Moon
In the evening sky the moon was bright.
I reached up and plucked its living light.
I turned it around in my hand
and gazed, but did not understand:
a thing so small, in a world so vast,
I did not see how it could last.
Providence
I saw the plan of providence --
not the whole, and just a glimpse;
without an end it hung with grace,
infinite time through infinite space
it hung; each thread as fine as fairy-wire
held galaxies and worlds entire
like little droplets, shining dew --
my mind could hardly grasp the view.
Into a drop I, trembling, fell,
down more years than I can tell.
The plan was there, and finer still
its threads than thought of heart or will,
and on each strand bright droplets stood,
single atoms of the good.
I saw one whisper of one wind;
I saw the glimmer of a friend
when friends first meet, the subtle shift,
the instant's instant of heart's lift;
I saw one photon of the dawn
kiss one small blade upon the lawn.
A million million things I saw,
but further still I fell in awe,
and past the quarks in interlink,
the bits of grace one can barely think,
I fell, and down to where our reason's point
is worlds too coarse to cut the joint,
the goods so subtle their brightest glints
are only known through hints of hints,
and still I saw, like frost arrayed
in finest line, God's plan displayed.
