IT was not when my enemy had made Large 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN by WASHINGTON ALLSTON REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY BOOKS by WILLIAM COWPER THE AGONY [AGONIE] by GEORGE HERBERT GROWING OLD by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE |