The holy breath of God, the daughter of God's Dream,
across the morning of inchoate worlds
swept with a tenderness stronger than naked power
to shape and fashion Nothing into this --
this marvelous planet where both love and duty dwell,
where morning promises to end each night
of weeping with a song. Each winter dreams of spring;
each dropping leaf is just a garment changed.
And yet more sadness breaks across my visioned soul
than that of separation or decay:
I see the ugliness; I face the vengeful knives,
knowing that sometime something skewed astray.
O holy breath of Dawn, before the stars have dimmed,
whisper a Word of tenderness and life:
some unprotected Child to shield us from our hurt,
some wandering Waif of heaven, haven make,
some home in Galilee, the crossroad of the earth,
where some girl out of favor and alone,
touched by Your gentleness, stronger than naked power,
may bring to birth the tender Child of hope.
---- David Beebe
