Written
on the occasion of the funeral of Herbert Louis, police lieutenant (retired).
He faced the tragedies of metropolitan madness, day in and day out, and
retained in the midst of it all, a heart for Christ and a heart for his
fellowman.
THE CAULDRON
Seething
cauldron; cosmic chaos;
Earthly
milieu; bleeding, raw.
Saints
of God, yet notwithstanding,
Cast into its fiery maw.
Whence,
then, is surcease of sorrow?
Came
not Christ to conquer pain?
Must
we wait til golden morrow,
Til Christ o’er
heaven and earth shall reign?
O'er
the realm of ceaseless spirit,
Ever
hath our Savior reigned.
All
is tranquil, just and equal.
In that realm there is no pain.
Now
on earth, we mortals wander.
All
its torments must we bear.
Nothing
here is just, or equal;
Nothing here is ever
fair
Saint alike with sinner suffers.
Jesus must our model be.
Sorrow ne'er was tempered for Him.
Grieved and wracked
with pain was He.
One with Christ; eternal spirits.
Caged in flesh, on earth, must be.
Christ came not to cool the cauldron,
But to set the spirit free.
David Morsey