Night is our diocese and silence is our ministry
Poverty our charity and helplessness our tongue-tied
Beyond the scope of sight or sound we dwell upon the air
Seeking the world's gain in an unthinkable experience.
We are exiles in the far end of solitude, living as listeners
With hearts attending to the skies we cannot understand:
Waiting upon the first far drums of Christ the Conqueror,Planted like sentinels upon the world's frontier.
from The Quickening of John the Baptist, On the Contemplative Vocation. Poem by Thomas Merton
Read the full poem HERE