f a i t h

Fond not of the pureness of heart I so lack,

Found rarely penitent enough.

For what reason would He speak only to me,

Feeling the truth of my love?

Are these Jesus' tears that run down my face,

A sadness felt but not seen?

As death as a healing so sanguinely declared,

An expression of love so pristine.

I search for a means to exalt what He's done,

If choosing me to fashion His tears.

In true selfish desire the meaning of which,

Is surely exempt from my peers.

To assume it to be solely for my own good,

That surely could not be the case.

Tis I the weak minded and flippant at heart...

Tears tell me why you grace my face!

Have faith I may cast all transgressions aside.

House my heart in Your forgiveness I must.

Humble yourself pride, I hold Him up high,

He looks upon the lowly, I trust.

Nature's Beauty

"As once with prayers in passion flowing,

Pygmalion embraced the stone,

Till from the frozen marble glowing,

The light of feeling o'er him shone,

So did I clasp with young devotion.

Bright nature to a poet's heart;

Till breath and warmth and vital motion

Seemed through the statue form to dart.

"And then, in all my ardour sharing,
The silent form expression found;
Returned my kiss of youth daring,
And understood my heart's quick sound.

Then lived for me the bright creation,

The silver rill with song was rife;
The trees, the roses shared sensation,
An echo of my boundless life."- S. G. B.