The night is now far gone, the day at hand,
we say, though nothing lights the eastern sky;
no golden morning rises on the land;
unbroken night enfolds the watching eye.
But longing so we cannot sleep, we stand
and wait for day to break for us on high.
As no one saw the infant in the womb
or felt his leaping, so the night wears on.
We would not see a nova in the gloom
‘til eons passed, yet where the darkness yawns
the flare is born, and sure within his tomb
a light was kindled long before the dawn.
Let hope be honest when it most seems false
as we face eastward, absent any glow.
We see not, nor we hear, and all sense dulls,
but still the heart conceives and still we know,
who tremble with the echoes of your pulse,
that somewhere in this dark, O Lord, you grow.
Picture of space from the northern hemisphere By Los Perros pueden Cocinar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=130852158
Kate Bluett 