love
Through wading puddles turn a stream,
What wyrd thing this, a stranger's love,
All carries passing over as a dream,
My path continues on as so above,
There parting in the pearly clouds,
A smile. For hearts grow neighbourly,
And little is achieved and needn't crowd-
But it is so much.
The subtle lightness of the teasing rain,
Upon ethereal haze of winter morns,
It's tentative vollies of chilling probes,
To which hot sparks are fright and yet sustain.
I should see in rain the call to home,
In you such things come heavy and so light,
Oh stage of all my thought and vacancy,
I am wistful and at times so sate.
Who should open up the skies of late,
And fill the stores with all such tears of care,
I am unworthy of time yet so,
Who could triumph over such a love.
Jesus, I wish to ask you why you are so beautiful,
Yet such a question in its simplest form,
Is answered by a hefty pondering,
Are not all beautiful things so, because they seem a smidge like you?
Just a smidge like you:
And flowers take the breath away,
And smiles melt the heart,
And sunsets turn the hazy day to arresting clarity.
You are beautiful as brute fact,
Wholly good and just,
Wholly caring and amusing,
Wholly love and truth.
Wholly beautiful.
True love isn't blind or silly,
It's calm and dedicated,
Loving truth and depending,
Not isolated and vacant,
But real and tolerating,
Forgiving and gracious,
Steady still in hard places,
By the power of God we know such love.