Moss

Taking pictures of moss has become akin to ancient tradition amongst certain of my family and close friends. I love moss, mostly because it's green (yes, you can groan now), and the other day I came across a poem titled, you guessed it, Moss, written by one of my favourite Christian poets, Amy Carmichael.


We are too high; Lord Jesus, we implore Thee,
Make of us something like the low green moss,
That vaunteth not, a quiet thing before Thee,
Cool for They feet sore wounded on the Cross.

Like low, green moss—and yet our thoughts are thronging,
Running to meet Thee, all alight, afire;
Thirsty the soul that burneth in love-longing
Fountain and fire art Thou, and heart’s desire.

Therefore we come, Thy righteousness our cover,
Thy precious Blood our one, our only plea,
Therefore we come, O Saviour, Master, Lover.
To whom, Lord, could we come save unto Thee?