O Dawn Of Joyful Mysteries

 

 

 

How silently, how silently
light breaks upon the fickle sea,
power and commerce lose their thrall,
economies of scale so small
confound our rulers' purple plans
and bring another realm to hand
where only gentle shepherds see
a vision of eternity.
They hear the mystic harmonies
of heralds serenading skies
that pinion night's one clear-cut star
whose salient brightness reaches far
and lights the rugged ups and downs
of pilgrim kings who scorn their crowns,
who've searched in vain for one domain
long lost in history's murky train
of lands besieged and cities sacked
when empires waned and proudly waxed,
their hubris their Achilles' Heel.
How impotent their weapons' steel
to procreate a state of Peace
with treaties causing wars to cease,
how occult is their Holy Grail
ignoble in its bloodshed's trail.
All is ventured, nothing won
which lasts beyond the course's run.

But what these wayfarers have sought
is deep, surpassing mortal thought
and brute direction of the plot.
They offer gifts in Grace begot
through valiant questing for the key
that grounds them in humility
and honours God and trusts his plan,
enlisting all the zeal of man
to save Creation from its fate
atone for evils, fears abate,
reveal the inner child of Love,
God's image in us from above
who, manifest in outward form,
renews the earth and stills the storm!

©RosyCole2021