she must have written much by night,
fine-spinning gold by the moonlight,
shunning the burning heat of day,
retreating from the press and fray,
refreshed in darkness by the Light of light.
she must have plumbed the depths of speech
to find words worthy, words that reach
to capture silver songs soft heard,
to speak the love that Love had stirred
within her for the Mender of the breach.
my aim here is to honor Amy Carmichael, my mother's namesake, and her pursuit of God which produced such rich works as the following four poems, from which I drew scraps of phrases to use in my own:
"Fine-Spun Gold"
"Put Forth by the Moon"
"Under the Olive Trees"
"Light in the Cell"