A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stoodWho gave our rest a haven.Now fallen, they are givenTo labor and distress.These times we know much evil, little goodTo study us in faithAnd comfort when our losses pressHard on us, and we choose,In panic or despair or both,To keep what we will lose.For we are fallen like the trees, our peaceBroken, and so we mustLove where we cannot trust,Trust where we cannot know,And must await the wayward-coming graceThat joins living and dead,Taking us where we would not go -Into the boundless dark.When what was made has been unmadeThe Maker comes to His work.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
For Christmas, the wonderful Kinsley Koons got me a book of Wendell Berry's poetry entitled, "A Timbered Choir." I'm going to be honest, I don't read poetry very much. But in efforts to stretch my literary self, I committed to reading a few poems every few days. More often than not, the poetry flies past me and I don't slow myself enough to contemplate but every once in a while a poem stops me. Those are good moments. Here's one poem that provided such an example: