Though I have watched a thousand nights,
a speck beneath uncounted lights
just waiting for the dawn,
I never thought to see such sights.
I still hear, “Glory in the heights,”
though years have passed and gone.
And who was I that they should come,
oh, brighter than the summer sun?
No prophet and no priest.
No one, in fact, but on the run
we left the flock to seek the one
who came to seek the least.
For well we knew him when we saw:
a shepherd lying in the straw—
as we have lain in fold
to watch and fend off tooth and claw
(not near as sharp as crown and law)—
against the bitter cold.
I knew I’d trust him with my life.
This one would stand with all our strife
to keep the wolves at bay.
So he has done, though still we strive.
I’ll see him yet, as I’m alive,
in some far peaceful day.
Fifth-century Ravenna mosaic illustrating the concept of The Good Shepherd, Photo By Gsimonov – Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=167075623
Kate Bluett 