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.

Gene Pinkney


© 2006, Gene Pinkney, No portions may be copied without attribution