On the first Sunday after the birth of my firstborn child and only son, a beautiful and sweet poem from Wendell Berry written for his daughter Mary.
To God, the author of all life and giver of every good gift, the gracious and glorious maker of souls: Let all the peoples praise him -- let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
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A Child Unborn
By Wendell Berry
A child unborn, the coming year
Grows big within us, dangerous,
And yet we hunger as we fear
For its increase: the blunted bud
To free the leaf to have its day,
The unborn to be born. The ones
Who are to come are on their way,
And though we stand in mortal good
Among our dead, we turn in doom
In joy to welcome them, stirred by
That Ghost who stirs in seed and tomb,
Who brings the stones to parenthood.