Pursued by hate and fleeing for his life,
Elijah, jealous for the Lord of hosts,
Alone and fearful, stood upon the mount.
Destructive forces rent the rocks in twain
As winds unleashed their fury; in their wake,
An earthquake shook the mountain to its depths;
Then fire devoured the stubble that remained.
But all these phases of the carnal mind
Were soon to pass as dreams that have no cause,
For God was not in earthquake, wind, or fire.
When these had spent their force, the prophet heard
In hush of holy calm, "a still small voice."
From hate without, and fear within, men flee,
Sore pressed by enemies of sinning sense:
Self-will, self-righteousness, untempered zeal,
Perchance betray them, and they stand alone
To face the elements of human will—
That cruel force that breaks all in its path
Until it is unmasked and seen as nought.
So we upon the mount may stand unharmed
When vaunted power would shake the earth with fear;
Destructive winds can never touch God's man;
Hate's searing fire but passes over those
Who, clad in panoply of Love, stay firm
In their exalted purpose, yielding self.
In holy quiet—listening now—we hear
God speaking to us through "a still small voice."
