Nunc Dimittis

The torch that lights my vigil flickers low

As well my soul might, sixty years alone

Peering through dusty Torah; hoping still

To catch a glimpse of David’s scion Lord.

The marble archway dims, and seems to guard

Its latent rumor from my tethered will.

A doubting whisper frames my withered heart:


“Long time your fathers clung to Yahweh’s throne,

Their gasping flocks asmear with brightest red.

What life will breathe its last in mankind’s stead?”

I bow in grief, my fragile fingers torn

For want to hood my face, and heart and head.

But lo – the brand has flared – my Lord is come:

A virgin pierced of soul! a tiny Lamb!


Jeremy Vogan

Advent, 2018


Artwork: “Simeon in the Temple” by Rembrandt

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