Silent, the loft of desert air
That bears the first invaders in
Thinks nothing of those sleeping where
The daily slaughter will begin,
Nor of the rifle-bursts of prayer.
But, they have come with such a cry
Of rage for everyone they find,
And with a cruel and patient eye
Will leave no living thing behind.
They’ll spread much death and then shall die.
The hours ahead will show the deed:
The bodies naked, raped, and shot;
The kidnapped girl a broken reed;
A couple wire-bound in a knot,
Conjoined within the flames they feed.
James Matthew Wilson is Cullen Foundation Chair in English Literature at the University of Saint Thomas, Houston.
Image by מטיילת2021 licensed via Creative Commons. Image cropped.
The Church in the Age of Therapy
In 1966, Philip Rieff wrote in The Triumph of the Therapeutic that “Religious man was born to…
Canada’s Deadliest Blind Spot
On September 20, the Daily Mail ran a story with the provocative headline, “Our 83-year-old Christian grandmother…
The Faithful Joy of Dolly Parton and Fulton Sheen
Dolly Parton and Fulton Sheen seem to have had little in common. She favored rhinestones; he wore…