To The Calcfulators:
If you get to the bottom of it,
It may all collapse and kill you.
Not that we should not think,
Nor let our brains decay for lack of use,
But haply that we’d think on simpler things
Like rainbows such as shine
In mayflies’ wings,
Or how his down makes warm
The wintering goose.
The subtlety of loveliness makes glad.
Glad wonder that it should be here at all,
And that it is so oft ‘designedly dropped’
To lead our minds in ascent from our fall;
And so I lift my eyes up to the hills
Whose pure white tops are purpled
As with blood, and think how he obeyed His Father’s will.
I see His garments there, his loving eyes,
As with his little band he strode
To bring men paradise.
Why, any thought on loveliness
Leads somehow up to Him.
Oh it shall soon be glorious
To sit “enthroned” with Him.
And see the crowns of Glory shine
On all who have gone home
And see those very crowns seem dim
By Glory round His Throne;
And join the peal of heavenly hymns
To sing our thankfulness.
To be led into His presence
By the thought of Loveliness.
© 2006, Gene Pinkney, No portions may be copied without attribution