Poem July 31, 1948 Issue

THE WATCH

Ernestine H. Porter

Like some sleep-fighting child, I cling to fear,
With rest more close than hand-reach at my will
Only by bidding pain-nagged sense be still,
Grasping the far-sought gift that lies so near.

The chariots of Elijah on the hill
Flick rainbow points across my tear-filled eyes.
Why should I wait to face that glad surprise,
Although the enemy at the gate is shrill?

I walk upon the waves a time, but wail
When the spray dashes cold upon my face,
Doubting my own strength, questioning His grace,
Fearing, this time, unfailing Love will fail.

Yet "in my flesh shall I see God," I know.
Louder than pain that batters at the gate,
High over whining storm of fear and hate,
The song of praise in harmony shall go.

Father, I thank Thee for each angel thought,
For prayer's sure answer which I do not see,
For this hour's certainty I am with Thee,
All need supplied in Love before I sought!

Ernestine H. Porter

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