Tag Archives: praise

“The Times for Telling of Thy Wondrous Works”

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16

Early Morning by Assen Alekov

The Times for Telling of Thy Wondrous Works

The times for telling of Thy wondrous works
are measured in mysterious cups of gold,
in ladles of the cauldron’s spicéd broth,
in teaspoons of the leaven for the bread.

There comes a daylight for the larks to sing,
a nighttime darkness for the silent sigh,
when eyes shed tears that sparkle with the stars,
awaken ‘midst the dewdrops on the grass.

Unknown to me tomorrow’s  paths to take,
You guide me with Your ever loving Eye,
and step by step with laughter will I take,
I walk beneath the shadow of Thy wings.

The times for telling of Thy wondrous works
are numbered with life’s tapestry of threads,
of countries and of people I have met,
the times, I know, my times are in Thy Hand.

D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography Credit: Early Morning by Assen Alekov

“Light In Our Dwellings”

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22

Night Cabin by Andrey Golubev
Melodies kindled by hearth fires:
the refrigerator murmurs like a cello
in concert with the clanging cymbals of platters,
the violin strings of scarlet wine,
the oboe winds that scatter the leftover
crumbs of bread —

Supper flames are quenched,
night deepens towards the precipice of dawn,
outside the window
the eyelids of frozen branches close,
await the feeble warmth of winter morning.

Foxes have holes,
the graceful gazelle runs homeward
to the ebony forest,
egrets fly to their nests in the fir trees,
the mountain goats climb to their high places.

Praise, praise,
for the laughter of light in our dwellings,
the crimson fire of corpuscles pulsating
with the pendulum of time —

Praise, praise to Thee,
O Giver of Light and Life,
O Source of Strength and Joy.

D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography Credit: “Night Cabin” by Andrey Golubev

“Morning Light”

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Morning Light 7 resized
Morning Light

Fervent feet step into aisles
of a buttressed cathedral
shod in shoes the colors of the sky,
vitelline sun,
clay after the rain —

Knees bend into kneeling
pads of the prism,
blinking eyelids
descend into oblivious
oceans of praise —

At the the stroke of celestial
harp strings,
earthenware vessels of infinite
colors coalesce
into a niveous porcelain vase:

flawless as the morning light,
the morning’s evanescent white.

D. G. Vachal © 2013