Patter on the Pathway
heralding the daybreak with gloomy clouds of gray;
but when the rain is over, birds begin to play--
and although the day is colder, my love for you remains.
In the darkness and the storm-winds I have travelled on this road,
and when ill fortune has descended it is weathered in this cloak.
Through death and darkest curses, through sorrow and through pain,
I thank God for storm-brought mercies and the beauty of the rain,
for in my bitter travel through disappointed lands
I hold in heart the marvel of the kindness of your hands.
The storm may yet defeat me with oppressive weight of gray,
but one day I know you'll greet me when new light gives gild to day.
Take up this alabaster box to break;
all its inner essence pour
upon your head and feet, and bless
the courses of my stars with hope;
everything within me bind
in cloth of silk, a cord then wind
that it may from the tower hang,
a gift of myrrh between two does.
Let loose this oil of gladness on your heart;
pour me out until the vial
leaves no more to pour, and live
in incense-glory like a church,
the scent of me around you, like the sun
on vivid flowers, urging spring.
Take up this alabaster box to break
and pour me out upon the gardens.