Through grief-dimmed lens of mortal consciousness
Men's eyes may seem to see
Only a cross,
Dark monument of earth's finality.
Dreaming of failure and defeat,
Men sit in darkness, bowed in
Submission
To unreal tyranny.
And yet,
Despite dead embers of men's earthly hopes,
Rises the phoenix fire
Of resurrection,
As, yielding to divinity,
Men kiss the cross. In meekness they
Surrender even gold of thought
To Christ's purgation
Willingly;
Cast off their sackcloth, find themselves clothed in
Seamless robes of sovereignty;
Behold completeness of the Christ's salvation
Triumph
Where failure seemed to be.
For he
Who with diviner sense perceives the cross
As but a greater
Challenge
Gathers fresh courage
To embrace high opportunity.
Wonderingly
He sees dark visions fade in light of
Understanding faith reborn,
That knows no dream of stark finality—
But dawn
Of Life's irradiant day.
