Lance and Grail

The Lance

This is the lance that pierced his side,
these are the nails by which he died,
here a splinter of bloody wood,
and here the cup that caught the blood:
all idols, idols all.
Here is the shroud and the winding sheet,
these are his words, which priests repeat,
a loaf of bread, a cup of wine
to make a sacramental sign:
all idols, idols all.
Two thousand years have passed since he
gave timely birth to eternity:
this is the lance that pierced his side,
these are the nails by which he died,
here is the wedding, but where is the bride?
All idols, idols all.


The Grail

You've visited the sacred shrine,
and sipped the dizziness of wine.
You've known both worlds, and all is frail:
Within your heart's the holy grail.
Ten thousand sins cannot conceal
its pure and patient emptiness
from Him who comes simply to bless
your cup with nectar, not consign
to melting fire a glass so dim,
so fragile it's no more nor less
than your capacity for Him.