Poem October 16, 1948 Issue

THOU SHALT PREVAIL

Rubie Forsyth

Threshing his wheat in frantic haste, young Gideon
Straightened his back and scanned the shimmering hills,
To catch the glint of Midianitish spears,
And saw an angel underneath an oak.

He heard the gentle greeting, grave and sweet,
"The Lord is with thee, mighty man of valour;"
And sorely puzzled, knew not how to speak.
Then wavering from fear to hope he cried:

"With me? the Lord of whom the old men talk?
They tell of days when manna fell from heaven.
And Israel's hosts rolled back the tide of war,
Filling the valleys with their heaps of slain.
But I have never heard that mighty voice.
Today our people, trembling, dwell in caves,
And till their little hidden fields in stealth,
Hoping to save a handful of the grain.
But still they come, the hated Midianites!
Swarming like locusts over all the land,
They pass, like locusts, leaving us to starve.
Oh! Israel is forgotten of the Lord—
High in His highest heaven He sits withdrawn.
How shall poor Gideon know this is the voice?
How can he tell the path is set for him,
He who is least in all his father's house?"