faith for faith

Another poet I have come to love is George Herbert. His use of imagery is astounding:

Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word?
….He is a brittle crazy glass;
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford
….This glorious and transcendent place,
….To be a window, through thy grace.

But when thou dost anneal in glass thy story,
….Making thy life to shine within
The holy preachers, then the light and glory
….More reverend grows, and more doth win;
….Which else shows waterish, bleak, and thin.

Doctrine and life, colors and light, in one
….When they combine and mingle, bring
A strong regard and awe; but speech alone
….Doth vanish like a flaring thing,
….And in the ear, not conscience, ring.

I love the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins. He had a rare gift, and his poetry was solely a song from him to his Creator. His works were not published till well after his death, and that not by his design. It is a grace of God that his works were discovered and published:

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

How long, O Lord; how long must I wait for thee?
I have sought thee with my whole heart,
And my heart is wearied by thy pursuit;
I have looked about me, and I see myself alone;
Thy enemies look with contempt upon me,
And those who bear thy name jeer and detest me;
I am a fool to those who hate thee,
And a mad man and a rebel to those who claim allegiance to thee;
All have despised me, and all have desired my ruin;
I am alone.

Read more…

The apostle Paul declares, “To live is Christ; to die is gain” (Php. 1:21). Regardless of where he is in life, the Christian is drenched in hope, and when he dies, his hope will be realized. Therefore, death for the Christian is the passage into eternal Delight in his Savior, and should not be something that is feared, but it should be something that is waited for with eager expectation, for, “If we have died with Christ [by baptism], we believe that we will also live with him” (Rm. 6:8). Therefore, today, I remember my Inheritance in a sonnet I composed some years ago:

Sonnet I

My belovéd Death! far too long have I
Been unfaithful to thee, giving Diblaim’s bed
To blind Desire and feigned Hope in thy stead.
Yet, how could I’ve known thee, hid ‘hind the lie
Of dye-drenched grayed hair and suppresséd sigh?
Seeing thee a foreign tyrant, I fled
From thy distance-blurred image to wed
One less loving to escape thy ill-bye.
I was deceived! Thou art not ill, indeed
Thou art the balm for my indifferent heart!
Come nigh to me (not too close!) and impart
The power thou gavest Keats in his age.
Breathe into me, sweet Death! cause me to bleed,
Fix my gaze past thee, my might never assuage.

This is certainly one of my favorite poems, and Gerard Manly Hopkins is quite possibly my favorite poet, though I do like to be smacked by John Donne every once in awhile. Enjoy some decent writing on this blog for a change.

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
……dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dáwn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
……Of the rólling level �ndernéath him steady áir, & stríding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
…… As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl & gliding
…… Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, — the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty & valour & act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
…… Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, o my chevalier!
…… No wónder of it: shéer plód makes plóugh down síllion
Shine, & blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
…… Fall, gáll themsélves, & gásh góld-vermílion.

~ The Windhover by Gerard Manly Hopkins

I am no so well today (due to a bad first experience cooking a turkey), so I will not be writing a post today, but I do have a good one planned for tomorrow, Lord willing of course. In the mean time, feel free to enjoy some John Donne with me.

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me (John Donne, Holy Sonnet XIV).

For those who find these things interesting, I am showing my first published draft of Sonnet II by its present draft. It is something to fill the Thanksgiving Day blog post void. Criticism is always welcome.

Present Draft:

Away went Earth’s once White & vestal forms—
Defiled—ravished when Sin’s First Seed was sown;
And now, through Pangs She strains—through wars & storms,
Awaiting Him whose Kin bear Hope, She groans;

Not Her alone, but we the Sons of God,
Whose father’s Seed steeps our marrow & bones;
In Christ, we taste Rest on this war-torn Sod,
We taste but faintly, and with Her we groan;

Although in us we find the Spirit’s hand,
We pray not the Objectives of the Throne,
Nor for the Paths of Love the Father’s planned;
Thus for Harmony Divine, the Spirit groans;

Our Good, we know, is our Father’s delight,
And patiently wait till Faith yields to Sight.

~Romans 8:19-28

First Published Draft:

Away went Her once White & blushing forms–
Defiled; ravished when Sin’s First Seed was sown;
And now, through Pangs She strains–through wars & storms,
Awaiting Him whose Sons bear Hope, She groans;

Not Her alone, but we the Sons of God,
Whose father’s Seed steeps our marrow & bone,
In Christ, we taste Rest on this hostile Sod,
We taste here blindly, and with Her we groan;

And though in us we find the Spirit’s hand,
We pray not the Intentions of the Throne,
Nor the Paths of Love our Father has planned;
For our Divine Harmony, the Spirit groans;

We know our Good is the Father’s delight,
And patiently wait till Faith yields to Sight.

~Romans 8:19-28

Away went Earth’s once White & vestal forms—
Defiled—ravished when Sin’s First Seed was sown;
And now, through Pangs She strains—through wars & storms,
Awaiting Him whose Kin bear Hope, She groans;

Not Her alone, but we the Sons of God,
Whose father’s Seed steeps our marrow & bones;
In Christ, we taste Rest on this war-torn Sod,
We taste but faintly, and with Her we groan;

Although in us we find the Spirit’s hand,
We pray not the Objectives of the Throne,
Nor for the Paths of Love the Father’s planned;
Thus for Harmony Divine, the Spirit groans;

Our Good, we know, is our Father’s delight,
And patiently wait till Faith yields to Sight.

~Romans 8:19-28