"How Like an Angel Came I Down"

I am inspired to include again my favorite poem, because I had a little of this experience as I went out on the town today. The fog really is lifting.

Wonder

By Thomas Traherne
       How like an angel came I down!
               How bright are all things here!
When first among his works I did appear
       O how their glory me did crown!
The world resembled his eternity,
               In which my soul did walk;
       And ev’ry thing that I did see
               Did with me talk.

       The skies in their magnificence,
               The lively, lovely air;
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair!
       The stars did entertain my sense,
And all the works of God, so bright and pure,
               So rich and great did seem,
       As if they ever must endure
               In my esteem.

       A native health and innocence
               Within my bones did grow,
And while my God did all his glories show,
       I felt a vigour in my sense
That was all spirit. I within did flow
               With seas of life, like wine;
       I nothing in the world did know
               But ’twas divine.

       Harsh ragged objects were conceal’d,
               Oppressions tears and cries,
Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes
       Were hid, and only things reveal’d
Which heav’nly spirits, and the angels prize.
               The state of innocence
       And bliss, not trades and poverties,
               Did fill my sense.

       The streets were pav’d with golden stones,
               The boys and girls were mine,
Oh how did all their lovely faces shine!
       The sons of men were holy ones,
In joy and beauty they appear’d to me,
               And every thing which here I found,
       While like an angel I did see,
               Adorn’d the ground.

       Rich diamond and pearl and gold
               In ev’ry place was seen;
Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white and green,
       Mine eyes did everywhere behold.
Great wonders cloth’d with glory did appear,
               Amazement was my bliss,
       That and my wealth was ev’ry where:
               No joy to this!

       Curs’d and devis’d proprieties,
               With envy, avarice
And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise,
       Flew from the splendour of mine eyes,
And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds,
               I dream’d not aught of those,
       But wander’d over all men’s grounds,
               And found repose.

       Proprieties themselves were mine,
               And hedges ornaments;
Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents
       Did not divide my joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteem’d
               My joys by others worn:
       For me they all to wear them seem’d
               When I was born.
 

 

 

When Donna and I audited Robert Coles Freshman English class at Harvard University, we had read some of his books, and knew of his fame. One thing I got a kick out of was his agreement that anyone who came to his class and read the books would get a "A". He knew that if his students did so, they would get what he was teaching and he didn't need tests and papers to prove to him that he was successful. So in came the freshmen, by the hundreds. The football teams, the hockey teams, the basketball teams and so on. They wanted their "A".

Billie Holiday was singing as we entered. He assigned simple books of The Grapes of Wrath variety. He opined that this might be the only course wherein the students might view the world from the underside, after all, they were going to be the leaders of the world and the power brokers, and probably the big bucks so it might humanize them to consider the underclasses.

I thought the class was very spiritual even though it was run just as an other college course. I was thinking about this today on Martin Luther King Day. Who could have dreamed that we would have a black president, educated at Harvard and enjoying his second inauguration on King's birthday? Coles, like King, saw the great injustices and saw the value of each person.When I read the poem (above) and remember that we are all God's children, made in the image of God, I am so grateful for the human teachers like King, like Coles, like the poet so long ago, who re-re-remind us to remember where we came from.