i am a little
church(no great cathedral)
far from the
splendour and squalor of hurrying cities
– i do not
worry if briefer days grow briefest
i not sorry when
sun and rain make april
my life is the
life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are
prayers of the earth’s own clumsy striving
(finding and
losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any
sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around them
surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory
in death and resurrection:
over my sleeping
self float flaming symbols
of hope,and I
wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little
church (far from the frantic
world with its
rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
– i do not
worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry
when silence becomes singing
winter by
spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him
Whose only now is forever:
standing erect
in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming
humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
--e. e. cummings, 95 Poems, 1958
Links: A Theological Reflection on the little church of e e cummings
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