The Faces of Love

The Faces of Love

By: Angie Wiranata

November 8th, 2024

 

At world’s end

stood I with grief

and lump on my throat:

Has life no trace of love,

has Sheol erased His name?

 

Alas! Two things too wonderful to me;
three I do not understand:

 

Her hand, a mother’s wrath,

           Her sorrow ran so keen,

           Then wept, she healed her child,

           With tears to mend his skin

 

A father’s trade by day,

           By night a bread he blazed,

           A smile to make a home,

           A smile the eyes ungrazed.

 

A friend who bore the blame,

           And gave his life in kind,

           For him who dealt the wound,

           Yet had no right to boast.

           He stood to shield his own,

           With heart so pure and blind,

           To guard against the guilt,

           He who deserves it most.

 

What wonder, what beauty!

For love to be free,

to feel, conceal, and heal,

to use, abuse, and bruise,

yet love forever holds

a value more than life,

a weight worth more than gold.

What wonder, what beauty!

For love be clothed

With martyrdom,

and grief-kissed skin.

 

Marvel! Marvel!

For have thee not heard:

That no plum unstoned,

As no rose unthorned,

As no bird unboned?

Yet, was it not stone,

which plum may be?

And was it not thorn,

The guard of its bloom?

And was it not bone,

That sets a flight to wing?

 

At world’s end

I stand as I behold:

‘tis love’s scarred face;

Whom once I know of,

now here I have known:

for who could fathom,

for who dare capture

the faces of love

and His lonely offices?

 

Fin.