Orange Hill Hymn
John Clare Stokes
A tree that has long moved me is atop Orange Hill Cemetery in Williston, Fla, place where so many of my loved ones and friends rest from their battles, their struggles, their quest to find the light amid this present darkness.
The poem is dedicated to our common battle.
Does a new day bring light?
Has the light swallowed the dark?
Come day a squint into bright
The beams still painfully sharp.
On goes the gauze again
In streams the soothing dark
Not ready to walk in gleams
of light beams deadly sharp.
Many meant for the night
Few called to walk wide waking
Freed from the terrible fright
Always giving, never once taking.
In countless wards the halt
The little wars raging on
Light brigades assault for naught
the darkness ever so strong.
Allured to the prospect of sight
We wave the truce flag and stare
into the blinding beams of night
as captured we fall into the lair.
Hand on shoulder on shoulder on
the line of the lame snakes along
Til all glimmers are finally gone
No one remaining to recall home.
And on the Orange Hill quiet
Faint strains from old hymns
A remnant chants into the night
Pulls the weeds and remembers
Pearl and all of them
Awaiting.
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