The Bright Field by R.S. Thomas

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
 
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
 
NOTE: I just discovered a wonderful Welsh poet, R. S. Thomas. He died in 2000 at 87 years of age. He was a clergyman and a self taught poet. He was very active in preserving Wales from over-development. Later in life he wrote poems such as this one, jewels of incandescent insight.

Bathed in Wonder

As I traversed the nave to approach the sanctuary,
a sudden frisson grasped me.
A huge Celtic Cross,  suspended high above the chancel,
seemed to float above the altar  like a great soaring bird
in that sublime lofty space.
It's dark arms were long and slender with a small circle
in the center, uniting all four arms.
The circle, added to an ancient pagan symbol,
denotes the eternal love of God.

Towering stained glass windows set in huge
lancets were like giant Sequoias 
guarding  both sides of the sanctuary.
Multihued light suffused its vibrant colors all round
on that sunny afternoon as the concert began.

Bach's music resounded throughout that exalted expanse.
Every pore ofmy being was infused with a sort of lightness,
almost like floating upward to another plane.
The plaintive melodies of the Ascension Oratorio exuded such 
an aura of hope in the face of loss that
I intuited the heart of faith,
unconditional trust in the Now.

Note: I wrote this poem after attending the final concert of the Washington Bach Consort's 2012 season. It took place at the National Presbyterian Church, a marvel of extraordinary design elements that create a sacred space unlike any other I have see.