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This Thing suspended in mid-air
Like canvas without shape or form
Where we spill our allotted share
Of love and laughter’s sorrow-storm
This thing upon which seasons slip
Yet none can see, in seamless tide
As generation-waves admit
Again, again how quick its ride
…this Thing that none can cup or keep
Or measure, save in days or years
As its rushes from deep to deep
Invisible, yet disappears
This Thing of utter gravity
Granted but once to human-race
Known to our reaching ways as Time
God gives and gives and calls it Grace
© Janet Martin
Titus 2:11 - For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men,
How will we savor His grace today? Mine begins with taking the van to our mechanic.
"this thing suspended in mid-air like canvas...where we spill our allotted share" yes, that is what it feels like each January.
ReplyDelete"this thing upon which seasons slip" I like because it seems so apt for this part of the world at this time of year.
And then: "this thing that none can cup or keep". Really beautiful words to picture the passing of time.
Thank-you for 'feeling' it:)
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