Saturday, January 4, 2014

But this...

From yonder brink a pool of pink
Expands into a sea of gold
And none of us can dare to think
Of what this mighty tide may hold
But simply trust the One who wills
The dawn to break across the hills

Oh, who will rest beneath its crest
Ere twilight sweeps the wooded ridge
Twixt earthly sod and heaven-best
And who can know what mercies bridge
Life’s gaping void of mortal woe?
Ah this, by God’s kind grace we go

The hour consumes time’s jasmine blooms
Washing its summer to a shore
Where pantomime of season-rooms
And petals strewn across its floor
Never utter one guarantee
But this; its end, eternity

© Janet Martin

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