imagery, longing, love,
by Faye Gibson |
My love for long remained a shut up spring,
a fountain sealed, and flowed beneath the surface,
its secrets hidden from all human grace
till you came along and true love did bring,
had ears to hear the captive ripples sing.
Love at last unlocked the fast closed case,
and you, who are a king, did so abase
yourself that to my depths your soul did fling
and of my sorrows freely did partake;
till strengthened by your noble sympathy
the waters upward sprang. Ah, there they break
into the sunlit air like jewels free
to dance and of the rainbow's hues partake
then backward fall like gentle rain on thee.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
by Faye Gibson |
What sounds, what pictures can express your grace?
I search my soul to lay fast claim on words
that will depict the worship you have stirred
with in my breast. Alas, they fly apace,
and I am mute. My love, I would abase
myself and to your merit mine defer;
o, could I conjure up the golden word
that would my imagery of you embrace!
I long to lift my voice in praise of thee;
yet, evermore in speechless wonder stand
that one who walks in nobl'st purity
would enter in and grace my barren land.
Do see my debt, my abject poverty,
how they must speak what words cannot command.
Faye Lanham Gibson
by Paula Larson |
No seeming sight, as left to right were space,
nor style to look upon, not of thy face.
No holding central, like my heart was waste,
and solely rental, as to live were place.
To need you, every way, and find your grace,
so close, that mimic's jaunting of some trace,
is never real, but images efface.
I long for you, to view thy resting brace,
more firming, not confine, but glories' praise,
as when of God know truth is not abase,
but faith within, and courage action's raise -
Uprooting with discernment, evil's graze!