3rd Sunday Easter
Sunday 18th April 2021

Image supplied by Gemma Traynor


Poetry speaks to the heart through the experience of another. The effort it takes to lay aside our own views and feelings and enter into someone else's vision helps us to prepare our hearts to be open to the wisdom of God.

This Sunday's Poetry

The Housewife---

See, I am cumbered, Lord,
With serving, and with small vexatious things.
Upstairs, and down, my feet
Must hasten, sure and fleet.
So weary that I cannot heed Thy word;
So tired, I cannot now mount up with wings.
I wrestle -- how I wrestle! -- through the hours.
Nay, not with principalities, nor powers --
Dark spiritual foes of God's and man's --
But with antagonistic pots and pans:
With footmarks in the hall,
ith smears upon the wall,
With doubtful ears, and small unwashen hands,
And with a babe's innumerable demands.

I toil with feverish haste, while tear-drops glisten,

(O, child of mine, be still. And listen -- listen!)

At last, I laid aside
Important work, no other hands could do
So well (I thought), no skill contrive so true.
And with my heart's door open -- open wide --
With leisured feet, and idle hands, I sat.
I, foolish, fussy, blind as any bat,
Sat down to listen, and to learn. And lo,
My thousand tasks were done the better so.

By Fay Inchfawn

When He Comes

"When He comes! My sweetest 'When'!"

Thus may it be (I thought) at some day's close,
Some lilac-haunted eve, when every rose
Breathes forth its incense. May He find me there,
In holy leisure, lifting hands of prayer,
In some sweet garden place,
To catch the first dear wonder of His Face!

Or, in my room above,
In silent meditation of His love,
My soul illumined with a rapture rare.
It would be sweet, if even then, these eyes
Might glimpse Him coming in the Eastern skies,
And be caught up to meet Him in the air.

But now! Ah, now, the days
Rush by their hurrying ways!
No longer know I vague imaginings,
For every hour has wings.
Yet my heart watches . . . as I work I say,
All simply, to Him: "Come! And if to-day,
Then wilt Thou find me thus: just as I am --
Tending my household; stirring gooseberry jam;
Or swiftly rinsing tiny vests and hose, With puzzled forehead patching some one's clothes; Guiding small footsteps, swift to hear, and run,
From early dawn till setting of the sun."

And whensoe'er He comes, I'll rise and go,
Yes, all the gladlier that He found me so.

C. Rossetti