A Little G.M. Hopkins for the Morning

as kingfishers...

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one things and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves–goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

 

I say more: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–

Christ –for Christ plays in ten thousand places;

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

 

Do me (or rather, yourself) a favor: read this poem out-loud first, savoring the music that emerges.  Then, gaze on the images wrought by the words: the beautifully swift yet apt descriptions, the twining of images and truth–the beauty of theology presented in a sonnet.

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