Pent-up within the bounds
Of my humanity,
My relentless spirit, ever straining upward,
Thrills to harmony
Melodious in the music of a song
New lisped into a prayer,
Ever-rising, ever-failing
In its flight to the Supreme Reality.
But in that love-wrought paeon,
‘Compassed by my mortal bonds,
Eternal realms I still explore
And know not satisfaction.
Then one solitary hope,
Breathed in time’s faint ecstasy,
Longing for divine fulfillment,
To the overwhelming grace of God
Intends. And yet
In earthly guise
I may not yet approach
Such wond’rous plenitude
Nor fully grasp beatitude!
Still longing for the joys above,
To petty woes I yield;
And in this weakening
A paradox takes life.
For, pinioned to this world’s rancor
Like fledglings boasting strength of wing,
My charmed soul sallies forth
In spams oft-times o’er
To fall again
In dust —
Bathed in humble blood-stains
Red with injured pride.
Poem by Francis Smith
Emmitsburg Poet Laureate
