The Flight into Egypt

We think of him as safe beneath the steeple,

Or cosy in a crib beside the font,

But he is with a million displaced people

On the long road of weariness and want.

For even as we sing our final carol

His family is up and on that road,

Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel,

Glancing behind and shouldering their load.

Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower

Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled,

The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power,

And death squads spread their curse across the world.

But every Herod dies, and comes alone

To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.

Malcolm Guite

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4 Responses to The Flight into Egypt

  1. Tim McGee says:

    Wonderful poem. Beautiful Icon. Appreciate you sharing them.


  2. Fr John Wehling says:

    I read this poem this morning in Malcolm’s lovely book Waiting on the Word.


  3. David Llewellyn Dodds says:

    Looking for music for the Feast of St. Thomas yesterday, I encountered this, with its striking, intricate typological application:


  4. David Llewellyn Dodds says:

    Striking, too, Charles Williams’s third Epiphany poem, published in book form 101 years ago (pp. 95-96, here):


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