The holy gates of intermeshing light
as I stand on the edge of the spirit-world
in dark and darker night;
the sacred moonlight-stag has furled
a banner of defiance to the stars,
a tall, triumphant flag
now takes its flight
where shadows are,
at the edge of light and dark
where the lines are sharp and stark
and haunt the sight
with the consecrated emblem of an endless fight.
The Shop at Nazareth
Quiet work of carven wood
by maker's hand is made the good;
careful labor, crafting trade,
by carpenter the world is made.
Adze and chisel, plane and saw,
a little chalk with which to draw,
plumb and level, measured rod:
these things adorned the hand of God.
A little dust on hardened hand
from whittled wood-piece smoothed with sand,
a forehead crowned with heavy thought
to plan the project as He ought,
as piece will interlock with piece
until creation ends in peace.
The silent stars are weeping
behind a clouded sky;
the rain is softly falling
where the wind begins to sigh.
The memories stream like tears
down faces pricked with pain.
This world grows griefs and fears
beside the final fane.
Beside the final fane
this world grows griefs and fears;
down faces pricked with pain
the memories stream like tears.
Where the wind begins to sigh,
the rain is softly falling;
behind a clouded sky
the silent stars are weeping.