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		<title>First Things RSS Feed - John Brugaletta</title>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 20 Jan 2025 16:51:08 -0500</pubDate>
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		<ttl>60</ttl>

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			<title>Our ship stands off the coast</title>
			<guid>https://www.firstthings.com/article/2000/08/poetry-30-1</guid>
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			<pubDate>Tue, 01 Aug 2000 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate>
			
			<description><![CDATA[<p> Our ship stands off the coast.  From where we lie, 
<br>
 The moss&ldquo;green hills resemble what we&#146;ve lost: 
<br>
 Sweet plenty, peace, a smiling sky, 
<br>
 A life in moments, no regrets, 
<br>
 No yearning for unreachable not yets. 
<br>
  
<br>
 But then we shoot the surf and make the land, 
<br>
 And then begin our days of heat and frost, 
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 The insects, shirkers, boredom, sand. 
<br>
 Anticipation never gave 
<br>
 The view it framed beneath its architrave. 
<br>
  
<br>
 We wait, we hope, imagine what&#146;s to come, 
<br>
 Beg something like true home once we have crossed 
<br>
 To Love, to where all lines are plumb. 
<br>
  
<br>
 Reality, however, fails. 
<br>
 We leave our dreams to see a world that pales. 
<br>
  
<br>
 And You, my Lord, who know our thwarts and balks, 
<br>
 Who met them and Yourself paid out the cost, 
<br>
 Still call us with the preacher&#146;s talks 
<br>
 Toward landfall that outshines his words 
<br>
  
<br>
 As tended gardens do the scat of birds. 
<em>  <br>  </em>
  
<br>
  
<br>
  
<em> &rdquo;John Brugaletta </em>
  
</p> <p><em><a href="https://www.firstthings.com/article/2000/08/poetry-30-1">Continue Reading </a> &raquo;</em></p>]]></description>
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