Poem April 23, 1977 Issue

"BUT WHERE ARE THE NINE?"

Rushworth M. Kidder

Picture them waking next morning,
skin clear as sunlight, to realize;
"We never once bothered to thank him!

"Transfixed by the change in our bodies,
we never saw through to its meaning;
now we're fixed in ingratitude's history"—
The bitter remorse of the nine.

I've been there myself, have awakened
too late to the pith of a healing—
possessed of thoughtless indifference,

not grateful enough by a tenth.
Such a small portion!—this tithing
of all I've received of Christ's bounty,
this pause to give praise to the One.

Rushworth M. Kidder

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