Coming Light

A Poem for the Coming of Christmas

Credo

I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere;
And there is not a whisper in the air
Of any living voice but one so far
That I can hear it only as a bar
Of lost, imperial music, played when fair
And angel fingers wove, and unaware,
Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.

No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call,
For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,
The black and awful chaos of the night;
For through it all--above, beyond it all--
I know the far sent message of the years,
I feel the coming glory of the light.

by:  Edwin Arlington Robinson

Frequently I sit on the rocks below the Maine cottage of EA Robinson and read this poem.  In the thickest fog, his words bring light..."the coming glory of the light."  I must give a nod to author Annie Dillard who writes of "light uncreated" that shines in the darkness of the soul,  and as I like to add, finds its way into the world through acts of love and grace. 

This is the coming of Christmas....
                                                   any time, any place, any condition.