The human heart can go the lengths of God… [ A Sleep of Prisoners ] Dark and cold we may be, but this Is no winter now. The frozen misery Of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move; The thunder is the thunder of the floes, The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.
Thank God our time is now when wrong Comes up to face us everywhere, Never to leave us till we take The longest stride of soul men ever took.
Affairs are now soul size. The enterprise is exploration into God. Where are you making for? It takes So many thousand years to wake… But will you wake, for pity’s sake?
Christopher Fry (1907 – 2005) was an English playwright (visit Wikipedia to find out more), and further described in his obituary (in The Guardian), appropriately as a Christian humanist playright – which this poem testifies to.