Columba in the Church Alone
Columba in the church alone
So long ago on Iouan island
Light streamed through the shuttered windows Through the seams of doors it
flowed Did he not converse with angels?
Fantasy and myth and legend
Say the ones whose shutters close
Whose doors of love are firmly fastened
Whose house is cold and always darkened
This is country of the blind
The country of the clever senseless
And yet although the walls are thick
And the doors ingrown with mold
Angels stand around the house
Waiting, thronging in a circle
Calling out to be admitted
And the light that shines from them
Faces brighter than the sunlight
Streams against the stubborn walls
And the hymns of glory ringing
From the walls of bliss rebounding
Call again, again to praise
Awake, awake your voices raise
And they listen for response
Antiphons of living senses
Pray the dead can see the glow
Of what the saints and mystics know
Pavel
June 20, 2011