THE OATHS OF THE LORD
God is not a man, that He should lie;
neither the son of man, that He should repent.
Hath He said, and shall He not do it?
Or hath He spoken, and shall He not make it good?
BOOK I
I began not with light.
I began in sunder.
My thoughts kept not one path.
Memory crossed prayer.
Prayer outran resolve.
Questions compassed me without rest:
If Thou art good, why this wound?
If Thou art near, why this hush?
And betwixt the questions—
not thunder, not rebuke—
a word was laid within me.
So I stood amid my numbered days
and lifted up my face.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO I
I passed through chambers
where love once answered swift,
and now returned but echo.
Silence laid its hand upon me, saying:
All things depart.
All bonds loosen.
So it seemed—even of God.
Yet the ground gainsaid it.
I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.
Not as ease.
As oath.
Not a passing thing,
but that which undergirds the foot.
And the first step upward was this:
I set my foot upon His promise,
and I fell not.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO II
The way grew strait,
and former days rose up against me.
They named the loss.
They rehearsed the failing.
They called delay an end.
Yet the Lord spake beyond my seeing
while mine eyes still turned backward:
Thoughts of peace, and not of evil,
to give thee an expected end.
I beheld not that end.
Yet it was appointed.
So I walked toward what had been made ready,
bearing this alone—
my days were already known unto Him.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO III
Here the ascent unclothed me.
Here no ornament remained.
I came apart without cry,
as a vessel yields when strength is spent.
And there—
not after, not afar—
He abode.
The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.
Not to weigh me.
Not to chasten.
To dwell.
And I learned the Most High draweth nearest
when nothing is offered
save truth.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO IV
I bore my years as scattered stones—
days misaligned,
hours yet burning the hand.
Some wounds would not seal at my bidding.
Some remembrances refused their grave.
The word excused not the pain.
It gathered it.
All things work together for good
to them that love God.
Not singly.
Not clean.
Together.
As shards are made a window
when held in order.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO V
The climb lengthened.
Waiting waxed heavy.
My strength waned.
My breath grew short.
Then He spake—unhasting, sure:
They that wait upon the LORD
shall renew their strength.
Not restored.
Reforged.
And I rose—
not by haste,
but by continuance.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO VI
Here dread named the heights.
Here it named the depths.
It spake of distance.
Of death.
Of love undone.
Then was the decree set against it:
Nor height, nor depth,
shall be able to sever us
from the love of God.
Let it be spoken
till dread be struck dumb.
Nothing withdrawn.
Nothing rent.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO VII
After this He drove me not onward.
He bade me lay the burden down.
Come unto Me,
and I will give thee rest.
Rest was not departure.
It was release.
I laid aside the weight
I was never appointed to bear.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO VIII
Then the vision widened.
Sorrow was measured—
not denied,
but fulfilled.
God shall wipe away all tears.
Not forgotten.
But last touched
by God Himself.
And death was named
as that which shall not abide.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO IX
The throne stood fast,
and from it went forth the word:
Behold, I make all things new.
Not mended.
Not returned.
New.
As morning is new,
though night was true.
And it was shown me:
ruin is not the final work.
Yet Thou art with me.
CANTO X
At length the way turned inward.
I go to prepare a place for you.
Prepared is purposed.
Prepared is remembered.
And the ascent ended
not in flight,
but in belonging.
Yet Thou art with me.
Thus were the promises set as steps.
Thus the word bore weight.
And I, once sundered,
stood gathered.
The Lord failed not His oath.
Amen.
BOOK II
I descended from the height
not diminished,
but entrusted.
The world knew not the ascent.
It demanded signs.
It demanded haste.
It demanded strife-shaped speech.
But I bore no contention—
only that which upheld me.
Yet Thou art with me.
The city received me in clamor:
many voices,
many names exalted.
I passed among them
as one who hath beheld the end of sorrow
and will not barter it
for lesser truth.
Some scorned the quiet of my tread.
Some mistook meekness for frailty.
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
So I strove not.
I answered not every cry.
Yet Thou art with me.
Here the promises were tried by flesh.
Hunger returned.
Weariness returned.
Old wounds found voice.
And the question rose anew:
If Thou art with me,
why doth the way yet wound?
My grace is sufficient for thee.
So I learned that victory
is not the lifting of burden,
but the refusal to bow
before false altars.
Yet Thou art with me.
I stood among mourners.
Among the exalted.
Among those who forgot
they are dust.
I spake sparingly.
When I spake, I spake what was given—
neither softened,
nor honed.
Some turned aside.
Some drew near.
The word fulfilled its errand.
It shall not return unto Me void.
And it was shown me:
I was not sent to prevail,
but to abide.
Yet Thou art with me.
Night returned,
as appointed.
Yet it ruled not my measure.
I had learned the shape of morning
ere it appeared.
Weeping may endure for a night,
but joy cometh in the morning.
So I kept watch—
not in dread,
but in surety.
Yet Thou art with me.
At length the way inclined inward again—
not to flee the world,
but to set it in order.
All that was gathered
returned unto the same ground
where first the foot was set.
And it was shown me:
the ascent and the descent
were one path.
Yet Thou art with me.
The word stood whole.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Not flight.
Not delay.
Dwelling.
And the voice once sundered
stood gathered again.
By Yet Thou art with me.
Written by Marguerite Grace
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