Post by gmspencer on Jun 26, 2009 19:36:43 GMT -5
A Poem for the Ladies of the Altar Guild
She holds the chalice to the light
Its shape a cup of silver bright
Its stem and knob in hands contrite
Are warm and to the touch delight
About its base so wide and round
Is etched a Vine that grows from Ground
So good, made so by God alone
And from it springs our Heavenly Home
Its lip so sweet, her lips partake
That which no lips can now translate.
Sweetly hangs its substantial weight
There hangs her Love, there hangs her Fate.
She holds that chalice full of Light
Clean hands made free by his own plight
Sure she is it holds within
The one who saved her from her sin.
Wthin that chalice silver bright
Within the Crib on Christmas night
Upon the Mercy Seat fell sore,
Above the lintel of the door,
On Mary’s Lap a savaged Knight
From her own life his life she bore
True Blossom sweet and all Delight
Upon the Cross this Flower wore
Our nakedness our blood made bright
True God, True Man our Maker tore
From craven grave the power to reign
And gave to us a Life to gain.
She holds the chalice to the light
Its shape a cup of silver bright
Its stem and knob in hands contrite
Are warm and to the touch delight
About its base so wide and round
Is etched a Vine that grows from Ground
So good, made so by God alone
And from it springs our Heavenly Home
Its lip so sweet, her lips partake
That which no lips can now translate.
Sweetly hangs its substantial weight
There hangs her Love, there hangs her Fate.
She holds that chalice full of Light
Clean hands made free by his own plight
Sure she is it holds within
The one who saved her from her sin.
Wthin that chalice silver bright
Within the Crib on Christmas night
Upon the Mercy Seat fell sore,
Above the lintel of the door,
On Mary’s Lap a savaged Knight
From her own life his life she bore
True Blossom sweet and all Delight
Upon the Cross this Flower wore
Our nakedness our blood made bright
True God, True Man our Maker tore
From craven grave the power to reign
And gave to us a Life to gain.