Latecomer

To follow the folk who followed the star

Is goal and gift enough for me,

Though all I have is brokenness to bring,

Dross and ash and scentless sorrow.

No star to set my course,

But only fading footsteps of faith

Which come and go among the shifting sands,

And which my own feet can fill but faintly.

They traveled far for truth,

The heavens hailing them onward,

And found their joy at journey’s end

In a place of precious poverty.

Now, I must run to meet them,

To catch their coat-tails, clinging close,

That I may find unfeigned felicity,

My poor offerings at last transfigured into theirs.

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