Sparse is the space between the things That wreck me in such glorious Disrobing Of Heaven to earth. Pittering, glittering, pouring From the windows with which I watch this waning world— Embittering itself from its true Mooring— They shutter half-closed, gushing still, Staggered with glee as a springborn stallion. Linens of mercy and goodness unravel, Adorning my table like a blanket In the midst of a hostile horde; Yet I eat bountifully. Daily fed, daily led, a sustenance of daily bread With timeless wisdom sure. To left or right, abysmal vales Of scorching sorrow, oblivious dead; The ones who raised a crooked sail Instead of steady roads, narrow and pure. But on these truths I rest my head; My hope, my hands, my life depend Completely on Your settled words— For this monstrous poison, Mankind’s lone cure.
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