Volume > Issue > Praise

Praise

A POEM

By Lorraine Bochler Eshleman | July August 1986

Oh endless pattern in the trees.

You weave a world for me

Of endless beauty, endless art,

Of endless mystery.

 

You are a symphony, a stage,

A master’s work of art.

You have no words, still all you say

Lies deepest in my heart.

 

Oh God, Your hand is everywhere —

Your stroke against the sky

Outlines a joy that breaks my heart

And begs my spirit fly.

 

It beckons me and beckons me

And wounds me with its glee,

And I will worship You, Great God,

’Til moons shall part the sea.

Enjoyed reading this?

READ MORE! REGISTER TODAY

SUBSCRIBE

You May Also Enjoy

Twentieth-Century Adam and Eve

As aliens yearn

For the native land.

We still return

To the garden —

Taste…

Pain of Late Conversion

Have mercy, Lord, and by your blood

wash from my brain

the sly recurring pain

Epithalamion

As puny astronauts set out,

Sheathed in their metal skin,

Exploring vastnesses without,

So do…