‘Tis calm we feel when bloodied baby born,
For in the past is pain of labor gone,
Hind gnash-ed teeth and tight white-knuckle scorn,
Is found the peace of pure blue mountain dawn,
What dawn without the rage of vi’lent sun?
What sprout without the mire of filthy soil?
From dark springs light; from death comes new life sprung,
And peace we need... conceived through great turmoil,
But this, we’ve always known; what cause, malaise?
Forgetfulness of hopeful heart, it seems,
In need of renewed view in God’s grand ways,
Which are immune to human timing schemes,
So breathe, my dear, have patience in this pain,
For soon, your calm will come... like gentle rain.
- Scott Alexander McKenzie