Postby holysoldier5000 » Thu May 12, 2005 5:42 am
Caught by C.S. Lewis
You rest upon me all my days
The inevitable Eye,
Dreadful and undeflected as the blaze
Of some Arabian sky;
Where, dead still, in their smothering tent
Pale travellers crouch, and, bright
About them, noon long-drawn Astonishment
Hammers the rocks with light.
Oh, for but one cool breath in seven,
One air from northern climes,
The changing and the castle-cluded heaven
Of my Pagan times!
But you have seized all in your rage
Of Oneness. Round about,
Beating my wings, all ways, within your cage,
I flutter, but not out.
Metaphor by C.S. Lewis
He whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable name, murmuring Thou;
And dream of Pheidian fancies and ebrace in heart
Meanings, I know, that cannot be the thing thou art.
All prayers always, taken at their words, blaspheme,
Invoking with frail imageries a folk-lore dream;
and all men are idolaters, crying unheard
To senseless idols, if thou take them at their word,
And all men in their praying, self-decevied, address
One that is not (so saith that old rebuke) unless
Thou, of mere grace, appropriate, and to thee divert
Men's arrows, all at hazard aimed, beyond desert.
Take no, oh Lord, our literal sense, but in thy great,
Unbroken speech our halting metaphor traslate.