Matthew & Jeremiah

These are two of my earliest poems, written when I was in the monastery and reading a lot of Christina Rossetti. I've always loved archaic language, and loved imitating older poetry -- until a priest who is also a published poet came to visit the monastery, read my poems, and told me no editor will publish poems in archaic language, unless it's used sparingly, for a specific effect, or to make a point. Consequently, I've never submitted my early poems anywhere, but neither will I hide them away. I wrote them in all sincerity; they are the fruits of much meditation, and indicative of my particular spirituality. I post them on this Pentecost Sunday in gratitude to the Holy Spirit, in whom I trust, move, and am.

Matthew 6:6

O take me to that room whose door
When shut behind admits no more;
But, op'ning ne'er again, keeps hid
What world and fleshly pleasures chid;
A solitude of soul wherein
The mysteries of life are seen
With eyes made clear by inner light,
Of Spirit born, the truest sight.

O give me of the empty deep
Where human tempests find their sleep,
Where sacred silence stills all thought
In mind with tangled musings frought:
'Tis there the soul keeps vigil sweet,
'Tis there she finds her joy complete,
'Tis there she quits the dinning throng
And hearkens to her Lover's song.


Jeremiah 29:12-14

Belovèd mine, where may I find Thee?
Wherefore art Thou hiding still?
Through misty dark my soul doth wander,
Shiv'ring in the friendless chill.

O speak, that I Thy voice may follow,
Speak, that I may find my trove!
Have pity, for my pray'rs are weary;
Day and night they ceaseless move.

Hast Thou a word for me, Belovèd?
Some faint hope wilt Thou impart?
If thou dost seek Me, thou shalt find Me;
Only look within thy heart.