Friday, July 22
How good it is, Lord,
To stumble upon the world after a great grief:
To be new-birthed on the shore of
And feel the mingled homeliness and honey
Of the tears of reunion and
Those of humbler things.
Every blade is more green,
Every sky bluer
As if seen by the eye of a tiny babe
Not knowing the way of such wonders,
But letting the mystery be.