The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame
out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a
greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is
seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's
smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the
dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at
the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods
with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard
Manley Hopkins
________________________________________________
majesty
mountains soaring high into the sky
fiery clouds on a winter’s morn
snow-draped trees and the squeak of freshly fallen snow
and a million stars sparkling in the sky
majesty
a dog howling at the moon
and a cat at play
a horse feeling her oats in a pasture green
majesty
a child’s laughter
and a voice lifted in song
a stuffed bear loved to extinction
a living room filled with the chaos of life and love
majesty is not just found
in mansions large
in gold-gilded extravagance
in crowns and scepters
majesty is found in strange and mystical places
in every place
that Sacred dwells
and Sacred dwells in everything
in everyone
which is why everyone is a royal child
behold what love God has given us
that we should be called the children of God
and that is what we are
majesty
the child at school
the food handler at McDonald’s
the farmer in the field
the worker in a cubical
the nurse on the floor, the doctor in the exam room
the man at the bar, deep in his “cups”
the woman behind the counter facing the Christmas rush
the person sleeping in the doorway, soaked with urine and
sweat
the family sneaking across the border in the dead of
night
the gay couple celebrating their marriage
the minister wondering what to say on Christmas Eve
majesty
angel choirs singing in the heavens
shepherds in the fields, watching their flocks by night
animals in a stable
magi wandering
and a wrinkled and red child of poverty
born
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