there he stands; shall he not draw my eyes?
I thought I knew a little
how he compels, beyond all things, but now
he stands there in the shadows. It will be
Oh, such a daybreak, such bright morning,
when I shall wake to see him
as he is.
He is called Rose of Sharon, for his skin
is clear, his skin is flushed with blood,
his body lovely and exact; how he compels
beyond ten thousand rivals. There he stands,
my friend, the friend of guilt and helplessness,
to steer my hollow body
over the sea.
The earth is full of masks and fetishes,
what is there here for me? are these like him?
Keep company with him and you will know:
no kin, no likeness to those empty eyes.
he is a stranger to them all, great Jesus.
What is there here for me? I know
what I have longed for. Him to hold me always.
--Ann Griffiths (1776-1805), Welsh Methodist, farmer’s daughter and wife in mid North Wales, considered to be one of the greatest Welsh religious poets and hymnist who died in childbirth at age 29. Translated from Welsh by former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams.
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