| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | By Genesseret | | By Frank S. Gordon |
| | From “Gold in the Desert”
AND who is this that walks | |
| By the sea of Genesseret, | |
| By my heart at ebb tide, | |
| By the surging hosts of many people? | |
| |
| It is He who stills, | 5 |
| Full-glorious in pure serenity, | |
| The rage, the roar of lions, | |
| The sea uplifted cloud-ward. | |
| |
| It is He who is | |
| Music unto me, and sweet | 10 |
| As radiance planet-wafted | |
| On the eve at eventide. | |
| |
| A chord I thought it was I heard; | |
| But it was His words, | |
| Fresh-fallen, unperturbéd by | 15 |
| The din of centuries. | |
| |
| His words are notes unspent, | |
| That hang upon the waters | |
| When twilight-mystery walks, | |
| Empurpled there. | 20 |
| |
| A harmony that moves upon | |
| The rage of waves— | |
| A song unending, unbegun, | |
| Bewitching-borne. | |
| |
| And I forgot that it was hunger-time— | 25 |
| The fawn and the timid doe, | |
| They passed near me | |
| Grazing, unafraid. | |
| |
| And they spoke of no more slaying, | |
| Neither war nor servitude, | 30 |
| Since He who stills the lions | |
| Had passed by. | | | | |
|
|
