ALL THE TIME THE ANGEL WAS THERE

As the cold waters inexorably roseand the night deepened, dark upon dark,with no word spoken from out the voidand no sign given in flame or cloudall the time—unseen, unheard—the angel was therestanding guard.

O all the time, with upraised sword,the angel faithfully held at baythose shadowy legions ringed about:those terrors massed for a last assaulton a stranded traveler, a frightened childtoo voiceless even to cry for help until—in a still engulfing darkwithout, as yet, one gleam of dawn—the sword was turnedto a sweet-stringed thing.

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The Work I Am Doing
October 2, 1971
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