Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Strumming the Harpstrings of Heaven from Earth...





Slowly the night dies and dissolves from sight
Holy, the heavens reply with daylight
Lowly, we shoulder the tools for the fight
Knowing we know not what waits to unfold
Darling, the way to the grave is a thorn
Sparkling with rose from the bud of the morn
Carving from naught that for which we are born
Future to present to Past’s heart-shaped mold

Gently the dark takes its leave star by star
Deftly the day breaks on earth’s eastward bar
Grant us, Lord; grant us the will for its war
Subtle, the battles of heart, soul and mind
Gently the fingers of time strum the spheres
Deftly our inhale, exhale becomes years
Grant us, Lord grant us the strength for its tears
Strewed in the wake of daybreaks left behind

Once more the door to faith’s freeway flings wide
Over the indigo-kissed countryside
Over the clover and nettle-toned tide
Wafts the extension of grace-granted scrim
Softly the loft of our oft-dreamy stares
Offers new backdrops to old-fashioned prayers
Grafting their courtship to daily affairs
Where moments meter in stairs back to Him

© Janet Martin

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