The Baton
A cry, deep hearted, full and long
baby renders his newborn song …
Kicking, flexing, arching back,
chord cut, he takes the slack.
To his mother’s waiting breasts,
drinks of life, so full of zest.
Like a plant, he breaks new ground
and stakes his life on solid mound,
where his mother’s arms enfold
to love, comfort, caress and hold.
Toddled feet, stumble, fall,
innocence trusts a father’s call
sits, crawls, stands, then walks
first steps taken, ‘ere he talks.
Yet his words fall so sure,
impish sometimes, always pure.
Small-born, thus to stay
bony, vulnerable and frail …
yet of heart, a rocky crag,
no time or tide would break.
At last, reaches noblest height,
no more yearning for the light;
small no more, no less slight
the boy, a man, prepares to fight …
for good, for poor, for all who cry
if not to save, at least he’ll try.
Such untimely screech of brakes
brings too soon, eternal gates …
so his seed dies, falls to earth
sown in hearts to yield new birth.
A relay race at end of day,
baton passed, where he lay …
run so far, so passed on
ours to end what scarce began:
take the wood laid down for us
as did Christ … His cross.
For such life to live and then
to rise again as living grain,
sown on earth, reaped in heav’n
from empty grave, to rise again.
A cry, deep hearted, full and long
baby renders his newborn song …
Kicking, flexing, arching back,
chord cut, he takes the slack.
To his mother’s waiting breasts,
drinks of life, so full of zest.
Like a plant, he breaks new ground
and stakes his life on solid mound,
where his mother’s arms enfold
to love, comfort, caress and hold.
Toddled feet, stumble, fall,
innocence trusts a father’s call
sits, crawls, stands, then walks
first steps taken, ‘ere he talks.
Yet his words fall so sure,
impish sometimes, always pure.
Small-born, thus to stay
bony, vulnerable and frail …
yet of heart, a rocky crag,
no time or tide would break.
At last, reaches noblest height,
no more yearning for the light;
small no more, no less slight
the boy, a man, prepares to fight …
for good, for poor, for all who cry
if not to save, at least he’ll try.
Such untimely screech of brakes
brings too soon, eternal gates …
so his seed dies, falls to earth
sown in hearts to yield new birth.
A relay race at end of day,
baton passed, where he lay …
run so far, so passed on
ours to end what scarce began:
take the wood laid down for us
as did Christ … His cross.
For such life to live and then
to rise again as living grain,
sown on earth, reaped in heav’n
from empty grave, to rise again.
No comments:
Post a Comment