God Often Comes As A Little Child

 God often comes as a little child

At least we think he does,

And after deep depression,

Like the weather turned quite mild.

He speaks to us,

We listen

And act upon His words,

And sense a great profundity

In all that is around,

The stillness and the balmy air,

The singing of the birds,

The snouts of first spring flowers

Protruding from the ground.

God often comes as a little child,

He has that great propensity,

And speaks to us aloud,

And shocks like electricity,

We sense Him all about,

And we can sometimes see His face

Behind some sunlit mass of cloud,

Before our eccentricity

Is quietly snuffed out.

We take great comfort in the thought

We're being quite conventional,

And feeling as we ought

When faced with this immensity

We act with an intentional

Subservience, a doing as we're taught.

A good example we would set

Till our small children must exert

A counteracting force of will,

And when God leaves us, we forget

To pray, to marvel and distil

The sum of peace we've known

In sudden moments when alone.

And tempers fray

Though we're alert

To all the evil of the day

We have not strength to fend it off

And madness is not far away