by Whitney Crawford

In smoke-hazed shrines, in stately cathedrals
Of glinting gold; low candlelight
In pinewood copses, in dew-strewn meadows
Resplendence abounds; inclines delight

Rouses in me such revel, such awe
A surging zeal–a great, flaming wonder
For all Creation, for gleaming life
Ardor to orient, passion to temper

A warm gold glow cast from high, stained windows 
Across polished pews, across glittering tile;
And the late noon sun through verdant boughs
Bright, fragmented, contrived to beguile

Hymns and bells–exuberant chiming
Wafting incense–jasmine and woodspice 
On bended knee, neck craned in awe
Enchant the senses, enthrall, entice

Upright in a dark green grove
Fragrant spring air, honey and pollen
I stand, transfixed–
At how far we’ve fallen

A glorious thing–for faith, for piety
To see stark goodness in all His making
Yet ever a thorn, to sober my heart
Its fervent pangs, its fluttering

For though beauty persists, sublime beyond telling
The great artist’s brushstroke–untethered, unbounded
His builders and sculptors, divinely in-dwelt;
Still–sublimity submits, is humbled, astounded

Whitney Crawford was born and raised in Houston, Texas, but she currently resides in Virginia, where she is working toward her doctorate in clinical psychology. She is the winner of an honorable mention in the San Antonio Writers Guild’s 27th annual writing contest for her historical fiction short story.