the waters muddy and impure,
could Enoch realize the flow of Love,
and in that holy knowledge rest secure.

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