J.R.R. Tolkien*

J.R.R. Tolkien (1892―1973) is, of course, the author of the famous fantasy trilogy The Lord of the Rings. He was a respected philologist and scholar of Old and Middle English, who served as Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford University.

His friendship with C.S. Lewis was of great significance to both of them — Tolkien influencing Lewis to embrace Christianity, and Lewis encouraging Tolkien through the revisions and publication of both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. They were among a group of significant writers and intellectuals playfully dubbed The Inklings — which also included Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, Neville Coghill and Hugo Dyson — who regularly met for chatter, drink, and frequent readings from their works-in-progress.

“Noel” was originally published in 1936 (the year before The Hobbit appeared) in The “Annual” of Our Lady’s School, Abingdon — and subsequently forgotten. It was only rescued from obscurity in 2013. It now appears in The Collected Poems of J.R.R. Tolkien (HarperCollins, 2024).

Noel

Grim was the world and grey last night:
The moon and stars were fled,
The hall was dark without song or light,
The fires were fallen dead.
The wind in the trees was like to the sea,
And over the mountains’ teeth
It whistled bitter-cold and free,
As a sword leapt from its sheath.

The lord of snows upreared his head;
His mantle long and pale
Upon the bitter blast was spread
And hung o’er hill and dale.
The world was blind,
the boughs were bent,
All ways and paths were wild:
Then the veil of cloud apart was rent,
And here was born a Child.

The ancient dome of heaven sheer
Was pricked with distant light;
A star came shining white and clear
Alone above the night.
In the dale of dark in that hour of birth
One voice on a sudden sang:
Then all the bells in Heaven and Earth
Together at midnight rang.

Mary sang in this world below:
They heard her song arise
O’er mist and over mountain snow
To the walls of Paradise,
And the tongue of many bells was stirred
in Heaven’s towers to ring
When the voice of mortal maid was heard,
That was mother of Heaven’s King.

Glad is the world and fair this night
With stars about its head,
And the hall is filled with laughter and light,
And fires are burning red.
The bells of Paradise now ring
With bells of Christendom,
And Gloria, Gloria we will sing
That God on earth is come.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about J.R.R. Tolkien: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Luci Shaw*

Luci Shaw (1928—2025) is a pioneer poet of true artistry and Christian faith. The author of eighteen poetry collections and several other books. She passed away on December 1st at age 96. She was a dear friend, and a significant influence on my life.

How can I express the gratitude I have for Luci? One of the earliest poems I ever had published was accepted by Luci Shaw for Radix. I remember how thrilled I was later when she wrote an endorsement for my first full-length poetry collection, Poiema (2008). Next, I was further affirmed by this excellent poet when she accepted me as her editor for her poetry collection Scape (2013), which appeared as part of the Poiema Poetry Series. Perhaps the greatest honour she gave, was to ask me to write an endorsement for her for her eighteenth poetry book, An Incremental Life (Paraclete, 2025). I am clearly the one honoured by being asked to do this. The following is my endorsement as it appears in that book.

“For decades I have sat at Luci Shaw’s feet, listening to her lyrical wisdom, her playful music, her spiritual insight, and her deep connectedness to the natural world. In The Incremental Life, Luci Shaw shares her metapoetics ― choosing ‘words like matches, / striking them to see what happens next.’ As a nonagenarian, she acknowledges her shrinking life, yet invites us even into this experience. Still she wrestles with faith, and says to God, ‘Come, now. Fill / the gaps, mend the widening cracks in my aging /soul. I’m moving in your direction, but I move / more slowly, see more dimly, require more daily.’ As always, though, Luci Shaw is as wide-eyed as a child. ‘My heart,’ she writes, ‘is ambushed by simple beauty.’”

The following poem is from her collection, Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation (Eerdmans, 2006), and is one she has granted permission for me to use in a forthcoming Christmas poetry anthology which I am planning for 2026.

A Blessing for the New Baby

Lightly as a falling star, immense, may you
drop into the body of the pure young girl like a seed
into its furrow, entering your narrow home under the
shadow of Gabriel’s feathers. May your flesh shape itself
within her, swelling her with shame and glory. May her
belly grow round as a small planet, a bowl of golden fruit.

When you suck in your first breath, and your loud
cries echo through the cave. (Blessings on you, little howler!),
may Mary adorn you with tears and caresses like
ribbons, her face glowing, a moon among stars. At her
breasts may you drink the milk of mortality that transforms
you, even more, into one of your own creatures.

And now, as the night of this world folds you in its
brutal frost (the barnyard smell strong as sin), and as
Joseph, weary with unwelcome and relief, his hands
bloody from your birth, spreads his thin cloak around you
both, we doubly bless you, Baby as you are acquainted
for the first time, with our grief.

*This is the fifth Kingdom Poets post about Luci Shaw: first post, second post, third post, fourth post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Sally Thomas

Sally Thomas is a poet and a fiction writer, living in North Carolina. Besides her two poetry chapbooks, she has a first full-length collection, Motherland (2020), and another Among the Living which is forthcoming — both from Able Muse Press. She is an MFA Thesis Advisor at the University of St. Thomas in Houston, and has served in numerous capacities, such as on the advisory board of New Verse Review.

Her fiction primarily appears through Wiseblood Books — including the novel Works of Mercy (2020), and her recent story collection, The Blackbird and Other Stories (2024).

Together with Micah Mattix she edited the anthology Christian Poetry in America Since 1940 (Iron Pen/Paraclete Press, 2022). The following poem first appeared in First Things, and is from her forthcoming book, Among the Living (Able Muse Press).

First Sunday

In Advent, the hermit lights a candle-end,
Drips wax onto a saucer, stands it there.
The early nightfall forms itself around
This little shivering flame. He says his prayer:
Stir up Thy power, Lord. Outside, the wind
Has risen. Rain flicks its fingers at the window.
He’s alone. God’s called him to this homeland
Of loneliness, leafmold. The lengthening shadow
Creeps always from the trees. The winter air
Smells of it. At prayer he is God’s widow,
His heart bereaved and restless. Prepare, prepare—
The word exhorts him. The wet evening’s slow
Footfalls drag. He nods in candlelight,
Then darkness. So the watchman guards the night.

Posted with permission of the poet.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

David Adam

David Adam (1936—2000) is a British writer and priest who worked for three years underground as a coal miner before training for the priesthood. During his twenty plus years as a vicar in North Yorkshire he began writing prayers in the poetic Celtic vein as a way of encouraging his parishioners, through simple practice, toward deeper spirituality.

His first book of Celtic prayers, Edge of Glory (SPCK Publishing, 1985), gained instant popularity, and led to his numerous other books of prayers, and of meditations on such Celtic saints as Patrick, Brendan, Aidan, and Cuthbert. In 1989 he became a canon of York Minster. After this, David Adam served for 13 years as vicar on the holy island of Lindisfarne.

I first encountered the prayers of David Adams through his little chapbook Celtic Prayers (Tim Tiley Ltd, 2006) which I purchased in the picturesque church in the Cotswold village of Castle Combe. The following poem is from book.

Prayer for Creation

God bless the Earth
and all living creatures.
God bless the Earth
and its rugged features.
God bless the Earth,
every ocean and sea.
God bless the Earth
and water’s clarity.
God bless the Earth,
its atmosphere and air.
God bless the Earth,
keep it in your care.
God bless the Earth,
protect the dear soil.
God bless the Earth
and all those who toil.
God bless the Earth
and its daily light.
God bless the Earth
by your great might.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Augustus Toplady

Augustus Toplady (1740—1778) is an Anglican clergyman and hymnist, best known for his hymn “Rock of Ages” which has frequently been included in various poetry anthologies such as The Random House Treasury of Best-Loved Poems (1990).

He was born in Surrey and, after the death of his father who was a soldier, he was raised by his mother. She was from Ireland. Augustus went with her when she travelled to claim some inherited land. While in Ireland he received his bachelor’s degree from Trinity College, Dublin. He also published a small volume of poetry in Dublin in 1759.

A legend arose, concerning the writing of his famous hymn, that Toplady wrote the words while sheltering beneath a large rock in 1763 when he was caught in a violent storm in the gorge of Burrington Combe, Somerset. Although this probably never happened, the story has become so accepted, that there is a plaque, marking the spot and naming the outcropping “Rock of Ages.”

Augustus Toplady was a staunch Calvinist, and was frequently in conflict with the evangelist John Wesley and his followers.

Rock of Ages

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labour of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law's demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly;
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyes shall close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Duncan Campbell Scott

Duncan Campbell Scott (1862—1947) is one of Canada’s Confederation poets, and was a prominent civil servant. The first of his eight poetry collections, The Magic House and Other Poems, was published in 1893.

He had wanted to become a doctor, but in 1879 because his father (a Methodist Minister) had influence but lacked money, Duncan was hired by Canada’s first Prime Minister, John A. MacDonald, to be a clerk in the federal Department of Indian Affairs— a department he served in for the rest of his career.

He is a controversial figure in Canadian literature. His poetry celebrates the Canadian wilderness, and the life of her native peoples. Ironically Scott’s poetic sorrow at their dying cultures — as Northrop Frye noted — was exacerbated by the national policy of assimilation which he contributed to as deputy superintendent of the Department of Indian Affairs from 1913 to 1932.

Despite this legacy from his contribution to, and participation in, the Canadian government’s policies, Scott’s literary reputation as a fine poet is undeniable. His long poem “A Legend of Christ’s Nativity” appeared in Lundy’s Lane and Other Poems (McClelland & Stewart, 1916).

From Shadow

Now the November skies,
And the clouds that are thin and gray,
That drop with the wind away;
A flood of sunlight rolls,
In a tide of shallow light,
Gold on the land and white
On the water, dim and warm in the wood;
Then it is gone, and the wan
Clear of the shade
Covers fields and barren and glade.
The peace of labour done,
Is wide in the gracious earth;
The harvest is won;
Past are the tears and the mirth;
And we feel in the tenuous air
How far beyond thought or prayer
Is the grace of silent things,
That work for the world alway,
Neither for fear nor for pay,
And when labour is over, rest.

The moil of our fretted life
Is borne anew to the soul,
Borne with its cark and strife,
Its burden of care and dread,
Its glories elusive and strange;
And the weight of the weary whole
Presses it down, till we cry:
Where is the fruit of our deeds?
Why should we struggle to build
Towers against death on the plain?
All things possess their lives
Save man, whose task and desire
Transcend his power and his will.

The question is over and still;
Nothing replies: but the earth
Takes on a lovelier hue
From a cloud that neighboured the sun,
That the sun burned down and through,
Till it glowed like a seraph's wing;
The fields that were gray and dun
Are warm in the flowing light;
Fair in the west the night
Strikes in with vibrant star.

Something has stirred afar
In the shadow that winter flings;
A message comes up to the soul
From the soul of inanimate things:
A message that widens and grows
Till it touches the deeds of man,
Till we see in the torturous throes
Some dawning glimmer of plan;
Till we feel in the deepening night
The hand of the angel Content,
That stranger of calmness and light,
With his brow over us bent,
Who moves with his eyes on the earth,
Whose robe of lambent green,
A tissue of herb and its sheen,
Tells the mother who gave him birth.
The message plays through his power,
Till it flames exultant in thought,
As the quince-tree triumphs in flower.
The fruit that is checked and marred
Goes under the sod:
The good lives here in the world;
It persists,— it is God.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Marianne Moore*

Marianne Moore (1887―1972) was raised for the first few years of her life in the manse of the First Presbyterian Church in Kirkwood, Missouri, since her grandfather was pastor there, and since her father, whom she never met, was not on the scene. In 1918 Marianne and her mother moved to Greenwich Village; here she was able to interact with such poets as E.E. Cummings and William Carlos Williams.

Her second book, Observations, won The Dial Award in 1924, and then from 1925 to 1929 she served as editor for The Dial. Her awards include: the Helen Haire Levinson Prize from Poetry magazine, the National Book Award, the Pulitzer Prize, and the Bollingen Prize. She once said that her favourite poem was the Book of Job.

At the Yankee's 1968 season opener, at age eighty, Marianne Moore threw the opening pitch. In her poem “Baseball and Writing” she expressed:
------Fanaticism? No. Writing is exciting
------and baseball is like writing.
------------You can never tell with either
---------------how it will go
---------------or what you will do…

Her Christian faith informed and influenced her poetry significantly. The following poem is identified in a Wendell Berry poem in his book Another Day: Sabbath Poems, 2013—2023.

What Are Years

What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, —
dumbly calling, deafly listening—that
in misfortune, even death,
encourage others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.

*This is the third Kingdom Poets post about Marianne Moore: first post, second post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.