I Saw Him Standing, by Ann Griffiths

Lent, Day 9

Under the dark trees, there he stands,
there he stands; shall he not draw my eyes?
I thought I knew a little
how he compels, beyond all things, but now
he stands there in the shadows. It will be
Oh, such a daybreak, such bright morning,
when I shall wake to see him
as he is.

He is called Rose of Sharon, for his skin
is clear, his skin is flushed with blood,
his body lovely and exact; how he compels
beyond ten thousand rivals. There he stands,
my friend, the friend of guilt and helplessness,
to steer my hollow body
over the sea.

The earth is full of masks and fetishes,
what is there here for me? are these like him?
Keep company with him and you will know:
no kin, no likeness to those empty eyes.
He is a stranger to them all, great Jesus.
What is there here for me? I know
what I have longed for. Him to hold
me always.

Could not believe how apposite this poem was when I read it this morning - my Mum joined her Friend lastnight, and we were left with her hollow body.
It's what she most longed for, but my world has shifted in ways I cannot yet take in.

Also, this poet was a young Welsh woman, writing at the end of the 18th C (translated here by Rowan Williams), who was deeply affected by the Welsh Methodist revival. My Mum had an abiding interest in the Welsh language - found her Welsh New Testament: ond y, na cawn weld wyneb yn wyneb - which I THINK says: "then we shall see him face to face" (if I've got the part of I Corinthians 13: 12 that I wanted to).

The photo is of my son in Sherwood Forest.