• Grey Facebook Icon
  • Grey Twitter Icon
  • Grey Google+ Icon

IN ST. MARY’S CHURCH - FREDRICKSBURG, TX

March 3, 2018

 

High above the altar, looking down,

The stained-glass angel smiles almost unseen,

At generations passing through below,

Some raise their eyes as if to heaven,

But most who mill about and greet their friends,

Then listen to the music and the Word,

Perhaps sensing the stirring of the soul,

Then leave to sleep and dream another week.

But something in that light, those eyes,

Would not let my soul go, and spoke somehow

Of souls who walked upon this self-same ground,

Who lived and toiled and loved and died, yet built

Out of the stone and wood and sacrifice,

This space, where light would stream within and touch

These eyes someday—these eyes, this soul, this time.

Yes, they had come over the Western sea,

Knowing full well that many would not live

To see this place, and yet they came, and built.

And I dream I was there with them, and shared

Their dreams, as they looked out upon the vast,

Uncharted space, and imagined a world,

Where Man’s birthright of free and boundless Mind

Would thrive amidst the beauty of this land.

Perhaps they, too, had thought of those before,

Who dreamed in ancient times of temples great,

Who looked out to the star-lit night and felt

The call of their great destiny, the thought

That we are of the same eternal stuff

That burns and glows and beckons from above,

Above and out we reach, and even when

The body is enslaved, the spirit soars,

And cannot be contained! And this we give

To generations yet to come, we are,

Or all would be, as angels smiling down

To touch the souls of those we will not see,

But love, for we are all of the same seed.

 

 Yes, even as the distant star explodes,

And hurls its fiery particles afar,

It spawns the birth of worlds light years away

To be the home of innumerable souls!

All destruction leading to creation,

And ever higher and more beautiful

And good, which we have eyes and minds to see.

And this is what some simple artisan,

Who toiled over the colored glass and lead,

And brought into the world this light and form,

Was moved by unseen forces to conceive,

Although he never spoke it, never sang,

But seems to do so as I listen now.

 

                --March, 2016

 

Daniel is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and poetry. His volume of poetry, compiling over 20 years of composition, is entitled "Voices on the Wind."

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload