The enemy's inroads through the forests of my flesh go deep

The enemy's inroads
through the forests of my flesh
go deep.

He seeks not open country.
See how he hides between
rows of manicured foliage where he works unseen
or by night,
insinuating out of sight
subtle trappings, seductions, and thoughts unclean,
while watchmen and woodsman are away, or sleep.

Many they be who stand along the march and fend,
many on the roads aware, beating the bush to find

the fever feeding on the shadows there
— oh, and the woodsman,

helpless one brandishing one axe against the ambush,
— all on the Day depend.

Deep in the darkest and thickest ravine, or high
in the narrowest, windiest pass, where trees

rise so close beside the trail one can scarcely squeeze by,
there comes the enemy out from his covert nigh,
uncomfortable, mean — oh, how he taunts,
afraid of one woodsman's axe even then,
— by mere suggestion, how he plies his victories.

Hand-bound and toe-nailed in a death-dusty heap,
would man were not jailed so, in such misery weep,

— but oh, at the summit, skirting the tree line
the first whispering of warmth, rumor of radiance divine,
and in streams gravitating to the gullies below
the same lustre of healing in the animate flow,
— but watchmen and woodsman most certainly know

also hidden a ransoming fire does not sleep, though
the enemy's inroads
through the forests of my flesh
go deep.

The Word is mighty

The word is mighty,
of this I have no doubt,
though it is but the sound

of the immortal spring that flows with life only,

not with life and death,

to which, when thirsting,

I repair and drink.

The mind has ears

for what it cannot think

as it would join its syllables to breath.

I quiet sit

astride its wanderings

in restoration

never reasoned out.

Some the word as weapon,

some as spade apply,

or verbal idol lavished with applause,

or bait the trap

between themselves and fate.

Some weaken what is strong,
some fortify the feeble or manipulate the laws,

and I,

I listen,

slake my thirst, and wait.

His mercy is severe

His mercy is severe
who arms the Pleiades with light
and girds the soul through conscience
for the moral fight.

His love is far too strong,
His eye too piercing bright
for man, who only can
endure through many veils His sight.

His judgment orders messengers
to us deprived of might,
and stands our sin before us
as we hurry into night.

His purity, His truth, His beauty
empty out of white,
swords flashing, cymbals crashing,
music, multiplicity, delight.

His promise is unhedged
and hangs persuasive at our right,
whose mercy is severe
and arms the Pleiades with light.
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