Jones Very

There are times when, silent and very still, we are overcome with a sense of communion with the ineffable.

Here’s a poem for your consideration by Jones Very (August 28, 1813 – May 8, 1880), American poet, essayist, clergyman, and mystic associated with the American Transcendentalism movement.

Today

I live but in the present, --where art thou?

Hast thou a home in some past, future year?

I call to thee from every leafy bough,

But thou art far away and canst not hear.

Each flower lifts up its red or yellow head,

And nods to thee as thou art passing by:

Hurry not on, but stay thine anxious tread,

And thou shalt live with me, for there am I.

The stream that murmurs by thee,--heed its voice,

Nor stop thine ear; ‘tis I that bid it flow;

And thou with its glad waters shall rejoice,

And of the life I live within them know.

And hill, and grove, and flowers, and running stream,

When thou dost live with them shall look more fair;

And thou awake as from a cheating dream,

The life today with me and mine to share.

--Jones Very