The window glass, big and square,
gives the room a sight so fair
of morning birds and setting moon;
they hint the sun is coming soon
to run its course and light the day,
livening earth, ray upon ray.
The window glass to the inner man,
both yours and mine, is smaller than
the library glass; for, it’s a book
with living words that test and look
outside appearances, inside the heart
where things are known in full, not part.
The window glass book is also a sun;
in the rays of its message the Spirit may run
in a kind sprint of transfers, a relay of sorts,
as the truth He imparts and the lies He exports.
If that book is a sun, the Word is its light;
let Him capture your gaze and burn up your night.