he will whet his sword
In the muted wood,
I walked alone
till screaming angels
moved like a knife
across my eyes.
Lord, in the huts
and in the mud your angels
screamed to the heavens
and the sheltered wood
was quiet no longer.
In the night I waited
torn in my sleep
seeing the sky unfolded,
feeling the earth unhinged:
and then I knew, my Lord,
and then I knew.
And there was no more Sea.
VOICES from above and from beneath,
Voices of creation near and far,
Voices out of life and out of death,
Out of measureless space,
Sun, moon, star,
In oneness of contentment offering praise.
Heaven and earth and sea jubilant,
Jubilant all things that dwell therein ;
Filled to fullest overflow they chant,
Still roll onward, swell,
Never flagging praise interminable.
Thou who must fall silent in a while,
Chant thy sweetest, gladdest, best, at once ;
Sun thyself to-day, keep peace and smile ;
By love upward send
Accounting love thy lot and love thine end.
Christina Rossetti, before 1893.