Poem May 24, 1947 Issue

Glory Through Humility

REUBEN POGSON

Although the snowdrop is so slight, so frail,
It pierces through the winter's stubborn soil.
The supple reed, by bending, beats the gale.
The humble aim no foe can ever foil.

Not in the pomp and pageantry of pride,
Not through ambition climbing social rungs,
Can victory walk ever at our side
Or speak in burning Pentecostal tongues.

But in the holy temple of our thought,
If we but raise an altar to Thy name,
Thy glory will come in, although unsought,
Dispelling in its glow our mortal shame.

Help us, God, our Father-Mother Mind,
That we by meekness may reflect Thy love,
Not as the eagle soars, its prey to find,
But as the Holy Ghost's descending dove.

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