• author
    • Stacey Robinson

    • June 4, 2014 in Bloggers


    I counted out the measures
    In cubits
    and inches
    and baskets of grain
    And made a sanctuary
    From a field of grass
    And cornflowers,
    And it was pleasing to behold,
    And silent.

    Beyond those borders,
    Beyond the altars and their
    Sacred, silent beauty,
    Lay the wild lands–
    Choked with weeds
    And shadows
    That stretched in still echoes
    Over miles
    And unmeasured days,
    Leached of color
    And light.

    They came,
    Crossing the wilderness
    With steps of infinity,
    Measured in endless cubits
    And dusty inches,
    And gathered here,
    In my field of glory,
    Carrying baskets laden with their gifts
    And sins
    And doubt:
    Their sacrifice,
    Offered in silvered longing.
    And laid on that altar
    Their gifts and broken burdens,
    All together and all at once.

    They gathered there
    In the field of grass
    Bounded by cubits; and inches
    and meters and measures
    They lifted their voices
    In an endless hosanna
    In aching need,
    And sang


    It was benediction–
    A bounty of sweet and
    splintered offerings.
    They sang
    Into that holy stillness–
    That glorious sanctuary
    Of unbounded measure
    And sweetly bending grasses,
    And mist that hovered
    Like the breath of God–



    Leave a Comment