Classic Poem

Oh , we can pierce
With the swift lightnings far and fierce;
We can behold
Him in the sunset's lucid gold.

Yet not by these
Do we read His dark mysteries,
Or tear apart
The thick veil upon Heaven's heart….

Kneel with the kings
Before His dreadful Emptyings,
And see Him laid
In the slender arms of a Maid.

The village street
Knew God's familiar, weary feet—
The carpenter's Son
Who made the great hills one by one.

No glory slips
From His sublime apocalypse—
His homespun dress,
Hunger, thirst and the wilderness.

To a slave's death
He gave his broken body's breath;
An outcast hung
The swart and venomous thieves among.

And still yields He
Godhead to our humanity,
Leaving for sign
Himself in the meek bread and wine.