"What is that in your hand, Moses?"
It was a rod, my simple shepherd's crook,
Humble companion to me there
For forty years
In Midian, where
I tended Jethro's sheep.
"Cast it upon the ground, Moses!"
The innocent rod, I saw it writhe
Into a serpent on the sand
Beside the burning bush.
I picked it up at God's command—
It was my shepherd's rod again.
It rested smoothly in my hand,
Familiar comfort there.
Clearly I knew what this had taught;
I knew all show of evil false,
A phase of mortal thought.
"Take the rod with you, Moses.
You will have need of it in Egypt."
My meek and humble rod, so gently used
To guide and guard the sheep—
I saw it wield a sudden might,
I saw it have the strength to smite
The proud vast Nile
With all its farthest tributaries.
Later I saw the Red Sea's wildness pile
Up against either bank.
I saw its stormy turbulence
Yield to the rod's insistence.
