By Naomi Kim '21
The cemetery at Glendalough is grass and old stone,
Wind and creeping moss. From inside the church
In ruins, I can see the sky: startling blue
Shining in from the opening in the wall.
They say that from the tower over there,
The monks announced time with a bell,
Each peal a call to prayer.
During Advent, the sky is gray overhead
As we walk past skinny bare-branched trees.
The church bells sing a carol
In silver clear and bright, each note
A joyous shout into the winter air:
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel!
But I—I am a bell without a clapper:
I believe; help my unbelief.
Show me how to sweep the dusty floors with care
To gather broken bits of straw.
Guide my hands to make a manger in my heart:
Come be the ringing song I sing,
And teach my shrunken soul to magnify your name.
Mark 9:24 (ESV)