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Sabbath Poem (1992, #1)
Wendell Berry
The winter world of loss
And grief is gone. The night
Is past. Along the whole
Length of the river, birds
Are singing in the trees.
Again, hope dreams itself
Awake. The year’s first lambs
Cry in the morning dark.
And, after all, we have
A garden in our minds.
We living know the worth
Of all the dead have done
Or hoped to do. We know
That hearts, against their doom,
Must plight an ancient troth..
Now come the bride and groom,
Now come the man and woman
Who must begin again
The work divine and human
By which we live on earth.
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