Poem April 5, 1941 Issue

The Omnipresent

REUBEN POGSON

I now no longer say, "Where is our God?"
Because an angel thought corrected me
When I was murmuring once against His rod,
And His demand that I should perfect be.

"If He were present here, then I should know
My perfect self, which is at one with Him."
I reasoned thus because the lamp burned low,
And all the temple of my thought was dim.

I justified myself in this blind way;
Blamed Him for lack of presence here and now.
And then a voice within was heard to say,
"My son, lo, I am here, but where art thou?"

Abashed, ashamed, like Adam ’neath the trees,
I saw false sense, not God, had wandered far
Within the dream of mortal, fleshly ease,
The splendid vision of my God to mar.

So now when sense would say, "He is not here,"
I recognize at once the subtle lie,
And, form erect, with love devoid of fear,
I counter back, "Speak, Lord, for here am I."

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