Saturday, October 6

A Poem I love

We cried,
“How long, O Lord, how long
   will we be made to wait, and swallow jagged shards
      of that unchristened chalice
         of whose warm wine we never took a taste
            and all we drank was emptiness unplanned?”

And he replied,
“Until you learn the song
   that only sorrow sings, of how my soul regards
      your ev’ry wound, and malice
         has no place in my design, but all is paced
            to come with double blessings in my hand.”
                                                               John Piper

1 comment:

Laura Ward said...

I keep waiting to comment thinking that I'll have something to say, but this poem leaves me speechless every time. Wow. Thanks for sharing.

With octaves of a mystic depth and height