Poem November 8, 1947 Issue

SHAKE OFF PRIDE'S DUST

Vere Baillieu

Why flinch at evil's cruel staves
Or whine at much to meet,
When he who could command the waves
Endured pierced hands and feet?

And why complain if we deserve
The chidings of a friend,
When he whom Satan could not swerve
Forgave foes to the end?

The Christ still calls, "Come unto me."
So if the way seem long,
Shake off pride's dust; humility
Exalts our evensong.

Vere Baillieu

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