Upon a Stormy Rainbow

A day is coming rainbow never knew,
The which the stars of heav’n have never heard,
With noonday light diminished by a third
And sanguinary sky instead of blue;
The sea, fenced still by bound’ry untransgressed,
Is serpent-churned, a boiling, livid wound;
The mountains all have fled into the ground,
Save transfixed Zion, fractured and distressed—
The cloudless heights furl back. Heav’n’s symphony
Ceases full half an hour. The weary sun
Yields mirror-glory back to blazing eye
And sev’nstrength-shining visage. It is done!
The trembling earth herself submits to die:
Thus may her resurrection be begun.

—5/27/26

On Sowing

Fear not, O seed, to perish in the spring;
The pretty fields will only bloom awhile;
What though the earth doth greenest, gayest smile,
Its pleasures no true joy nor lasting bring.
Awinter thou wast safe in silo kept
From trial’s frost, unto this sowing hour,
But never barn could nourish what must flow’r,
However warmly there thy kernel slept.
But when at last in soil thou art lain,
Thou shalt see beatific, summer sun
And sprouting shoot rise up in thee again
As yet more perfect life be then begun,
Until in ripened plenitude of grain
Thy resurrection-harvest’s fully done.

—2/24/26

Vineyard Cycle (Imperfect)

I. Isaiah v. 1–4

A ballad let me sing for my beloved,
Who had a vineyard on a fertile slope,
Who cleared and dug and watered with the hope
That vintage fine to flourish would be moved.
He built a tow’r amid the trellises;
Under its shade a vat and press he hewed;
Thus in his former wilderness he would
Enjoy the fruit of all he toiled to dress,
But lo! no sweet it yielded, only sour.
Now judge ye for my love between his plot:
What untried care remained within his pow’r?
What else could he have done that he did not?
O men of Judah and Jerusalem,
Why only wildness hath he got of them?


II. Isaiah v. 5–7 ; Hosea xi. 8–9

Hear ye my love declare that he intends
His faithless arbor not with love to prune,
Its hedge with fire and grazing to consume,
Its wall against with trampling to contemn,
To lay it waste, be neither dressed nor hoed,
But thorns and briers on its frames be grown,
And barren clouds with nothing wilt the ground,
Since it with holiness be unendued.
And yet, love’s fire declares— and yet— and yet—
How can I hand them over to their fate?
How can I give them all they ought to get?
Am I not greater than their sin is great?
O men of Israel and Ephraim,
How can I make a perfect end of them?


III. Psalm lxxx. 8–11, 14–19

My Lord, my love, a vine thou drewest out
Of nations, planted, tended, and you bade
The tree-lined mounts find respite in her shade
And Sea and River stand her twinned redoubt.
Look down from heaven, God of hosts, and see
The fiery waste wherein thy vineyard lies,
How by th’ Accuser’s sword thy planting dies,
And how, great God, by this he spits at thee.
Have pity on thy bruised and smoking stem,
And gird the holy Son in perfect might;
To green abundance resurrect thou them;
Thy hand be on the man upon thy right.
O son of God and yet the son of man,
Shine on us, save us, for thou only can.

—Completed 10/9/25