Advent

Two thousand years go by while while on the Cross
Our Lord is suffering still–there is no end
Of pain: the spear pierces, nails rend–
And we below with Mary weep our loss.

The chilling edge of night crawls round the earth;
At every second of the centuries,
The dark comes somewhere down, with dreadful ease
Slaying the sun, denying light’s rebirth.

But if the agony and death go on,
Our Lady’s tears, Our Lord’s most mortal cry,
So, too, the timeless lovely birth again–
And the forsaken tomb. Today: the dawn
That never ended and can never die
In breaking glory ushers in the slain.

Sheldon Vanauken