No eternal trumpet cleft the air,


no planet stopped its sullen course


to gaze in wrath and vengeance; only this—


a man of goodness died.

Conscience was his guide and God


who saw his golden spring coiled taut


to justice, saw intention and desire


flower for a while in action and the promise


of an action, saw his failure


as the necessary flaw of man.

He makes the sun come up on good


and evil, sends the rain and snow;


hardly strange then He allows for apples,


stables, bullets: everything is perfect


in its time. And time is His.

One does not lightly strike down God’s anointed.


For him a shot perfected spring


and hope of spring, fulfilled desire,


cleared his eyes to vision: light forever.


But for the world, darkness.

God sees, allows, and loves


in ways we do not ripely understand.

Let mankind hobble home now on its knees.