| iam a little church (no great cathedral) far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities- ido not worry if briefer days grow briefest, iam not sorry when sun and rain make april mylife is the life of the reaper and the sower; myprayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving (finding and losing and laughing and crying) children whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness aroundme surges a miracle of unceasing birth ang glory and death and resurrection: over my sleeping self floats flaming symbols of hope and iwake to a perfect patience of mountains iam a little church (far from the world with it's rapture and anguish) at peace with nature- ido not worry if long nights become longest, iam not sorry when silence becomes singing. winter by spring, ilift my diminutive spire to Him Whose only now is forever: standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence (welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness) |
