Lately I’ve shared a few poems that have made an impression on me over the years. Although I like poetry as an art form very much, there are not many poems that have profoundly impacted me. Many poems, if not silly or comical in nature, tend to be either syrupy or vapid — equally unappealing possibilities — or else so high-brow as to be uninteresting. Good poets are like good authors of books and magazines, only rarer; it takes not only a good communicator, but an artist, to compose good poetry.

Of course many of the best poems are set to music sooner or later, and then are no longer thought of as poetry, but as lyrics. Certainly I have been moved by many songs. I am sure poetry would get a boost in the public imagination if it could be thought of as unaccompanied lyrics.

The poems I’ve shared so far have all (?) been spiritual in nature, although there are certainly other poems that have touched me. I’m not one to believe that only religious poems are worthwhile poems. But … nevertheless … here’s another Christian poem. I found it in the book His Cross and Mine, by Meade MacGuire, which I first read back in my high school years. The author of the poem is anonymous. (Even the mighty Google could not help me find the author!)

From His Presence

All night I fled from God, along the waste
And dreary spaces of an unknown land
Where sorrow and sighing dwelt. I heard the cry
Of stormy winds behind me, and I knew
That darkly on their awful wings He rode
Whom I would fain escape. The thunder pealed
Above me, and in the thunder was the sound
As of a trumpet, speaking terrible things,
And waxing ever louder. For I had sinned,
And God was now awake, and had arisen,
And left His ancient place to deal with me.

Through the long night I fled; yet God is fleet,
And scorneth time and space. How is it that He,
Thus hastening after me, hath never laid
His grasp upon my shoulder, hurling me
Beneath His feet in death? Perchance His will
Is not to smite me from behind; He trusts
That I, being spent, must shortly turn and meet
The majesty of His offended face,
And die at sight of Him. And still I pressed
Trembling across the rough and desolate ground,
And went through swollen streams; and in the dark
Fell, and arose, and faintly struggled on.

Until at last, when night was almost done,
I heard the sorrowful thunder of the sea,
And saw the white waves breaking at my feet,
And no way of escape on either hand.
Then, death being close before and God behind,
I turned at last to meet His face. And, lo,
The storms were over, and the morning stars
Shone sweetly on the face of the One who wore
The likeness of a man, and smiled on me.
At sight of Him I cried aloud. For clear
On the fair hair which caught the dawn, I saw
A crown of knotted thorn; and on the white,
Cold feet, mysterious scars; and on His mouth
That smile, a smile for me. And I had drawn
Those wounded feet behind me through the night
Over the rough and stony ground; for still
And ever He is seeking what is lost,
And finding what had sought to hide from Him.
Ah, this was He from whom all night I fled
In trembling and despair. But at the dawn
He showed Himself thus marvelous to me,
And rose upon me, making darkness light.

* * *

The first time I read this poem I was both charmed and disappointed by the ending. The drama of the first two verses was so cool (I liked the “God of the storm” metaphor, and the almost mythical language — “darkly on their awful wings,” “left His ancient place,” “scorneth time and space,” etc. — and I somewhat identified with the unnamed protagonist). The mild ending was a bit of a let down. Still, it was awesome to think of the implications: that this powerful God pursued us out of love, and that it was easy to mistake His intentions.

Later I began to like the poem more. It reflects so much of what the Bible teaches — how God uses the “storms” of life to get our attention, but it is our divine-human Savior who turns us around and brings us home.