Winter Morning

Who can regard the sun?
Its all-revealing rays
Dazzle the eyes of those
Who too directly gaze,
Yet when the mist hung low,
When moisture charged to air,
The sun, a soft red ball,
Muted, its glittering glare,
Rose in the winter dawn.

So, if we seek God’s face,
We cannot see it plain;
Its radiant holiness
Half-hidden must remain
Through sheer excess of light,
Yet in the winter dark
God came to you and me,
Our God in human form
For all the world to see.

Sheila Durbin

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