I have begun to note my annual propensity to write early winter poetry as a way of lamenting and comforting the loss of the fair seasons. My eyes almost ache at looking out the window on gray trees and browning grass, and so I must adorn the drear with words. December Prayer is my offering for 2020
We do not see Thee smiling on the land,
But hear the cries of swift departing birds,
Alone the sharp wind sweeps the plundered sky
Between the quaking arms of naked trees.
Far gone from us the sudden hot embrace
Of thunderstorms upon the panting earth,
Rain rushing warm and sweet into our dust
To drench with green each thirsty blade and leaf.
The winter skies despair, lie down, and weep
Long chilling tears into the withered grass.
The outskirts of Thy city in the clouds,
Piled golden eastward of the setting sun -
Those shining trumpet calls of summer's dusk
Have vanished with the dawning of the dark,
And westward glows the hasty yellow gleam
Of noon's surrender to the gaping night.
Yet though we do not see Thee, Thou art near -
Thy mercy is Thy name, Emmanuel.
Come unto us as tender cov'ring snow,
As cardinal flames alight the frozen trees,
As sunrise turns to gold the frosted ground,
Great Lover, give us glimpses of Thy grace.
Thy ways of love surpass what we can tell,
And winter is Thy home, Emmanuel.
