God Hoards Us: We Are His Gold

[to Edward Taylor, Anne Bradstreet, John Donne]

God hoards us: we are His gold

or could be, if we wished it so

on earth oh let such wishing grow

from cockle shell earliest and row by row;

so stood the angels snowing in a vast array

above the head of Jacob where he lay

pillowed on stone

and caught up in the mysteries

that glided on the ladders made of light.

God hoards us: we are troth

pledged, bartered, bought so holy John Donne

came to know, and not so late

we are His best bell rung if only

Christ's best bride we stand:

just, pearled, appareled in a field lily faith

before the last gate closing.

and in unnumbered songs our earliest poets wrote

in gilded script I long for still

though hordes deride.

mary angela douglas 27 july 2014