Hora Christi

By Alice Brown

1857-1948


Sweet is the time for joyous folk
         Of gifts and minstrelsy;
Yet I, O lowly-hearted One,
         Crave but Thy company.
On lonesome road, beset with dread,
         My questing lies afar.
I have no light, save in the east
         The gleaming of Thy star.

In cloistered aisles they keep to-day
         Thy feast, O living Lord!
With pomp of banner, pride of song,
         And stately sounding word.
Mute stand the kings of power and place,
         While priests of holy mind
Dispense Thy blessed heritage
         Of peace to all mankind.

I know a spot where budless twigs
         Are bare above the snow,
And where sweet winter-loving birds
         Flit softly to and fro;
There with the sun for altar-fire,
         The earth for kneeling-place,
The gentle air for chorister,
         Will I adore Thy face.

Loud, underneath the great blue sky,
         My heart shall paean sing,
The gold and myrrh of meekest love
         Mine only offering.
Bliss of Thy birth shall quicken me;
         And for Thy pain and dole
Tears are but vain, so I will keep
         The silence of the soul.

DayPoems Poem No. 1274
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1274.html">Hora Christi by Alice Brown</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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