faintly we trace it gold in the mists
and in the time of banishment your Kingdom
wishing we were nearer we plod on
sometimes in acute distress
when you whisper to us my child
this is no wilderness
for I am with Thee
weary of fighting what we cannot see
inscrutable mockeries
weary of so many things and unsure of our footing
we pilgrimage on and every dawn missing you
our true home till a soft breeze rouses us
a voice deep within says you are not alone
and we move on faint in the mists etched in a finer gold
we glimpse it through ever gathering clouds
and cry aloud dear God dear Saviour
help me now through the miry gates to a place
I remember a place in childhood with green moss carpeted
and circles of glimmering stones we imagined was home
where we ate honeysuckle flowers and brushed the rooms
with pine branches broken in the storm
help me to go there again in the kindest winds flower lifted
far from the wings of ever besetting war
and let the honey of your presence flow
over these ancient wounds.
mary angela douglas `10 august 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment