This is a peek at a small part of an early draft of a much larger poetic project (currently in fragmentary and not-quite-orderly condition) which I'm calling for the present 'Tapestry-Work'.
Primal light, who are the Creator of light,
residing in unapproachable splendor,
dwelling upon those who are adorned by light,
who praise your light and your everlasting dawn,
make the rays of your wisdom's brightness burst forth,
that, sealed by light, we may in your light see light,
the smile of your sunrise
bright upon our faces.
I wait for the morning of my Lord's kingdom;
there the sun never sets, its wings hold healing.
This is our mission in this world of darkness:
to be a breath of morning, a glimpse of dawn,
to one person, then another, and then all,
that all may feel the sun's smile on their faces.
They who watch for morning
know well that light is sweet.
The sun is fixed in the skies, it dwells above,
but its rays go out to every land and sea;
it enters all places through windows and doors,
and wherever the light falls, there is the sun,
pure and unsullied, though it be but a patch,
though it land in a brothel, there the sun is.
Light falls on every place,
the sun is in the skies.
He baffles the mind, but to love he is near;
minds cannot search him out, but love finds his face.
Lit by truth we love truth; this truth is His light;
in his light we see light; he is the bright star,
the sun of justice that shines bright on the world.
In his warm rays we walk with smiling faces.
All things speak of his grace,
whisper of his glory.
With light more resplendent than light the Word shines,
more sweet than purest air the Spirit breathes forth.
We who are harps endowed with life and language
speak forth the praises of the eternal light.
All the world is a harp with strings moved by wind;
the Spirit broods upon it and its song soars.
A small stream of God's truth
makes a flood of symbols.
I dreamed and saw a woman clothed with the sun,
a virgin queen with the moon beneath her feet.
On her head a diadem of twelve stars sat,
and she labored to give birth to the high king,
the sun of justice destined to rule nations.
She fled into the desert prepared by God;
she flew with two great wings,
a second dawning sky.
Over the heads of the evangelic beasts
a firmament holds a throne like fair sapphire.
On the throne is one like to the son of man,
great splendor like a rainbow-burst around him:
behold the likeness of the glory of God!
On the chariot the divine word is winged.
The Church bears his glory,
the chariot of God.
In his vitalities we participate;
his divine energies make our hearts divine;
in his operations we perform great deeds
as technicians under the master craftsman
do things beyond their skill through the master's skill.
Looking to him we taste and see his goodness,
are charged with his grandeur,
made splendid in his name.
Everything in this world speaks of you, O Lord;
your whispers are everywhere and your light shines
by participation in every creature.
All nations speak of you despite their failings;
in their ignorant sleep you send them true dreams.
All things subserve you whether they will or not,
drawn into your deep plans
through your wise providence.
In the abundance of your mercy and truth
your economy graces even pagans;
even the babbling barbarians feel it.
Each soul bears in it a sense of right and wrong,
a flicker fit for faith, for trust, for sweet love;
each nation bears traditions that speak of Truth.
Even in confusion
your coherence is found.
Lost in darkness the Gentiles have roamed the earth;
God sent them sparks in His ineffable love.
Their understandings unformed, they yet caught life;
their attentions arrested by some glimmer,
a will-o'-the'wisp for good, that they might wait,
that they might prepare the evangel of grace,
that the nations might dream,
though the dreamt they knew not.
They twist the altars to speak of others, Lord,
they shape their prayers as if others were God;
by twisted light and logic their life is formed.
By you, Lord, are light and life and only Word;
the little words of creation echo you;
the words-in-letters of human thought are signs
bringing you to the minds
of those blessed with your light.
Everything in the universe is for God;
every man serves the glory in his way,
some as friends, for he himself has called them friends;
some as servants good and faithful in his house;
yet others as servants, will they or nill they;
yes, even the atheists serve his purpose.
His providence is all,
all things cohere in Him.
Even heretics by their clash bear witness;
refuting each other they show the true way.
By permitting their lies God wakes up the mind,
stimulating the Church in its sense of truth.
By the victory of saints through the ages
he shows the aptness of his truth to endure.
For truth, always the same,
from age to age remains.
Light does not hide itself in bushels; it shines,
but it shines through things and binds them all as one.
Everything brings a bit of light to the mind;
although the mind, dulled, takes many bits to see.
The world reflects and refracts the light of God;
as clouds show rainbows, the world shows promises,
set by God in heaven,
a pledge that he is near.
