Poem January 5, 1957 Issue

THE BURNING BUSH

Fanny de Groot Hastings

Still in the lone, the desert place
There grows the bush that burns with fire
And yet is not consumed; no trace
Of heat or smoke has singed its spire.

Whoever turns as Moses turned
Aside to look at this great sight—
Why the bush burns but is not burnt—
May see an angel by its light,

May hear again his given name
Called by a voice both still and nigh,
And standing near the holy flame
Reply as Moses, "Here am I."

Fanny de Groot Hastings

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SOLVING THE PROBLEM OF BEING
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