And This Is Music

[to God our Father]

this is to the One who caused, who causes
music to arise though He is denied
He cannot help but Shine

above our tormenters rising
early or late from unexpected
corners to deride, to hound us home

thus, bitterness is sown
and the whole vast earth a lemon grove
frozen over besides.

once the lane it was lined with roses
where the larks sang and there was
no need to lock and unlock doors but now

our honeyed Springs gleam past;
just see how Winter soars and will not let us go
and we live snow to snow or, if we can

wherever we reside and fret
His instruments and cannot rest when
the noise comes thick and fast

the storms, our agonies abide

from which what other reprieve, repose
can ever shall ever be found by us
except that You bright Singer of the real

the only ground
of our being
cause us, bless us,  to resound

and unaccountably to feel:
still. There is Beauty.

mary angela douglas 17 february 2016