Gratitude

Poem

A gratitude to Thee they said I owe, by gesture or attitude to show.
With what price of coin must I win this thing, or by deep service win?
Not a thing this gratitude they said, a becoming in thy own self instead,
A poise or mood of subtle recognitions, of who appoints all thy assignations.
So I ventured and scoured within me, for a thing of me to give to Thee.
The body first I saw, of modest form, but not mine was it by every norm.
An earth drawn womb gave it shape, bone and tissue and a skin to drape.
Then I turned to breath of vital, animator of body, energy most pivotal.
Yet not I its mover and rather by its sole motion can I wander.
This too was not mine to claim, so I continued pursuit of my aim.
Ah, I thought then what of the mind, that many contraries does bind,
Thought that drifts to distant shores, or flies by muse to heaven’s doors.
But subtler was its occult origin, only a dim ray of some sun foreign.
Speech was its bright offspring, that drew itself from mind’s wellspring.
None of these palpable things were I, so what to offer I thought with a sigh.
And in a musing my soul did remember, the tremendous gesture of surrender.
All my parts gathered and fell prone and in my heart a strange light shone,
I felt then from high the pouring words, “I am He, Master of all thy worlds,
Thy thought and speech and act, are fruits of which I am the root.
Thy ritual and gesture and worship, are only means to earn my kinship.
Rouse then in thy breast this fire of mine that will teach to aspire.
It alone knows the means of gratitude, follow its trail and instil its attitude.
Of all that flowers in earth’s gardens, fairest is the flower of devotion.
By its hue and perfume gratitude grows, only devotion that secret path knows.”

Posts tagged with "gesture"

The Mud-Born

Gratitude