317. Immanence

I COME in the little things,

Saith the Lord:

Not borne on morning wings

Of majesty, but I have set My Feet

Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat

That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod.

There do I dwell, in weakness and in power;

Not broken or divided, saith our God!

In your strait garden plot I come to flower:

About your porch My Vine

Meek, fruitful, doth entwine;

Waits, at the threshold, Love’s appointed hour.

I come in the little things,

Saith the Lord:

Yea! on the glancing wings

Of eager birds, the softly pattering feet

Of furred and gentle beasts, I come to meet

Your hard and wayward heart. In brown bright eyes

That peep from out the brake, I stand confest.

On every nest

Where feathery Patience is content to brood

And leaves her pleasure for the high emprize

Of motherhood—

There doth My Godhead rest.

I come in the little things,

Saith the Lord:

My starry wings

I do forsake,

Love’s highway of humility to take:

Meekly I fit My stature to your need.

In beggar’s part

About your gates I shall not cease to plead—

As man, to speak with man—

Till by such art

I shall achieve My Immemorial Plan,

Pass the low lintel of the human heart.