 | Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems |  |
206
WRESTLING WITH THE ANGEL.
It was not when my enemy had madeLarge progress, and his youth sustained him well,
But on the solemn morning that he fell
My soul withdrew apart and was afraid;
And at the door of my bright hopes I stayed,
And wondered at the sudden miracle,
And shuddered inwardly, since who could tell
Why my foe's sinew and not mine decayed;
So, in the peace around, and when men came
To press my hands and murmur words of praise,
I shrank abashed, and hid me from their gaze,
Longing to be like Jacob, tired and lame,
But wrestling still with One whose gracious name
When all the night was past should break in blaze.
| Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems | |