o little man of God, blessed soul
denied a home in heaven by heaven-bent souls,
but ever at home in this poor heart of mine,
and if in mine, how not in God’s?
What is the fire I see still-smoldering in your heart,
though tame in eye, most gentle in your breast,
you love with a love that is more than love,
you most blessed soul and fellow creature of a day
here but today and away in a moment.
Who you are in yourself remains a mystery
but the who in you is the same who in me
the self-same I that dwells within the eye
and deeper down, unseen by wandering eyes
but glimpsed by the piercing arrow of love.