Unsung

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Unsung

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #93

How much light doth Thou squander
On a laggard heaven all dully bright,
Thy gods have grown recalcitrant
Safe by Thy saving shield and sceptre.

See Thee me and this poignant earth
Draped in the empty black of night
Or garbed in dubious grey’s cloth
Earned by our toils in this twilight.

Sunder then the distances intervening,
Make of Thy sun our proximate light,
Thy flaming glory in bodies burning
Like living gold from transmuted dust.

Heaven may lie secure in infinity 
And leave Thy glory ever unsung,
But we our bodies and souls do bring
For Thy sole pleasure O Eternity.