Not that I die,
But that my angels
Suffer in the fray,
While I yet have
Ambition and the will
To venerate the heavens
In my way
You must have grinned
When you devised this man
In perfect replication of your mind
And maybe
It was something
Done in jest
To tap a sense of humor
In your kind
But even clever plans have flaws galore,
For why entice an innocent to flame,
When little is the merit of a trick
That brings upon the trickster
Only shame
So, jest ‘tis not, nor joke - but irony!
That I must crawl in darkness to a light
Without a reason given for my pains
In passing from my day into the night.
-II-
Yet, how the snowflakes seem to swell,
Falling on this last Noel!
They are floating in the air,
Glowing here
And gleaming there
They are many,
None the same;
They are heaven’s ice aflame
They are angels, all in white -
Some are spirit, all are light.
-
Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane,
And saith unto the disciples, “Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.”
And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee.
And began to be sorrowful and very heavy.
Then saith he unto them, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful,
Even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.”
And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying,
“O, my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me:
Nevertheless ,not as I will, but as thou wilt.”
-The Gospel of St. Matthew