Quinquagesima Sunday

The old rites are not old at all: Each is:
     A golden Hour hidden in ordinary time
     A tree hidden behind another tree
     A jewel lost in a desperate flight
     A chalice stolen by a thoughtless thief
     A book of truth banned by the occupation
     A solitary flower in a slough
     A happy thought unspoken behind the wire
     An Altar whose candles await the Light
The old rites are not old at all. They are.