The Cradle of the Child
The Cradle of the Child
There is communion in the fading day,
The celebration of an ancient’s birth,
I watch the bluets rise from mossy beds
Mid pungent odours of renascent earth.
In the chill sunset hours on purple hills
Or slate-black waters of the mountain streams
I am returned to those ancestral roots,
The greening habitat of youthful dreams.
The cherries weep with blossoms lightly blown,
I am the intimate of stately trees
And lightly step into the vast unknown
Dimensions of the new theocracies.
To beauty we are called, the soul’s delight,
As a river to the sea is strangely drawn,
The cradle of the Child now gently rocks
Who lights the blazing symbol fires of dawn.
