John Scully (19th October 1947 / London)
From yon far country blows, 'His many ways.'
To overcome the bounds of time
from the humility of mind,
we kneel before the tabernacle
of bread and wine.
And in the presence of God at least
we try the Sacrifice of Calvary,
and genuflect for a deeper thirst
with morning prayers for peace.
A simple smile to see a new day
gentle calling to meet and welcome
Christ his son in his busyness
'Well then', all is not lost we gladly pray.
And when in those July days
small apples fall ready for the cider press,
and purple grapes shelter from the chilly winds
He shall come to bless his Heaven on earth,
and we shall declare his glory
for the wonder of 'his many ways'.
Comments about this poem (From yon far country blows, 'His many ways.' by John Scully )
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