Friday, April 7, 2017


O Lord of Hosts, you give your radiance,
You pour your light down from among the                    fields;
Your Grace can never be contained by me.
Nor by any soul across the centuries.

You give your gifts in mysterious places.

You give your gifts to those so unworthy,
         like me,
How could you use me to express
          your Word?

And the saints and Bodhisattvas,
        the timeless ones,
How come they share their
        selfless truths with me?

In the radiance of 
Your Great  Gifts you
Have the mercy to give
        Grace and speak 
                   to me;
We are both aware 
       I don't deserve it.

Let me serve you 
       then to the
               end of time.

(C) 2017 by W.G. Milne

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