Is there a part, is there a chord,
where harmony whelms my skeptic
and sends him to a fitter place?
Precious in the eyes of wisdom
is the death of such foolishness…
Compassed so by death and pain of hell
to still there clerk-like sit and row accounts
while the simple are preserved and saved
Oh where is rest, and silence for the artless mind
that even finds dissonance in angel choirs,
thoughts cold and ever blind to paradox*?
If all men are liars, then what have I?
and vows… I will pay.
I am thy servant;
I am thy servant…
* from L. paradoxum “paradox, statement seemingly absurd yet really true,” (This is too often forgotten in this age)
this blog was inspired by Psalms 116