Crazy Stable

 Merry Christmas from "the old strange house that is our own," and thanks to a most excellent Lutheran blogger, Gene Edward Veitch of Cranach, for having posted this magnificent poem by G.K. Chesterton. In all my years as a GKC buff, I'd never come across it before. Enjoy, and come back in the New Year to say hello and tell me how it went in your strange old houses. 

The Wise Men

Step softly, under snow or rain,
    To find the place where men can pray;
The way is all so very plain
    That we may lose the way.

Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore
    On tortured puzzles from our youth,
We know all the labyrinthine lore,
We are the three wise men of yore,
    And we know all things but truth.

We have gone round and round the hill
    And lost the wood among the trees,
And learnt long names for every ill,
And serve the made gods, naming still
    The furies the Eumenides.

The gods of violence took the veil
    Of vision and philosophy,
The Serpent that brought all men bale,
He bites his own accursed tail,
    And calls himself Eternity.

Go humbly ... it has hailed and snowed...
    With voices low and lanterns lit;
So very simple is the road,
    That we may stray from it.

The world grows terrible and white,
    And blinding white the breaking day;
We walk bewildered in the light,
For something is too large for sight,
    And something much too plain to say.

The Child that was ere worlds begun
    (... We need but walk a little way,
We need but see a latch undone...)
The Child that played with moon and sun
    Is playing with a little hay.

The house from which the heavens are fed,
    The old strange house that is our own,
Where trick of words are never said,
And Mercy is as plain as bread,
    And Honour is as hard as stone.

Go humbly, humble are the skies,
    And low and large and fierce the Star;
So very near the Manger lies
    That we may travel far.

Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes
    To roar to the resounding plain.
And the whole heaven shouts and shakes,
For God Himself is born again,
And we are little children walking
    Through the snow and rain.

                                     --G.K. Chesterton

Giotto, 'Adoration of the Magi'