26 Feb Blessed is She Who Hears the Word of God and Keeps It

Where the blueshades draws on hills rolled
When cloudhovers leap over spring’s bouquet
The song the world sings to God rises bold
As the psalm says, where all things admit the Way,
Truth and Life. From the crescent pan on the smokerock day,
Anyone can hear the music: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way.

This piety seldom survives into domestic dream
Dimmed in glassfilter colored to servitude of kin
But the majesty hidden in framed daylit stream
Of wordless Joseph, and pondering Mary without sin
Hears the Way, Truth, Life: Mother, He said.
With dough-measure in her palms, work-dry;
With heavy eyes she raises her crowned head,
And smiles as the Lord’s splendor met her eye.

To the furthest reaches of rhythm and chore
Has the practice of family become electrified
Shot throughout with divinized charge, inside
Everyday saints who see Him in it, and adore.