by The Highland Shepherd's

HORRENDOUS ILLS

You sufferers of horrendous ills
into your pain we cannot go.
Yet we feel the blow that kills;
by mystic union we can know
your desperate sorrow, deep despair.
And where your mind is shattered, torn
in your place we make the prayer
and raise your cause, your pain adorn.
Awe and honour crown your head,
communal love completes your act.
A speechless people clasp the dead
come to be in your horrendous fact.
And God who suffers, therefore, knows and cares,
thanks and welcomes you; fashions your repairs.

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004 used with permission

Harold Macdonald Poetry