Before ever the mountains arose
[blind from birth they were, mute, dumb]
Before the seas
before the first dawn
From dust to dust the human story
a crooked line, quickly effaced.
Come; mere sunstruck motes
[Adam stands there, Eve radiant there]
then their course run—
They wither like grass, the perfect and proud.
Words die, suns set, grass blows, a dust.
What then? we must learn
time and again
like infants, on hands and knees
spasmodic wisdom. Six months, sixty years.
one blind tug,
at the empyrean. Teach us to count our days
multiple, scanty, no matter. But a voice of praise.
– Daniel Berrigan SJ