Friday, March 8, 2013

Sonnet of Soon...





We dare not while or waste our flighty will
Nor choose the quagmire of despondency
Unless alas, no hope can set us free
And winter does not drift beyond the hill
The hour folds the cheerless into naught
Each moment holds a virgin second chance
Within the song of spring the zephyrs dance
Eager to quench their thirst with vernal draught
Life’s battle keens our bravery and trust
And we must fight; this trench of blood and dirt
Tries us; and yet in spite of living’s hurt
We praise the One who probes this vapid dust
For just as spring returns to sallow slope
His offering fills our mouths with hope

How eagerly life’s moments drink the hour
The stricken limb pulses, pregnant with bloom
The hollow void of winter’s living-room
Will surge with emerald joy and new-born flow’r
Lift up those weary feet; the dismal tear
Cannot remain; for lo, hope is not dead
The season and the valley dark with dread
If we press onward, soon will disappear
For this four-season scope of mortal whim
Is not the pinnacle of victory
Life’s highs and lows are simply what must be
Before we gather at the feet of Him
Where fear and turmoil will not test again
The hands and feet that do not strive in vain

If hope was gone, then would creation wail
And mountains fall into the sea in fear
The Living Hope that tune’s time’s transient sphere
Will never die; His Love will never fail
And just as winter warms to spring once more
So too, the chilling gale of grief will pass
Beneath the snow are oceans of green grass
This brief travail leads to Heaven’s fair shore
The cup of pain and sorrow soon will brim
With milk and honey-comb; the piercing thorn
Will bear the rose; the night becomes the morn
And someday soon we’ll touch the feet of Him
Who suffered; by His stripes we all are healed
And soon love’s mysteries will be revealed

© Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.