University of Virginia Library

THE BUSH OF BURNING SPICE

FROM DUST CELESTIAL THAT A CLOUD LET FALL,
A RUSH CAME UP, FULL FORTY YEARS UNSEEN,
THAT SCATTERED SMOKE AND EVER-BURNING SPICE
ACROSS A FIELD OF THORNS AND BURDOCKS MEAN.
AND THEN A CRIPPLED CHILD ON A SWEET TIME,
OF HOLIDAY BEHELD IT DECK THE MORN.
HIS FRIEND, THE PASTOR, SAW ONE BRANCH, AND SANG.
THE VILLAGE LAUGHED THE FLIGHTY PAIR TO SCORN.
LATER THE TWO GROWN OLD AND STAID DENIED,
THE SOLITARY INSIGHT OF THEIR YOUTH,
AND MOCKED THEIR CHILDREN, WHO WITH LAUGHTER SANG,
“OUR EYES BEHOLD THE DEATHLESS BUSH OF TRUTH.”
“WHY DANCE, PRAY TELL,” THE CRIPPLE ASKED, “AND CHANT
AROUND A CINDER IN AN EMPTY LOT?”
“NO BURNING BUSH.” THE PASTOR SAID, “HAS BLOOMED
SINCE MOSES' DAY. NEW MIRACLES COME NOT.”
AND YET THOSE FRAGILE CHILDREN GREW IN STRENGTH,
RADIANT AND ROYAL AS THE YEARS INCREASED.
AT LAST THEY BROUGHT THEIR REVERENT LOVERS THERE
TO BREATHE THE SMOKE AS THOUGH IT WERE A FEAST.
FROM EVERY BRANCH FLEW OUT A RAINBOW BIRD,
A DARLING SONGSTER WITH HIS PLUMES AFLAME,
AND EVERY BIRD FLEW ROUND AND ROUND A CHILD,
AND SANG OF GOD, AND CALLED THE CHILD BY NAME.
THESE SWEETHEART'S NE'ER WERE FALSE. EACH WOMAN WORE
WITHIN HER LOCKET SAFE, A FEATHER BLUE,
THAT DROPPED TO HER FROM OUT THOSE WHIRRING PLUMES,
A TALISMAN THAT KEPT HER LOVER TRUE.
AND YET IN AFTER TIME THOSE DAYS GREW DIM,
AND LEST THEY BE FOREVER LEFT BEHIND
THEY WROTE THEM IN A BOOK IN NOBLE WORDS,
SWEET HYMNS ABOUT A BUSH THEY COULD NOT FIND!