We are not worthy yet o’er star-strewn sky
Grace gently brushes night-shadows awry
Where is this vault from whence Time flows, how deep?
Where is the spigot from whence hours weep?
We do not know when will toll parting’s song
But this we do; time is short, death is long
How will we touch then and how will we fill
This gift of grace from a Giver’s good will?
See how its river of light sweeps the sky?
See how it rushes in silent good-bye?
See, where the land was cupped in midnight’s hold
How it is brimming in beckoning gold?
We dare not squander this heaven-lent Thing
None are entitled to Time’s offering
But from a place none can mete or control
God pours His mercy into night’s dark bowl
May we be zealous and gratitude shod
Because every day is a new gift from God
© Janet Martin