Poems of Narad

The Hour of God that Now Arrives

In the closet of an ill-used mind
I found a treasury of things,
A thousand winters of delight,
The laughter of a thousand springs.

No spider-webs of thought were there
No contraries that could not meet
A melody upon the air
A golden carpet for my feet.

In an alcove of another kind,
A space where silent beauty grew
All sorrow fled as I reclined
On flower carpets white and blue.

In the body's house so fairly built
By the architect who dreams our lives
I saw transformed all sin and guilt
In the hour of god that now arrives.