Poem April 12, 1982 Issue

"Night airs"

VIRGINIA THESIGER

The night is full of the sound
of tinny transistors
played in the dark by the lonely
who lie in their beds, sleepless and sad,
seeking comfort in quizzes
and pop and a friendly voice
recounting the dire, the deadly
news of the world
as it spins to another dilatory dawn.

Fearful, we fill the night's
long hours with noise.
Yet in the silence there is One to whom
we should be listening, One
whose messages can turn the darkest room
into a little nest of consolation.
He is our solacer, our saving God,
who faileth never when we look to Him;
and in whose arms we rest
at peace, sleep like cherished babes.

The night is full of the sound
of tinny transistors
tuned to wrong stations.
But oh, what joy it is to know
that God has much the best news
always, and His music pours
soothing and sweet
as any cradlesong
if we but cut the cackle of the world
and listen—still as millponds—
for His voice.

VIRGINIA THESIGER

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LETTERS TO THE PRESS
April 12, 1982
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