Psalm for Jonathan Daniels d.
August 20, 1964
Jon Daniels went down to
* a volunteer, helping black Alabama
citizens register to vote.
He left his seminary studies back in
, * the green hills of Cambridge , New Hampshire
his boyhood home.
He left the incense-haunted place of revelation, * and took magnificat to be his creed.
Guileless, he lived among the people; * their children trusted him.
Unknowing, he joined the group that went to Hayneville; * nonviolent, they spent the
night in jail.
Released in the morning, they went to get a drink, * Coca-Cola, at the nearby little store.
In the street, Tom Coleman shot him, * and Father Morrisroe his friend.
Tom Coleman, (was he a deputy?), * believing that he did God’s will.
Jon Daniels placed his body * between the shotgun and a teen age girl;
He died instead of her, * white for black, male for female, him for her.
His novice priesthood sacrificed, * his cup spilled, but covenant unbroken.
The reputed deputy went unpunished: * his jurors, twelve white men,
While, from the dust, another justice worked a silent plan * to heal the land.