O that it were as it was wont to be,
When Thy old friends of fire, all full of Thee,
Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase
To persecutions; and against the face
Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave
And sober pace, march on to meet a Grave.
Little, alas, thought they
Who tore the fair breasts of Thy friends,
Their fury but made way
For Thee, and served them in Thy glorious ends.
What did their weapons but set wide the doors
For Thee? fair, purple doors, of Love’s devising.
It was the wit of Love o’erflow’d the bounds
Of Wrath, and made Thee way through all
those wounds.
RICHARD CRASHAW, 1616-’49,
“We are finding that our big problems
are little to His power and that our
little things are great to His love.”
JACOB STAM, LL.B