What if, in the high, restful sanctuary That keeps the memory of Paradise, We’re followed by the drone of history And greed’s poisonous fumes still burn our eyes? Disharmony recalls us to our work. From Heavenly work of light and wind and leaf We must turn back into the peopled dark Of our unraveling century, the grief Of waste, the agony of haste and noise. It is a hard return from Sabbath rest To lifework of the fields, yet we rejoice, Returning, less condemned in being blessed By vision of what human work can make: A harmony between forest and field, The world as it was given for love’s
...more
