Two Short Prayers

When every strife and sorrow’s past
that dog us as we roam,
oh, may each pilgrim come at last
to find himself back home,

to shelter from the world of woes
upon his mother’s breast—
a petal of the great white rose
where Virgil comes to rest.

And when the final bridge is crossed,
the final race is run,
may all the ones we thought we’d lost
be shining in that sun.  Amen.

*****

She is the deep night’s farthest eastern edge
where first a glimmer seeps into our skies
of hope across unfathomable depths—
from there, the sun of justice soon will rise.

As ordinary, though, as any dawn,
familiar, daily contours of our lives:
The sun comes up; of course the night is gone.
Miraculous, each time the day arrives.

Dark Mary, spotted only by the stars,
through you the glory of the Lord came forth:
Pray that his sun may rise within our hearts,
that in us, too, the savior may be born.  Amen.