by Patricia M. Devlin
Many things have You, o Lord, allowed me to see
Though my earthly eyes are gone.
But never have I waited at the foot of the Tree
On which You hung, agony and love perfected, in Heart so alone.
But now I have the smallest sense of Your Passion
As I agonized outside a hospice room,
Where those dying go to find compassion
But where Terri went to be murdered, and lay entombed,
A death before death, a human sacrifice,
To the gods of fear, of greed, of hatred incarnate,
A nation by omission unwilling to pay the price,
For one sweet helpless life unaided.
Truly You will raise her, too, o Lord,
This is not the bitter end of the story.
But my country's fate is gorged with innocent blood
And it seems so, — so very long, before Your glory.
