Poem for November 30, 2028

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning--

Of all to whom thine absence is the night--

The blotting utterly from out high heaven

The sacred sun--of all who, weeping, bless thee

Hourly for hope--for life--ah, above all,

For the resurrection of deep buried faith

In truth, in virtue, in humanity--

Of all who, on despair's unhallowed bed

Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen

At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"

At thy soft-murmured words that were fulfilled

In thy seraphic glancing of thine eyes--

Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude

Nearest resembles worship,--oh, remember

The truest, the most fervently devoted,

And think that these weak lines are written by him--

By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think

His spirit is communing with an angel's.