If you are not Moses, then who are you
o little man of
God, blessed soul
denied a home in heaven by heaven-bent
souls,
but ever at home in this poor heart of
mine,
and if in mine, how not in God’s?
What is the fire I see still-smoldering in
your heart,
though tame in eye, most gentle in your
breast,
you love with a love that is more than
love,
you most blessed soul and fellow creature of a
day
here but today and away in a
moment.
Who you are in yourself remains a
mystery
but the who in you is the same who in
me
the self-same I that dwells within the
eye
and deeper down, unseen by wandering
eyes
but glimpsed by the piercing arrow of
love.
