jakefrost469-dxcmr

Tag: christianpoetry

  • A Wandering Deep

    From my book Wings Upon the Unseen Gust

    I heard the rumble of the train
    From far across the frozen lake
    The ice rebounding a refrain
    From every rattle it would make

    I saw the long line of its cars
    Descending down out of the hills
    to wend its way beneath the stars
    Toward the lake the valley fills

    It crossed the bridge that spanned the deep
    And continuing on it went
    While the world lay still asleep
    On its errands it was bent

    And I wondered where all it would go
    In its travels across this land
    What places would it come to know?
    Even the seashore’s shining strand?

    O forth to go adventuring!
    Abroad to seek the journey’s thrills!
    A walking stick in hand to swing
    And raise the dust of distant hills

    And under stars to make my bed
    Beside a campfire burning bright
    On fragrant boughs to lay my head
    And dream all through the night

    But what then of the little face
    Of the one who waits for me at home
    For the one that no one could replace
    If his father set out to roam?

    And think of what I’ve come to know
    Through life beside my own hearth fire
    Of love and joy and how they grow
    In yielding up our own desire

    And embracing an adventure
    I never knew that I would find
    Grander than the road’s indenture
    Beyond the borders maps have lined

    For there is a wandering afar
    Adn there’s a wandering that’s deep
    That steers a course set by the star
    Of the promises we keep

    It is the journey of the heart
    That leads into this mystery
    That is love, and has its start
    Where our own sacrifice will be

    So I will stay where duties bind
    And tend this task that’s given me
    And walk this road so I might find
    Where leads this mystery

    And let the train go where it will
    Through this world that lies asleep
    For I will keep to love’s path still
    Wandering on into the deep

  • Saint Cuthman at Penfold’s Field

    From my book A Craftsman at Play in Creation

    “Laugh man, weep Heaven,”
    Said aloud the saint,
    When at a widow’s sorrow,
    They laughed without restraint

    The sorrow of widows and the poor
    They scorned and made their sport,
    Those in Penfold’s Field who mowed,
    And feared not Heaven’s court

    But their laughter quickly faded
    When from a sky of blue
    Torrents of rain descended
    To ruin the crop that grew

    The bounty they had expected
    All suddenly was gone
    While the poor man who had spoken
    Drew the widow on

    The widow who was his mother
    And crippled, no more could walk,
    And her son who was a poor man
    Pulled her handcart while they talked

    Of the glories of their Maker,
    And the blessings from their God,
    Even while in poverty
    A lonely road they trod

    For he who was a poor man
    Also was a saint
    And bore the crosses he’d been given
    In joy without complaint

    And always filled with love for God,
    And the beauties of creation,
    Given freely as a gift,
    As was his own salvation

    Saint Cuthman in the village Steyning
    built a church with his own hands
    A shepherd who the sheep obeyed
    When he gave to them commands

    And at the words of this saint
    The rains from Heaven fell
    The laughter of the haughty
    In their spoiled fields to quell

    That in West Sussex men might learn
    Wherein to place their joy
    Not in the riches of the Earth
    The moth might still destroy

    But in those things eternal
    For which Heaven laughs or cries
    The things which are unchanging,
    Unlike our earthly skies

    And still unto this very day
    When Penfold’s Field is mown
    Rain descends like tears upon
    Land cruel laughter once had sown