Poem January 27, 1945 Issue

The Mountain

A. MARTHA DAVIS

On Horeb now the wild storm heats again.
Shrill is the tempest's angry, sullen cry
Above the rocking, trembling mountainside,
And sudden fury flames against the sky.

Now gently, as before, the stillness falls.
Out from the sound of silence, rising clear.
Above the mortal tumult comes the voice
Of wisdom asking, "Child, what do you here?"

There is a path to take, a way to go
On from the mount, a greater work to do
Than brave alone the transient elements—
The quiet voice of Love is calling you.

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