Published in Michael's collection of verse, "All Nature is a Sacramental Fire" (St. Augustine's, 2011).
Chuck Colson at Seventy-Five
Chuck Colson is a gold, gold train Whooshing toward the Light -- Colson Colson Colson Colson Colson Colson Colson Colson Shrieking through the night.
A Harvard man, A ramrod straight marine, He turned to law But seeing much, He never really saw.
Oh, he was smart And he was tough And -- maybe -- Just a little rough.
In all the glory Of the White House days -- He could not see The bridge was out -- Ahead a blaze.
His train once wrecked, He took it like a man. And found in prison Jesus Christ His Lord Beyond all riches prized.
To prisoners accursed, Armed with the Word, Chuck preached his Lord (As then, so now, the Same). Upon the dying sparks he blew Until the graying embers burst Like blood upon a star -- And spirits burst aflame.
Like Wilberforce, like Wilberforce Chuck set the prisoners free And yet, and yet, it was not he, Not Chuck who was the Source But Holy Spirit, Father, Son, Communion of Three.
(Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, Sed Nomini Tuo da gloriam!) Not to Chuck, O Lord, and not to us, Unto Thy Name be glory!
Chuck is a friend A kindly man In Whom God’s love does shine We know him through the broken bread And the drinking of the wine.
Chuck is a force for unity Among all Christian folk A spokesman for philosophy To frame the words God spoke.
It’s good, O Lord, to be alive -- And praise Thee, thank Thee, love Thee -- As Chuck roars through the Station, Seventy, and five.