In the milking of cows and tending the hearth,
in threading the loom and gathering the peat,
the breath of prayer blessing each movement,
a naming of Creator upon each mindful deed.
Not in our kingdom of busyness,
not in our land of lost simplicity,
yet the Celtic grace of looking deeply
and the Celtic faith of believing fully
lives on enduringly within each of us,
beseeching our beholding.
Like the unceasing prayer of Celts,
an ancient call to gather the ordinary,
savor the sacrament that lies within,
bless whatever life offers to us
in the routine, the mindless, the duty,
the cherished, the surprising, the serene.
Let our open gaze fall faithfully
over a stretch of hurried days,
see among their swiftly moving pieces
a story threaded with touch of Divine.
Celtic moment, Soul moment, Sacred moment,
in simple task or thin veil of mystery,
whatever our day brings we can bless,
whatever our lives hold we can reverence.
Gather all to our soul:
the silent sparkle of untamed moments,
the hurried haze of endless duty,
the silky joy of surprising experience,
the shadowed grasp of unwanted pain.
Recover the lost cloak
of Celtic rhyme and Celtic rhythm,
put on the rich garment
of intentional communion,
embrace the commonness of life
woven on the endless loom of the Holy.
© Joyce Rupp
POEMS
Browse through poems
by Joyce.
