Poem May 8, 1978 Issue

In the name of the Lord

Rosemary Cobham

Problem,
I saw you coming—
and you were very big,
far bigger than I,
and better armed.

So I threw away both sword and shield—
the good reasons,
the desperate excuses,
the clutter of accusations and of self-defense—
and I took one tried spiritual truth,
ran to meet you
but would not engage in close combat
to struggle with you,
twist, or turn, or wrestle.

I discerned the one chink in your armor—
your colossal nothingness—
and at this, with well-chosen aim,
slung the basic fact of God's allness,
thus neatly disposing of you
in the name of the Lord of Hosts.

Rosemary Cobham

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