Beyond the scrub lands of the common day,
Where most men live and love in littleness,
And fear the naked truth that would betray
What they conceal so well - their emptiness.
Beyond the careful smiles that masquerade
To hide their bitter, aching human need:
The decency that hides that they're afraid
(It can get very messy when you bleed).
Beyond this country of the unpossessed,
Whose creed's possessiveness and outraged lust,
Who know no living joy, no perfect rest,
Because they have not learnt to give or trust.
Somewhere, beyond here, lies another place,
Where limping pilgrims, who dare fight with sin
Enter with joy, and wonder at the grace
Which carried all the way, and took them in.
They dared confront the army of their fears,
Would not surrender to their secret pain;
But walked, with bleeding feet and burning tears,
Towards that land which bears no spot or stain.
They see the glory of that hidden place
Shine, even now, such light upon their way
That their raw agony breathes forth its praise,
Whilst, with a thin-stretched passion, they obey.
There is such love, such love upon that road,
Where the disarmed, in dear embracing, meet,
And journey forward, hand in hand with God,
Into Himself, where all love is complete.