For those whose feast isn't transferred, Happy Feast Day. Searched for a poem that wasn't Eliot's "Journey of the Magi," which I love, but you can't post the same thing each year. Stumbled upon this, which happens to be written by a former Phil. prof of mine. It labors a bit, but I imagine he had fun writing this.
Epiphany
Stephen Wentworth Arndt
When the dawn-blood of our day bled
On its flooded sunset death bed,
Then the stark burst of a star's birth
Lit the cursèd dark on straying earth.
Now a sky-light at the twilight
Guided aging sages all night
From the Far East till the star ceased
Near a fabled child mid stabled beasts.
In a straw bed was a starred boy,
And the light he shed instilled joy,
For our sin's gloom, in his sun-gleam,
Is illumined by a wond'rous beam
Healing blind eyes, making minds wise,
Ever bringing things their true guise.
In his soft glow, from aloft flow
Long remembered ardors embers know
To the dim hearth of the dark heart
To be kindled by divine art . . .
May our star-lit sparkles flare up awed
By your love light, Christ, our Infant God!
Stephen Wentworth Arndt
When the dawn-blood of our day bled
On its flooded sunset death bed,
Then the stark burst of a star's birth
Lit the cursèd dark on straying earth.
Now a sky-light at the twilight
Guided aging sages all night
From the Far East till the star ceased
Near a fabled child mid stabled beasts.
In a straw bed was a starred boy,
And the light he shed instilled joy,
For our sin's gloom, in his sun-gleam,
Is illumined by a wond'rous beam
Healing blind eyes, making minds wise,
Ever bringing things their true guise.
In his soft glow, from aloft flow
Long remembered ardors embers know
To the dim hearth of the dark heart
To be kindled by divine art . . .
May our star-lit sparkles flare up awed
By your love light, Christ, our Infant God!
