The Hymn of Life

Out of the silence whispers
the first rustle of morning,
wind in leaves,
the stirring of a sparrow,
then the full-throated song.
Soon the full-throated world
joins in the symphony of daylight:
the hum of tires and horns,
the trucks waking the world
on the busiest byways,
through tree-covered hills and shouting cities,
the chattering televisions and squawking phones,
the ringing of hammers and school bells,
awake, awake, awake,
all sounds rising and echoing into a hymn of life,
of wondrous laughter and terrible pain,
of boisterous cheers and tenderest love,
of praise and joy for the mystery of it all.
This is the world, come to sing,
to make its glad and grand music,
calling trumpet and clarinet to weave a tale,
piano and drums to echo the heartbeat
of infancy and age, trouble and triumph,
filling our days with dancing,
making its magic into the darkest night
until the last note says 'Amen'
and slips into silence again,
when the heart rests, remembers,
dreams itself to sleep,
and waits
for the music to begin again.

--Timothy Haut, 2013

Safe at Home

This perfect April afternoon,

All green and golden,
Joy calls us to the familiar yard
Tilting up to the smiling woods.
We have a bat and ball
A grandfather for a pitcher
And a seven-year-old full of life
Who sends a fly ball into the sprouting lettuce,
Then races around an imaginary first base,
Stops at second,
And lies down in the uncut grass
On her back, arms spread wide
To count the blackbirds in the tall maple.
They may be calling to her, “Run, run!”
But she does not move,
Content to be there, young, joyful,
Laughing at such a life
In which we are always
Safe at home.
--Timothy Haut, May, 2013

　

　

May Glory

Glory be to you, O Lord,
  for this arisen-ness of May:
For the golden joy of a million dandelions
  falling like sunlight on awakening fields;
For the flame of azaleas
  and the confetti of apple blossoms
  celebrating this most amazing life;
For the wild anthems of birds at sunrise
  and the noonday hum of bees;
For the first tendrils of garden peas
  and the hopefulness of lettuce
  waiting for what is yet to come;
For rain, soft upon the land,
  and air, sweet, tender, alive;
For children rejoicing in long grass,
  rising into tempting treetops,
  racing around bases
  as if they could make world itself turn
  by sheer exuberance;
For these we give you thanks, O God.
Let it be that in our gratitude
  we may know your presence,
  and that in your presence
  we may find our peace.
Amen.

--Timothy Haut, May, 2013