This little man – poem – Brief Article

David George

How sweet and clean are thy returns, O Lord

Rude, complaining, lump of ingratitude

Made out of mud that dries, at the end, to dust,

This little man–unkind, distorted, lewd–

Does what he does mostly because he must,

Not because he was made for the love of God

Or for the good of us. And yet he thrives–

Somehow clinging to the slender vine

That carries the animal kingdom, that breeds and cleaves,

Sustaining birth beyond the shallow grave,

Beyond the span of allotted years, until

He drops like a penny into a wishing well.

Was it for the sake of a few that He came

To open gates that lead into a garden–

Or did He do it for even this little man?

COPYRIGHT 1998 The Christian Century Foundation

COPYRIGHT 2000 Gale Group

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