Poem November 8, 1958 Issue

WITH NEW TONGUES

Pearl Strachan Hurd

Beth, proud of her ability now
To count up to ten,
Arranging her squadron
Of metal spacemen
In a stiff-legged row,
Beth sure of far more
Than I was when
I dragged my doll across the floor,
Meets a challenge.

(Things can seem askew
Even if you haven't yet
Struggled with the alphabet.)
For a moment I wish I knew
The best way to advise
Somebody only four.
But while I am groping
Comes her crisp: "I know.
I'll ask God. She'll tell me
What to do."

Ah, how slow
I, the adult, to accept
What I quote, what I frequently read,
The one answer adequate
To my own great need!

Pearl Strachan Hurd

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