The sin of pride plods the rise
Rears up in the dankest of times,
When ahead one sees a false likeness
One that is better than true climbs.
The Roman Missal
“…I give Thee thanks with all my heart that Thou hast created me after Thine own image and likeness….”
By G. K. Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.