What golden lights are in these vessels hid?
What stories, riches, whispers of Your ways?
What open wounds, what trampled battlefields,
what fragrant altar fires in secret blaze?

How often have I looked but have not seen?
How often have I sought to serve You, while
I pass adopted royalty without
even the simple homage of a smile?

Forgive, forgive the careless sacrilege
of subtle scorn, of laughter out of time,
of shallow sight, which, bent back on itself,
compares their lots, in pride or shame, to mine.

I’ll not call common what my Lord has cleansed
when You have touched and purified my sight.
For these shall live when all the stars are dead,
arrayed in white and honor, crowned with light.


claudiaClaudia Lehman lives in Lebanon, Pennsylvania, with lots of books, tea, and her favorite man ever. She loves exploring the world of words and teaching children, and she feels most at home in the woods.


Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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