Christ | Christmas | Faith | Incarnation | Peace | Poetry | Rest | Worship

Drought drove us onward though we did not know.
Beyond wide rivers cool among their palms.
Past young white-water streams where willows grow
To screen their rapid innocence from jaded eyes;
Along steep mountain slopes where waterfalls
Precipitate in mist from lichened cliffs
Fed by the dazzling glaciers of the tall-
Toothed ranges wreathed in veils of cloud:
Over brief desert patches pooled by sudden rain
And blossomed rose, we journeyed always on.
No draught at an oasis, no chilled wine
At caravansary, no dewy sip of dawn
Settled the burning of our hearts and minds.
We passed the silty Jordan’s healing flood,
We sipped the crystal nectars Herod served;
And tasted premonition thick as blood.
But not until each knelt in worship first
Did we discover we had been athirst. Charles A. Waugaman, Myrrh For My Birthday

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