NightTimeThoughts.org

A Gentler Cross?

Is there no gentler cross for me,

Upon which I should die,

Whose planks are planed and sanded down,

And stained to match my eyes?

Is there no gentler slope for me,

Upward which I may trod,

Whose path lies uniformly paved,

Where shade trees line the road?

Is there no lighter beam for me,

To carry toward that hill?

Must duty obligate me down?

Must mission bind my will?

Is there no softer spear for me,

To thrust into my side?

I would that just a scratch sufficed

That cut not hair nor hide.

Are there no smaller nails for me,

To pierce my hands and feet?

Or kinder crown or calmer crowd

Where parting would be sweet?

Help me escape self pity’s own

Exasperated cry.

Hold me fast in Your love’s grip

That I may learn to die.

And in my self-help’s emptied cry

That feels its strength all gone,

I learn to lean upon You, Lord,

And in Your grace be strong.

The task for which You call us forth

Requires the strength You give.

You lead us out beyond ourselves

So we may learn to live.

And in our own frustrating days

During our own hard hour,

Dying to self we learn to live

In resurrection power.

Lenten Devotionals (Fastenzeit), Poetry compassion, dying to self, gentler cross, Love

In the lee of a ridge line,

On the north side of a nameless rise,

The mound rose in gentle slope,

A steady ascent from valley to crest,

Which sparkled rivulets traversed

In their gracious descent

Through dense firs and pines.

Among its sister hills

She still stood in primeval beauty

Uncorrupted by commerce or agriculture.

The burgeoning vineyards of

Neighboring villages had not yet encroached

Her realm.

Burrowing creatures still made their homes

From etched out earth,

And great owls and majestic hawks

Patrolled its skies.

Lesser creatures also, of both flora and fauna,

Populated the hill.

Amid the beauty lay one hidden fault,

The rise lay on the north side that suffered the

Embitterment of winter’s cold much longer than the south.

Well into May the cold still penetrated the ground

The sun not could reach, so

The rivulets still surface frozen remained.

Over the crest the sun-baked south side

Burst into spring much sooner

And succumbed to winter’s chill much later.

There warmth beckoned early and from their hibernation

The animals emerged brighter, stayed longer

And multiplied faster.

But on the north side the frozen ice daggers

Sank their shafts unsheathed deeper into the soil,

Freezing, halting, slowing life.

I knew a home or two like this

That seemed to be built on the north side of life.

In those hearts dwelling there

The pains of sorrow and injustice

Had pierced more deeply,

Stifling the growth of its inhabitants

With unrelenting icy-ness of spirit.

The children emerged later into adulthood

And plunged their potential too quickly

Beneath the memory of joyless days.

Hope can come there too,

And this truth is too often forgotten.

If you are from the north side of earth’s homes

May the Sun rise upon you sooner than you expected,

And warm your soul and restore your hope.

Poetry bitterness, on the north side, Poetry, renewal