Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith’s door,
And heard
the anvil ring the vesper chime;
Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor
Old
hammers, worn with beating years of time.
“How many anvils have you had,” said I,
“To wear
and batter all these hammers so?”
“Just one,” said he, and then, with twinkling eye,
“The anvil
wears the hammers out, you know.”
And so, thought I, the anvil of God’s Word,
For ages
skeptic blows have beat upon;
Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard,
The Anvil
is unharmed—the hammers are gone.
— Anonymous
No comments:
Post a Comment