Children of Light (Tuesday in Holy Week)
Arise, little ones.
Though in your smallness you cannot see
Beyond the faint horizon:
He comes, he comes,
Across the seas,
Bearing light upon his brow.
To those despised deeply,
Abhorred by the world,
He comes bearing folly, to weaken the wise;
He sweeps the vast coastlands,
His mouth is a sword,
Yet he will not lift his voice.
And silently he falls to soil,
A kernel, broken, to spread its seed
And bring in a harvest of plenty.
Arise, little ones:
He takes in the weak, beleaguered and small
And makes them children of light.
The Consolations of Writing 